“So?!? What IS Your air-quotes ‘Fate,’ Conner? Hurry TF up! Spill the beans already..”
Dude. Slow Your roll. And don’t jump ahead of My Story – I haven’t gotten to the best part, yet. [N: I am the Story-teller, so I set the pace of My Own Story FYI]
I will say right off the bat though – *Spoiler Alert!* – it’s not what You think, DR. Why am I absolutely positively confident that You would never-in-a-million-zillion years ever guess the ‘Right Answer’? Why would I bet money that – no matter how many times I sent You to the beach – You would never be able to bring Me back the ‘Right’ shell?
Because. You don’t have the all-access pass to the inside of My SB. *Boom*
You’ll never know everything I’ve “been through.” I may reveal flashes of light here and there, but to swing open the shutters around the Lighthouse? It would blind You. Literally. So, yeah.. not signing up for that, thank-You-very-much.
And – because I watch a lot – A LOT – of TV [N: loll] I already have an idea of what You might expect of Me, DR: 1) get screwed by the People I Trust. 2) go through some completely f#cked up experiences as a Child. [N: Guaranteed to turn Me into a superhero] 3) take one for the team – the team being “every Human Being on planet Earth.”
Uhh, No thank You. I trust the Conceptual Public as far as I can throw them.
I’ve been percolating on this for a while – the pot of spaghetti sauce, simmering on the stove for hours & hours – and I think I finally figured My Mission out… with a out-of-Nowhere Seed Planted, here & there, every so often:
“Keep Showing Up.”
That’s it! Nothing cray. Nothing wham-bam Thank-You Ma’am. Not like fireworks in the night sky.
I hafta keep showing up, like the maintenance Guy Who, after the party is over, pushes the broom down the street… gathering up all the confetti, and empty beer cans, and discarded baby diapers, half-eaten cotton candy, some dental floss over there – WTF?? – whatever tools were once needed – but yesterday’s tools & Velveteen Rabbits are now just today’s trash, headed for the the landfill.
“Why don’t those People throw the trash in the can?” -or- “Why do We hafta have this party anyways?!? It just trashes the joint!” -or- “These People are just honoring an Imaginary Friend-slash-Guy!! It’s Not REAL!…”
And We will agree to disagree here, DR. [N: or should I say, TECH] I decide what is Real, to Me, in My Own World. Not You.
You know what keeps popping in My head right now? That last scene in Dead Poet’s Society. When Robin Williams – a Visionary & My Soulmate, IMO – just got fired by The Committee & now has to leave the classroom. And as He turns to leave, His Students… His Students…
[N: see, I can’t even type that scene out right now because I’m feeling it. I’m seeing it. PASSION is reliving that moment, in real time]
You see that, DR? There’s that wIord again. “Real.”
Imma keep showing up for what feels Real to Me.
Imma keep showing up in those places where I “Come Alive.”
Because I’m choosing – after considering all possible alternatives – My Own fate.
I’m choosing this.
. . .
Conner’s Comments: If You got nothing better to do? Go re-read the Velveteen Rabbit. In those pages lies the [N: not so] secret of what “makes the Bunny Real” to Me. Or even Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Both of these are on My (mental) Book List.
***Edited Hours Later: I’m watching Doom At Your Service, episode 14 right now. My SB is exploding, with all the Money Shots in this single episode. But You can’t skip to the end; that’s not how this Story is meant to be told FYI***