Thanks for this fascinating post. I'm hoping you'll tell us what happened on your return.
I've always felt a tug between the world of commerce and the world of the mind. While being present in both worlds was never incompatible, while I was working full time, the world of commerce dominated. Now it's the mind that dominates, although I maintain a presence in commerce.
I wish I could say I had my Jerry Maguire moment and walked out. But I came back and apologized to my boss for leaving and tried to stay back in that job. I lasted another 11 months before I got fired, which should have been obvious because I was so unhappy and misaligned for those 11 months. But I did develop a love for classical piano and rekindle a love of reading fiction and poetry during those 11 months. It would take me another few years of stumbling before I fully embraced what I'd been denying and became a writer.
I think the tug between commerce and the mind is really difficult for most of us. I have overindexed both ways, and am now heavily leaned towards the mind (and in my case its a lot more heart than mind). I'm glad to hear you're taking the space for your mind.
I love the way you describe the painter's appearance as almost a visitation. I've encountered a few people like that. In those moments, they felt *sent* to deliver an important reminder of my soul purpose (that was currently being ignored). I think of them as walk-ons to my life. It hasn't happened many times, but your essay has me revisiting them and reliving that feeling. Who knows? Maybe some of our encounters here on Substack are providing similar nudges. For me, it was a physical and mental health crisis that propelled me to quit my fine job at a high-end architecture firm. That launched me into (among other modalities) breathwork, where I heard that my body is the key to my becoming. Good thing, because it's been my companion for years of wandering.
Thanks Julie. She was something else. And It would be amazing if our work can provide those nudges. I never put two and two together, but I think being able to create those nudges for people is what my mission with this Substack has become.
I am glad that you found your way to breathwork and other modalities. I've been exploring many of them myself, as a person who regularly abused my body before in the name of work. Breathwork is probably one of my least explored modalities. Do you have any recommendations about where to learn more?
I wish I did. That was a while ago and I think my guide moved away. There’s a place in Baltimore called Insight Community that practices and teaches it but it might be just as good to ask Dr Google.
You keep pulling back the curtain on yet another facet of the lives you've lived. Reading this was like watching a black and white movie that turns technicolor halfway through.
I want to comment on the line that called out to me most from your essay. It was so provocative that I have the desire to explore it. I hope that's ok to do here, and I'm taking that leap because I'd like to participate in this "real man" conversation, and I believe this one line particularly holds a key to transitioning from Pinocchio boy to real man.
The line was this. "I sit and I stare, not so much at anything as away from myself."
An incredibly simple observation of a very profound moment that I myself recognize in your telling of it, but never thought to notice this way. That staring seems indicative of a state change, when we recognize we have lost our vision, and the staring is the first step of surrendering to a transformation of context that we can sense needs and wants to occur. We have to stop being fixated on the false identity we have fashioned for ourselves, thus the need to look away from ourselves, and allow our eyes that blurry softness of focus that is required to allow true purpose to re-enter our view. I have stared this way myself. I recognize this moment. It's a feeling of being lost and unmoored, but it has to be embraced, like being willing to go off-line and let the servers crash so the re-coding can be done. It was after this line that all the color returned to your view, which was so beautifully done in your article.
As for your question, the most recent thing that made me realize I had forgotten a part of myself was the Write of Passage course.
As we all launched in to writing our articles and started to publish, I became very aware of how focused I was with getting people to read what I wrote. The tension and anxiety I felt around this need for incoming attention made me realize how long I had been living from this context, attempting to GET attention, and I realized the part of myself I had forgotten was the joy of giving my attention freely and generously to others.
That insight opened the door to what has been the equivalent of leaving a black and white existence behind and walking into a wonderland of relationship, a deep appreciation of the talents and goodness and brilliance of others, as I see in you, and my desire to celebrate others.
Particularly, I celebrate that you now continue to offer your writing up as fuel for this specific conversation about being real men. I want to support that conversation, and you. So here is a little log I'm throwing on the life-giving bonfire that you've started are tending on our behalf. Thank you Latham.
Rick, I couldn’t have put this better myself: “I realized the part of myself I had forgotten was the joy of giving my attention freely and generously to others.” And Latham, thank you for encouraging conversation within each piece you publish!
Reading this was like watching a black and white movie that turns technicolor halfway through. <------ This complement made me smile so big. It told me I managed to achieve what I'd worked so hard to create.
I love your openness to exploring these topics with me. It's one of the many reasons why I consider you such a great friend and a kindred spirit. I hadn't recognized the act of staring away from myself as igniting that state change. I originally thought that moment was a cry for relief, a release after being so in my head trying to understand why I didn't feel more and I just needed to give up. But I think you're right, it's only in that giving up that I could surrender to the oncoming transformation. It's such a beautiful observation.
I know we've talked about the tension to "get" subscribers. You have said it best here, you are at your best, most joyous, most genuine self in when you're giving to others. It's the only thing I see when I think of you. You're radiant when you're giving and appreciating and celebrating. And you helped me remember the joy of simply sharing my thoughts, connecting with people, and hoping my words can make a difference whereas for a time I was stuck in the anxiety of needing to grow my numbers instead of myself.
Every essay feels like I’m wandering through an old mansion filled with different kinds of rooms... opening the door to each one to figure out the puzzle of what makes this house a home. I know that feeling of a hallow yearning to be filled by something that just is NOT currently present. It isn’t necessarily courage that drives us to book that flight, but desperation. I hope we get to read more about the Tolkien quest you took home with you!
I typed this before I thought about it, then realized it sounded super cheesy and deleted it, then retyped it with this little context at the beginning.
I think the thing that makes this house a home is the wonderful people like you who keep coming here. I'm just lucky to get to participate in the conversation.
I just started reading Bittersweet. She talks about the felling you're describing as the longing. When she interviews the modern sufis and their understanding of longing, I knew I was reading my own story. I think you might like it if you haven't read it.
And you're so right, it's not courage in any sense. In fact, as I told dave above, I lost my courage on the flight home and stayed in that job another 11 months, too afraid to let my family down after I'd just left the Navy and we'd just moved to the Bay Area. But that action was a cry of desperation.
You can go full cheese on me anytime!! But I agree, this group of folks you’ve got in here are top notch House guests. I’m honored to be amongst them!
Well, I’m actually not surprised you “lost your courage” as one would argue you *gained courage in order to put yourself through another test, (Joseph Campbell style). More character arch awaits! I can’t wait for more rooms to explore!
Meanwhile I read the Bittersweet description and I’m SO there! (I never made it around to Quiet either, tho it’s been in my list for years). Thank you for the recommendation!
Had a similar experience once. I used to spend a lot of time in Costa Rica with one of our portfolio companies. Took a trip out of the city of San Jose to Uvita in the southwest part of the country one weekend. Rugged, isolated jungle terrain. Stayed at a small resort that was owned by a couple from Chicago who had just moved there full time. They showed me a part of the world that took my breath away. Changed my perspective on work and life.
Justin, I love that you had that experience. I've never been to Costa Rica, but the people I know who live there are so rich in their lives and their generosity that I've always found it appealing.
I love the picture of the Tolkien bench, and that this major paradigm shift happened for you near it. Tolkien very literally saved my life at least once. That’s a story I’m not ready to tell yet, because parts of it don’t belong to me. But nevertheless.
1. I was thinking about you the other day. And then you commented here! I'm a little giddy about it. How have you been?
2. I'm glad you liked the Tolkien bench. It's so pretty. I wonder if I go back there if it will feel like a sacred altar or just another pretty artifact. It's been 6 years and I don't think of that place often, but it held a lot of emotion when I was writing this.
3. When (or if) you're ready to tell the story of Tolkien and your life, I hope I get to read it. You have such a way with words that I know it will be moving (and I'll go grab a box of tissues as soon as I see it, just because).
Enjoyed this, Latham. Especially the juxtaposition between that historically blank zone -- the pure efficiency of commerce -- and the site rich with historical meaning, which really is the deepest kind of meaning.
I see this kind of thing on LinkedIn a lot now. People grind away at job searches for months -- hundreds of applications, sometimes for naught. Why should finding work be so damn difficult, when the reward is typically trading your labor (and creativity) for a company's bottom line? And the kind of cruel efficiency that your old boss valued can also be self-inflicted by content creators who feel they must post every day, straight through the weekend, to stay relevant. We can internalize the tireless OCD of capitalism.
Writing doesn't work like that. Regularity helps with keeping in touch with the material and with the rhythms of language. But you can't just crank out quality writing incessantly. Ideas need time to season.
I'm still hoping to grow my coaching practice to the point where I can be busy enough to feel purposeful, but not so busy that my job owns me. It's harder than it should be to find that balance.
Thank you Josh. That juxtaposition you highlighted has, and continues to, occupy a lot of my thoughts. As I mentioned on your note, I don't know how to escape it, and I so desperately yearn for another option.
I hope that your coaching practice continues to grow to support your goals too. As Dee says below, balance is never easy. But building the life that allows you to be wholly yourself is worth searching for it.
Latham once again you’ve touched something raw and subliminal for most of us. A real man can carry these opposite energies stoically for many years or decades without having the opportunity to touch them in a meaningful way. Such a blessing that you were literally dumbstruck at that moment in the park.
Thank you Dee. I really like the way you talk about carrying opposing energies. I'm realizing that a big part of my maturation is developing the capacity and the range to touch the far extremes of those energies without needing to destroy myself or escape from one of them in the process.
I wish I'd been taught how years before. Although maybe in a sense I was, not by any one person, but by the life I built. In the military, in the machine, in books and music and drawing, and in the world. And now in writing.
Yea of course. It’s what we do in our exploration. We learn as we live. The past is history, the future is a mystery, and we embrace what we know right now. I guess that is indeed maturation. 🙏
I'm glad you enjoyed it Karena. I'm surprised I never told you about this. I was the least qualified person in the room as the head of hardware engineering building superconducting quantum computers. It was my first job out of the Navy.
What a great essay! I am exploring similar questions over on Unprofessoring--what parts of ourselves do we silence for our jobs and our identities? And what’s it like to listen again. Seems that Oxford is a great source of epiphanies in this regard!
Thank you Liz. Thought I was never in academia (I wished for a long time I had gotten a PhD, but that's another story for another time), I'm excited to read your explorations of similar questions. The more of us that can inspire others to listen again, the better world we can help usher in. I'd love to figure out how we support each other in that shared asking.
Fascinating how you switched from Einstein to the painter in the park. One second I found myself pausing on that black board, marveling and struggling to make basic sense of it, and then I'm immersed in the poetic descriptions of the painter. Each of those are the perfect symbol for opposite states of mind, and to have them woven into a single arc-- and to watch you process it unfold-- was beautiful.
Thank you Michael. I'm honored that you enjoyed it.
I used to know what the equations on that board said and wanted to be able to explain them to the world. And I used to think the painter's state of mind was a complete mystery. I'm amazed realizing how much I've traversed on my own arc.
And the aftermath of the story is that when I really embraced that I was more attuned and in love with the painter's state of mind was coming out of WOP. So I think again, I should say thank you.
Loved this peek into your past but also such a pivotal moment that is so small yet so huge at the same time. You do a great job capturing both the magnitude of the project and also how unsatisfying that can still end up being. I love beautiful moments like the one you had with the painter at the bench. Sometimes everything aligns for a reason.
This was so beautiful Latham. Superb storytelling. It’s so exciting to see you continue to evolve as a writer and I’m so here for it. Team Latham.
In terms of a forgotten half, I felt mine more through rejection than revelation. Corporations discarding me without concern. I remember the precise feeling (not sure how) but by the final rejection after a slew of 7-8 I poured my heart into, I felt like a kicked dog. That’s the best way I could put it.
And so I realized the misalignment. It was blatant. And through that discovered that I’m not accessing some essential part of myself and all the rejection was a result of me trying to be someone I’m not.
Tommy, I'm sorry to hear that you had to suffer through that rejection. Thank you for sharing that part of your story. I didn't know. But I'm also overjoyed that you got to learn that lesson so early. You seem so genuine and honest and aligned on who you are.
While it's a shame that others can discard us so callously, you're right that we can learn from that pain too.
Oh man. I feel ya here Latham. I was tortured for most of the time that I ran a business by the conflict that I felt, first unconsciously, and then very consciously, with what I was doing (not that it was all that bad per se, I just didn't like it, in some ways).
I had many similar moments. One was when I found myself in my hotel room preparing to give the opening address at one of my own conferences, and instead of reviewing my notes or just feeling excited or whatever, I was crying. I didn't even want to go downstairs, let alone get up on stage and talk to people about the same stuff I'd been talking about for not-even-that-many-years already (there were many more to come, before I eventually sold the business). I felt so alone. I remain grateful to the girlfriend that picked up the phone when I called, and, with a huge heart, jumped on a plane to fly down the coast and join me there that evening. She anchored me, made me feel connected to some part of life that mattered, and brought beauty and life into the room. Similar, in an archetypal sense, to the muse or "pagan deity" that you encountered.
There are several strings in this entanglement that tie me to you. So I’m going to take a risk and ask a confirming question: do you often have the quote from chariots of fire in your mind? “I am an Englishman first and last. I am an Oxford man first and last, and I bitterly resent you suggesting otherwise“. I don’t know if that’s accurate but it’s how I remember it.
Thank you for the story. I have been to this place. Not necessarily the same geography or context, but I do know the power of emergence. And the surprising, almost inconvenient kind is the best.
Thanks for this fascinating post. I'm hoping you'll tell us what happened on your return.
I've always felt a tug between the world of commerce and the world of the mind. While being present in both worlds was never incompatible, while I was working full time, the world of commerce dominated. Now it's the mind that dominates, although I maintain a presence in commerce.
Thanks David.
I wish I could say I had my Jerry Maguire moment and walked out. But I came back and apologized to my boss for leaving and tried to stay back in that job. I lasted another 11 months before I got fired, which should have been obvious because I was so unhappy and misaligned for those 11 months. But I did develop a love for classical piano and rekindle a love of reading fiction and poetry during those 11 months. It would take me another few years of stumbling before I fully embraced what I'd been denying and became a writer.
I think the tug between commerce and the mind is really difficult for most of us. I have overindexed both ways, and am now heavily leaned towards the mind (and in my case its a lot more heart than mind). I'm glad to hear you're taking the space for your mind.
I love the way you describe the painter's appearance as almost a visitation. I've encountered a few people like that. In those moments, they felt *sent* to deliver an important reminder of my soul purpose (that was currently being ignored). I think of them as walk-ons to my life. It hasn't happened many times, but your essay has me revisiting them and reliving that feeling. Who knows? Maybe some of our encounters here on Substack are providing similar nudges. For me, it was a physical and mental health crisis that propelled me to quit my fine job at a high-end architecture firm. That launched me into (among other modalities) breathwork, where I heard that my body is the key to my becoming. Good thing, because it's been my companion for years of wandering.
Thanks Julie. She was something else. And It would be amazing if our work can provide those nudges. I never put two and two together, but I think being able to create those nudges for people is what my mission with this Substack has become.
I am glad that you found your way to breathwork and other modalities. I've been exploring many of them myself, as a person who regularly abused my body before in the name of work. Breathwork is probably one of my least explored modalities. Do you have any recommendations about where to learn more?
I wish I did. That was a while ago and I think my guide moved away. There’s a place in Baltimore called Insight Community that practices and teaches it but it might be just as good to ask Dr Google.
You keep pulling back the curtain on yet another facet of the lives you've lived. Reading this was like watching a black and white movie that turns technicolor halfway through.
I want to comment on the line that called out to me most from your essay. It was so provocative that I have the desire to explore it. I hope that's ok to do here, and I'm taking that leap because I'd like to participate in this "real man" conversation, and I believe this one line particularly holds a key to transitioning from Pinocchio boy to real man.
The line was this. "I sit and I stare, not so much at anything as away from myself."
An incredibly simple observation of a very profound moment that I myself recognize in your telling of it, but never thought to notice this way. That staring seems indicative of a state change, when we recognize we have lost our vision, and the staring is the first step of surrendering to a transformation of context that we can sense needs and wants to occur. We have to stop being fixated on the false identity we have fashioned for ourselves, thus the need to look away from ourselves, and allow our eyes that blurry softness of focus that is required to allow true purpose to re-enter our view. I have stared this way myself. I recognize this moment. It's a feeling of being lost and unmoored, but it has to be embraced, like being willing to go off-line and let the servers crash so the re-coding can be done. It was after this line that all the color returned to your view, which was so beautifully done in your article.
As for your question, the most recent thing that made me realize I had forgotten a part of myself was the Write of Passage course.
As we all launched in to writing our articles and started to publish, I became very aware of how focused I was with getting people to read what I wrote. The tension and anxiety I felt around this need for incoming attention made me realize how long I had been living from this context, attempting to GET attention, and I realized the part of myself I had forgotten was the joy of giving my attention freely and generously to others.
That insight opened the door to what has been the equivalent of leaving a black and white existence behind and walking into a wonderland of relationship, a deep appreciation of the talents and goodness and brilliance of others, as I see in you, and my desire to celebrate others.
Particularly, I celebrate that you now continue to offer your writing up as fuel for this specific conversation about being real men. I want to support that conversation, and you. So here is a little log I'm throwing on the life-giving bonfire that you've started are tending on our behalf. Thank you Latham.
Rick, I couldn’t have put this better myself: “I realized the part of myself I had forgotten was the joy of giving my attention freely and generously to others.” And Latham, thank you for encouraging conversation within each piece you publish!
Powerful comment Rick. Thanks for sharing.
Reading this was like watching a black and white movie that turns technicolor halfway through. <------ This complement made me smile so big. It told me I managed to achieve what I'd worked so hard to create.
I love your openness to exploring these topics with me. It's one of the many reasons why I consider you such a great friend and a kindred spirit. I hadn't recognized the act of staring away from myself as igniting that state change. I originally thought that moment was a cry for relief, a release after being so in my head trying to understand why I didn't feel more and I just needed to give up. But I think you're right, it's only in that giving up that I could surrender to the oncoming transformation. It's such a beautiful observation.
I know we've talked about the tension to "get" subscribers. You have said it best here, you are at your best, most joyous, most genuine self in when you're giving to others. It's the only thing I see when I think of you. You're radiant when you're giving and appreciating and celebrating. And you helped me remember the joy of simply sharing my thoughts, connecting with people, and hoping my words can make a difference whereas for a time I was stuck in the anxiety of needing to grow my numbers instead of myself.
Every essay feels like I’m wandering through an old mansion filled with different kinds of rooms... opening the door to each one to figure out the puzzle of what makes this house a home. I know that feeling of a hallow yearning to be filled by something that just is NOT currently present. It isn’t necessarily courage that drives us to book that flight, but desperation. I hope we get to read more about the Tolkien quest you took home with you!
I typed this before I thought about it, then realized it sounded super cheesy and deleted it, then retyped it with this little context at the beginning.
I think the thing that makes this house a home is the wonderful people like you who keep coming here. I'm just lucky to get to participate in the conversation.
I just started reading Bittersweet. She talks about the felling you're describing as the longing. When she interviews the modern sufis and their understanding of longing, I knew I was reading my own story. I think you might like it if you haven't read it.
And you're so right, it's not courage in any sense. In fact, as I told dave above, I lost my courage on the flight home and stayed in that job another 11 months, too afraid to let my family down after I'd just left the Navy and we'd just moved to the Bay Area. But that action was a cry of desperation.
You can go full cheese on me anytime!! But I agree, this group of folks you’ve got in here are top notch House guests. I’m honored to be amongst them!
Well, I’m actually not surprised you “lost your courage” as one would argue you *gained courage in order to put yourself through another test, (Joseph Campbell style). More character arch awaits! I can’t wait for more rooms to explore!
Meanwhile I read the Bittersweet description and I’m SO there! (I never made it around to Quiet either, tho it’s been in my list for years). Thank you for the recommendation!
Had a similar experience once. I used to spend a lot of time in Costa Rica with one of our portfolio companies. Took a trip out of the city of San Jose to Uvita in the southwest part of the country one weekend. Rugged, isolated jungle terrain. Stayed at a small resort that was owned by a couple from Chicago who had just moved there full time. They showed me a part of the world that took my breath away. Changed my perspective on work and life.
Justin, I love that you had that experience. I've never been to Costa Rica, but the people I know who live there are so rich in their lives and their generosity that I've always found it appealing.
I love the picture of the Tolkien bench, and that this major paradigm shift happened for you near it. Tolkien very literally saved my life at least once. That’s a story I’m not ready to tell yet, because parts of it don’t belong to me. But nevertheless.
1. I was thinking about you the other day. And then you commented here! I'm a little giddy about it. How have you been?
2. I'm glad you liked the Tolkien bench. It's so pretty. I wonder if I go back there if it will feel like a sacred altar or just another pretty artifact. It's been 6 years and I don't think of that place often, but it held a lot of emotion when I was writing this.
3. When (or if) you're ready to tell the story of Tolkien and your life, I hope I get to read it. You have such a way with words that I know it will be moving (and I'll go grab a box of tissues as soon as I see it, just because).
Enjoyed this, Latham. Especially the juxtaposition between that historically blank zone -- the pure efficiency of commerce -- and the site rich with historical meaning, which really is the deepest kind of meaning.
I see this kind of thing on LinkedIn a lot now. People grind away at job searches for months -- hundreds of applications, sometimes for naught. Why should finding work be so damn difficult, when the reward is typically trading your labor (and creativity) for a company's bottom line? And the kind of cruel efficiency that your old boss valued can also be self-inflicted by content creators who feel they must post every day, straight through the weekend, to stay relevant. We can internalize the tireless OCD of capitalism.
Writing doesn't work like that. Regularity helps with keeping in touch with the material and with the rhythms of language. But you can't just crank out quality writing incessantly. Ideas need time to season.
I'm still hoping to grow my coaching practice to the point where I can be busy enough to feel purposeful, but not so busy that my job owns me. It's harder than it should be to find that balance.
I hope that for you Josh. Balance is elusive for us men who carry strong opposing flames within us.
Thank you Josh. That juxtaposition you highlighted has, and continues to, occupy a lot of my thoughts. As I mentioned on your note, I don't know how to escape it, and I so desperately yearn for another option.
I hope that your coaching practice continues to grow to support your goals too. As Dee says below, balance is never easy. But building the life that allows you to be wholly yourself is worth searching for it.
Latham once again you’ve touched something raw and subliminal for most of us. A real man can carry these opposite energies stoically for many years or decades without having the opportunity to touch them in a meaningful way. Such a blessing that you were literally dumbstruck at that moment in the park.
Thanks for sharing.
Thank you Dee. I really like the way you talk about carrying opposing energies. I'm realizing that a big part of my maturation is developing the capacity and the range to touch the far extremes of those energies without needing to destroy myself or escape from one of them in the process.
I wish I'd been taught how years before. Although maybe in a sense I was, not by any one person, but by the life I built. In the military, in the machine, in books and music and drawing, and in the world. And now in writing.
Yea of course. It’s what we do in our exploration. We learn as we live. The past is history, the future is a mystery, and we embrace what we know right now. I guess that is indeed maturation. 🙏
Stream of consciousness reaction here: Wow! Quantum computing. How much if his life have I yet to discover? Einstein? Tolkien! Wraith. Hutzpah!
Processing. And again, will be thinking on this till next week's essay.
I'm glad you enjoyed it Karena. I'm surprised I never told you about this. I was the least qualified person in the room as the head of hardware engineering building superconducting quantum computers. It was my first job out of the Navy.
What a great essay! I am exploring similar questions over on Unprofessoring--what parts of ourselves do we silence for our jobs and our identities? And what’s it like to listen again. Seems that Oxford is a great source of epiphanies in this regard!
Thank you Liz. Thought I was never in academia (I wished for a long time I had gotten a PhD, but that's another story for another time), I'm excited to read your explorations of similar questions. The more of us that can inspire others to listen again, the better world we can help usher in. I'd love to figure out how we support each other in that shared asking.
I'm grateful you are here.
Fascinating how you switched from Einstein to the painter in the park. One second I found myself pausing on that black board, marveling and struggling to make basic sense of it, and then I'm immersed in the poetic descriptions of the painter. Each of those are the perfect symbol for opposite states of mind, and to have them woven into a single arc-- and to watch you process it unfold-- was beautiful.
Thank you Michael. I'm honored that you enjoyed it.
I used to know what the equations on that board said and wanted to be able to explain them to the world. And I used to think the painter's state of mind was a complete mystery. I'm amazed realizing how much I've traversed on my own arc.
And the aftermath of the story is that when I really embraced that I was more attuned and in love with the painter's state of mind was coming out of WOP. So I think again, I should say thank you.
Loved this peek into your past but also such a pivotal moment that is so small yet so huge at the same time. You do a great job capturing both the magnitude of the project and also how unsatisfying that can still end up being. I love beautiful moments like the one you had with the painter at the bench. Sometimes everything aligns for a reason.
Thank you Michelle.
"Sometimes everything aligns for a reason." <-- I try to remember this every day. Radical acceptance and unwavering trust in life and in myself.
But I still can't imagine how the universe showed me two great heroes in one day. 🤯
This was so beautiful Latham. Superb storytelling. It’s so exciting to see you continue to evolve as a writer and I’m so here for it. Team Latham.
In terms of a forgotten half, I felt mine more through rejection than revelation. Corporations discarding me without concern. I remember the precise feeling (not sure how) but by the final rejection after a slew of 7-8 I poured my heart into, I felt like a kicked dog. That’s the best way I could put it.
And so I realized the misalignment. It was blatant. And through that discovered that I’m not accessing some essential part of myself and all the rejection was a result of me trying to be someone I’m not.
Thank you for this beautiful piece :)
Tommy, I'm sorry to hear that you had to suffer through that rejection. Thank you for sharing that part of your story. I didn't know. But I'm also overjoyed that you got to learn that lesson so early. You seem so genuine and honest and aligned on who you are.
While it's a shame that others can discard us so callously, you're right that we can learn from that pain too.
Oh man. I feel ya here Latham. I was tortured for most of the time that I ran a business by the conflict that I felt, first unconsciously, and then very consciously, with what I was doing (not that it was all that bad per se, I just didn't like it, in some ways).
I had many similar moments. One was when I found myself in my hotel room preparing to give the opening address at one of my own conferences, and instead of reviewing my notes or just feeling excited or whatever, I was crying. I didn't even want to go downstairs, let alone get up on stage and talk to people about the same stuff I'd been talking about for not-even-that-many-years already (there were many more to come, before I eventually sold the business). I felt so alone. I remain grateful to the girlfriend that picked up the phone when I called, and, with a huge heart, jumped on a plane to fly down the coast and join me there that evening. She anchored me, made me feel connected to some part of life that mattered, and brought beauty and life into the room. Similar, in an archetypal sense, to the muse or "pagan deity" that you encountered.
So many women have saved me. Bless them all.
There are several strings in this entanglement that tie me to you. So I’m going to take a risk and ask a confirming question: do you often have the quote from chariots of fire in your mind? “I am an Englishman first and last. I am an Oxford man first and last, and I bitterly resent you suggesting otherwise“. I don’t know if that’s accurate but it’s how I remember it.
Thank you for the story. I have been to this place. Not necessarily the same geography or context, but I do know the power of emergence. And the surprising, almost inconvenient kind is the best.