I hate starting with a victim story, but I need to start with then in order to get to now, so I’ll keep it as brief as possible. I endured a tremendous amount of abuse from age four to…some would argue I’m still dealing with parts of it now, though I’ve learned a lot of it is just empty threats at this point. But if it exists, I’ve probably experienced it.
Due to the circumstances, I had been largely isolated from the world for about eight years, two of which were without any form of communication at home. As a result, I was incapable of finding the care I needed, and soon learned that better living through chemistry did not include as much alcohol and benzodiazepines as I was consuming to self medicate. As a matter of fact, the substance, combined with my midbrain actions, almost killed me…more than once. Technically, I did die for three minutes one of those times.
I was always open-minded to suggestions, though I was in beta state for most of it, and nothing ever really sunk in. There was always something that I’d hear, and over a time of trying it, would become disheartened. Though it sounded right, there was always something missing, always something I wasn’t getting right.
How I Got Inspired
In early April of this year, I decided to take time away from Elder Scrolls Online, a game I’ve played since its 2014 launch, and finally check out Baldur’s Gate 3. I was so impressed with Karlach (I mean, who isn’t?), and I swore I’d heard their voice in other places, but couldn’t pinpoint which game. That’s because Samantha Béart wasn’t in any games I’d played up to this point, but as I learned in the interview I’m about to mention, they’ve been in a great many audio dramas that I’ve listened to. Funny that, as I write this, I’m just now realizing that I can name almost every actor in every game I’ve played, but I barely know anyone in my favorite audio dramas…
I had to find out what Sam was about, because if I’m going to invest any amount of time or money into a person and/or their work, I need to make sure they’re on the same side of the political fence as I, among other areas. I found a ton of interviews on Spotify, and the first one I picked out was an episode of It’s Complicated, which is hosted by Josephine Baird and Dr. J. It was a warm and inviting conversation, and I lost all inhibitions as a listener doing gig work all over town. I was immersed. Part of me wished I’d been able to have a conversation like that with people.
Much further into the conversation, Sam said something that made me think. They said, “…you’ve actually done the work. You’re okay. You are in an oppressive environment. It’s the environment, it’s not you, find your people, if you can.” I pulled over, rewound it and let Sam say that several times before I dissected “find your people.” Something I’ve never tried to do, because at that point, I didn’t feel like anyone cared. I knew what I needed: I needed therapy. I needed addiction counseling (or at least a group meeting). I needed friends who got it. I needed LGBTQ friends. I needed my people.
I turned off my gig work, went home, and made the list, then found locations and times, and then drove to parking lots and sat in my parked car and cried because I was overwhelmed with fear. What if nobody in the meeting was friendly to diverse people? On April 21, I gave up. I ended up consuming 366 ounces of 5% hard tea, most of which I don’t actually remember drinking. I woke up to a broken neck on my classical acoustic guitar, two bright red burners on my stove (and a pan on one, slowly turning to kibble), I couldn’t see clearly, I could barely stand up, and I was physically sick. After seeing the crazy tweets that I’d made, I was embarrassed on top of being sick. Thankfully, the messages were all jovial, but holy shit, Seth…hey! At least years from now, I can laugh about being too drunk to actually remember when I “met” Alyssa Mercante.
Fear be damned, I marched (more like wobbled) into a meeting that night. The first person I met was a lesbian who introduced me to about 20 other LGBTQ people. I was safe. Two days later, I went to a LGBT group meeting, and that’s where I got connected to my therapist. By the end of the week, I had everything I knew I needed: the meeting, the therapist, and my (new) gay friends. Taking into account how excruciatingly difficult it was to just try, yet eventually having the whale of necessity swallow my timid Jonah and spit me out at the door of the meeting, I kept looking back for Sam for the first two weeks. Why did what they say move me to actually try, when I’ve known I’ve needed these things for so long?
What Is Inspiration?
A Google search for “define inspiration” offers several answers, and all of them resonate with something along the lines of a sudden divine feeling of enthusiasm and encouragement that motivates a person to act on a creative or life changing endeavour. The word itself comes from the Latin inspirare, meaning “to breathe into.” Looking back upon the time I listened to the conversation, it struck me that Josephine, Dr. J, and Sam provided a very safe and encouraging space, which then allowed me to become honest with myself as a listener, which helped me to become open-minded and willing to take in all that was being said — which set the stage for Sam to say what they said, thus inspiring me to eventually end up at a meeting.
Fifty Days Later
Inspiration isn’t doing the work; however, it is fueling my ambition to do the work.
In 50 days, I’ve medically recovered from addiction.
In 50 days, I’ve begun to name the guilt, fear, and shame that I’ve carried with me for the past 40 years.
In 50 days, I’ve begun to develop a more routine daily life.
In 50 days, I’ve become more grateful.
In 50 days, I’ve become more aware of my personal boundaries.
In 50 days, I’ve become willing to take conscious chances where I normally wouldn’t.
In 50 days, I’ve created a clear view of what I need to do to change my situation.
In 50 days, I’ve made some fucking serious progress.
Why is Inspiration necessary?
Inspiration is often unpredictable and erratic in nature. It is often birthed as an offshoot of something we are already familiar with, and comes into our vision a humble being, equipped with that one thing — often a new, and possibly uncomfortable thing — that we’re missing, in order to complete the complex issues we are burdened with. In this vein of thought, inspiration, though spontaneous, becomes possible to cultivate through intentional actions, and not so much by waiting and watching for it to happen.
Conclusion
For a creator, inspiration is the sudden breath of life that helps them finish the painting, the story, or the song. For someone like me, who was isolated for so long, my missing piece was literally spoken in what inspired me: “find your people.” A normal person would most likely find this insubstantial. I, however, found a life-altering adjustment that was extremely uncomfortable, yet necessary for me to follow through. It was the completion of a painting I’d been trying to finish for many many years and was too exhausted to continue trying on my own.
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