Finally Found

For the past 30 years or so I have felt a little lost inside myself.

Not lost in the way that makes the news. Not dramatically, visibly lost. Just quietly floating above my own life. Watching it happen. Disconnected from the people around me, from the activities I loved, from the world itself. Like a spectator in my own story.

I didn’t feel like an adult capable of real responsibility. I couldn’t define who or what I really was. I would start projects that gave me bursts of energy — a book, a YouTube channel, a creative idea — and then put them down when the depression crept back in. And it always crept back in. Not consistently. Not dramatically. Just enough to steal the momentum. Just enough to make the shelf seem easier than the work.

In the past I always started projects hoping they would generate income. And when the money didn’t come in the first month the depression would whisper — nobody cares, you don’t matter, stop. And I would stop. Every time.

Some days I felt like a lead weight. Unable to move. Sitting there while time passed me by.

The hardest part wasn’t the depression or the medical conditions or the weight or the fatigue. The hardest part was not knowing who “myself” was. You can’t be yourself when you don’t know who that person is.

I am an overweight male with a collection of medical conditions — physical and mental — that affect me differently depending on the day. Sometimes the hour. Some of these conditions will never go away. They are part of me. Part of who I am. Others I have more control over. I just have to choose to take that control.

That is sometimes easier said than done.

But something changed about a week ago.

I found myself in a situation that made my brain turn on in a different way. Something clicked. Something shifted. And I realized — I don’t need to dance for the people around me. I need to dance for myself. If nobody wants to watch, so be it. I needed to live for me.

Not in a selfish way. Other people matter enormously to me. And for 30 years I have been stuck in neutral. Not moving forward. Not moving back. Just watching time pass while the world moved around me.

This time is different. I am not doing this for the likes, the money, or the fame. I am doing this for me because it is something I truly enjoy. I don’t care if I make money from this or if I even get a like. Writing has made me feel better than I have in years. To be exact — since I stopped writing my book.

Last week I picked up the pen again. I picked up the camera. I started finishing a book that sat in a folder for two years. I found a voice I didn’t know I still had. And people responded — not because I performed for them, but because I finally stopped performing and just told the truth.

I don’t know exactly who I am yet. The finding is still happening. But for the first time in a long time I feel like I am actually in my own body. Present. Alive. Moving forward.

Finally found.

And the journey is just beginning.