A few days ago, I found myself having a conversation with an old friend about my childhood. It started as a conversation about Finn, but somehow it turned into being about me (which is usually one of my least favorite topics).
During the course of the conversation my friend mentioned that I always seem to be pretty hard on myself, and asked me why. More specifically, she asked me what about myself I found so scary or disturbing.
I tried to duck the question, but eventually I gave in. I admitted fearing that I am at, heart, a lazy, unproductive, and pretty worthless dude (don’t worry, I am getting somewhere with this).
She pressed further and asked why I feared that. I really didn’t want to tell her the answer, but finally I admitted the truth. I fear those things because that is who I was as a teenager.
But then my friend reminded me of something else about my teenaged years. I was really, really depressed. And depression kills motivation. Which can lead to depressed people seeming – and feeling – lazy, unproductive, and generally worthless.
As hokey as it might sound, that realization made me feel unburdened in a way that I cannot remember experiencing. Maybe, just maybe, those characteristics are not innate in me. Maybe, just maybe, they were a symptom of a time, place, and circumstance that I long ago escaped. Maybe, just maybe, I can leave those fears in the past.
This little realization has left me feeling the kind of optimism that I have only rarely before experienced. I felt this way the first time that someone I truly cared about told me she loved me. I felt this way when Tina first kissed me 14 years ago. I felt this way when my cheek stopped spasming long enough for me to say “I do” at our wedding. And I felt this way when the doctor told us that we had given birth to a healthy little boy.
But as great as those occasions were, this one feels more sustainable. Because this one is about no one but me, and it depends on no one but me. It’s truly internal. It’s as if I found out that what I fear most in life is simply a mirage.
I am not trying to sell this as some Oprah moment, and I certainly realize that this whole post may be of interest to exactly one person in the world, but that’s okay. And even though this post isn’t directly about Finn, in many ways he is at the center of this. Because I really think that the best gift I can give him is having a father who is capable, loving, present, and optimistic. For once, I actually feel like that guy.
It’s a great feeling. In fact, my smile might be as big as Finn’s right now.
