Dazed and Confused
Wherein your flailing author dives headfirst into transformation
After breaking up with Q in the fall of 2014 and having M, (ostensibly my “soul mate”) also dump me after a long weekend of incredibly intimate connection, I was in pretty low spirits, to say the least. “Why did the Universe hate me so much?” I wondered. “What did I do to deserve all this sadness and loneliness? Why aren’t I worthy of a relationship? Why won’t anybody love me? Why was everything so fucking HARD? I was nice to people and treated them well. I was honest. What was I doing WRONG?” I honestly could not see the problem. Yet, I knew something had to change.
The grief from the breakup from Q and losing M – AGAIN – was truly overwhelming. I think I was actually in shock for about a week. I truly DID NOT KNOW what happened. It felt like whiplash. The nine months with her was the longest relationship I’d had since my divorce. No, scratch that. Other than my marriage, it was the longest relationship I’d ever had. And it was over, just like that.
Q was no help. She was inconsolable. I went to her place to talk through things and the visit ran the gamut from a passionate make-out session to fighting. Later, we had a lunch to try to discuss things and, while I don’t remember the specifics, I felt as though I was being gaslit and I seriously questioned her mental health (maybe I was just projecting?). She vacillated between angry and lucid. Meanwhile M, the original love of my life, was unreachable – a ghost – her typical M.O.
Me posing with the BigTen mascots after photographing them | July 2015
Over the years following the divorce in 2009, I worked with several practitioners in an effort to “fix” myself. An amazing woman named Maxine was recommended by some dear friends. I call her a therapist/coach/psychic. She was my first exposure to somebody who channels intelligence from another dimension as well as the first “coach” I engaged. After so many years of therapy, where it felt as though I did at least 90% of the talking, it was refreshing to have somebody simply advise me what to do. On the channeling front, she told me that we would win the appeal on the foreclosure. We did. Chalk up one for the psychic!
In 2012, I had engaged in some coaching sessions with Melissa Ford, a coach in Oak Park. Here again, it was stimulating to work with a person outside of the traditional therapeutic model. She gave me assignments and then we would discuss what came up when I failed to complete them (ok, not ALL of them!). And yet, there remained so much internal resistance to doing what I knew – in some recess of my gray matter – I needed to do. I was working with her on a one-off basis, paying her hourly for her time. I made some progress. I really wanted to eliminate my tax debt. She proposed that we engage on that project over a longer term. Her fee was seemingly out of reach. I demurred. I was also angry that I needed to pay somebody money to help me figure out how to pay somebody money.
In March of 2015, still very depressed over my dual break-up and continued general lack of motivation in life, I decided to attend Survivors II at The Meadows, in Wickenburg, Arizona. Survivors I had been so transformational, I hoped lightning might strike twice. Once again, I found the money for this endeavor somewhere (living in a foreclosed home that was tied up in litigation was helpful). Survivors is an experiential therapeutic process. It is founded in the 12-step tradition. Part of the workshop is that you have to do what is essentially a “presentation” to your group of 5-6 people on your trauma. I was one of the first to present. I was nervous, yet not nearly to the degree I was during a similar experience in Survivors I. After I finished and sat down, I was borderline elated. I felt good, really good! I felt a spark, a warmth in my heartspace. This was an unfamiliar feeling. However, as I looked around the room at the nervous, pinched faces of all that had yet to present to the group, I suddenly became sad again. I felt as though I was sucked into a vortex of stress. “Who was I to be happy?” I thought, vaguely. “I’m not allowed to be happy if these people aren’t happy.” I now know this was distorted thinking caused by my overly active empathetic response and my childhood conditioning. In hindsight, it was a pivotal moment. I left feeling pretty good – not elated as after Survivors I – yet better than when I arrived.
The author and two friends from The Meadows on a desert stroll. | March 5, 2015
The bump was short-lived. I began seeing a local therapist trained in The Meadows’ way of working. I did not care for her at all and felt the sessions were a waste of time and money (mine!). Around that time, Melissa referred me to Alex Mill, a coach who had recently emerged from 14 years in a Zen Buddhist monastery. We had a couple sessions where he attempted to break me out of my thinking. One of the things I will always remember is how he explained that one of the problems with traditional psychotherapy is that it seeks to correct “problems” one is currently experiencing by bringing up and examining things that happened in the past. In this way, a person is constantly dredging up disturbing things from earlier in life and re-experiencing them in an effort to “fix” what one thinks is wrong with them. This resonated.
In early July, Steve asked me to help shoot a Cubs game for him. It was against the Cardinals and he needed some additional coverage, especially for the first part of the game. When I stepped into the left field photo bay, there was a really, really cute female photographer there. Our eyes locked and something transpired. I was transfixed, to say the least. It was on. Let’s call her “P”. She was visiting and covering the game for a special project. P asked for help showing her around the field. After explaining that I was probably the least qualified person, I gladly played tour guide. I made sure Steve included me in lunch after the game. P and I arranged to have lunch again two days later. We ate outside at Wishbone on Washington and shared stories for several hours. There was a real connection. When I dropped her off at her hotel, we made out passionately in the car. A day or two later I was at a swim meet with my daughter and she texted me, asking if I wanted to come to her hotel room that night. I was elated. I also had my daughters that weekend. In keeping with my rule of not pawning them off on a sitter, (and after wildly trying to come up with a legitimate way around it!) I told P I would not be able to come over. After a brief text exchange she left town and ghosted me. Once again, I was dazed, distraught and confused. I will say that I am thankful that I held to my rule, as I truly believe that had things progressed to sex with P, I would have been in the same position only even more distraught.
Clay Cook of Zac Brown Band throws out the first pitch at Wrigley Field. | July 7, 2015
Also, keep in mind that since about 2001, I had been estranged from my parents on and off. My mother was very very difficult to deal with. This was likely owing to her abuse of both alcohol and benzos. And caffeine. And sugar. And spending money. There were brief periods of reconciliation. I attempted to have lunch with my mom sometime after my return from Survivors. It didn’t go particularly well. I really don’t know what ailed her. She was deeply depressed and seemed to “suck the joy and happiness” out of everybody around her. I think she wanted some of what I had experienced, yet she didn’t know where to start. It was, sadly, easier to just not talk to her or be around her. She had worked with the same therapist for years with seemingly nothing to show for it. I always (half-) joked that either she lied through her teeth to the therapist or the therapist was incompetent. Perhaps it was some of both. While I was always open and forthcoming with my daughters about the situation with my parents, I really did not like keeping them away from their grandparents. Not to mention the fact that, deep down, I really would have liked to have a relationship with my parents. It just seemed completely untenable.
At some point in the prior few years I stumbled across information on Vipassana meditation retreats. Vipassana means “insight”. This is a 10 day retreat where you engage in complete silence and non-communication for ten days. No reading, no writing, no computer, no phone, no talking, no eye contact, nothing. Eat, sleep, walk, meditate. You are as a monk. I was first introduced to meditation at Survivors I in 2009. I was intrigued and attempted, on and off, to establish a practice. My efforts were mostly half-hearted. Sitting for even five minutes in silence was excruciating! I’m not sure how I thought I was doing to go for eight hours a day for ten days. During a meeting with Maxine, I told her I wanted to do a Vipassana retreat. She was, once again, refreshingly direct. “You can do that. It won’t fix you.” Hmmmmmm…. In lieu of my planned ten day plunge into silence she suggested I register for the Landmark Forum. The Forum is a three day intensive, transformational retreat that grew out of “EST” – Erhard Seminars Training, founded by Werner Erhard in 1971. As it happens, I had recently heard about it from another friend from the neighborhood. I registered.
One of my goals as a photographer was to do ad agency work. One of the things about the Forum is that in simply signing up, things in your life tend to transform. Sure enough, within a couple weeks of registering I ran into an old friend from the West Loop who was a creative director at an agency in town. We struck a deal for a two day shoot for Kalahari Resorts in the Poconos! It wasn’t a massive budget, however it was AGENCY WORK! The holy grail, right?
I attended the Forum the same weekend as Lollapalooza in Chicago. I was damn near flat broke, so to save money on parking, I gratefully parked at my friend Lewis’ condo about two miles away. Each night I walked back to the car through the throngs of Lolla-goers. It was quite a scene, especially after emerging from 11 hours of lectures, sharing and deep personal work.
Johnny “posing” nearly weightless on a waterslide at Kalahari as I hung to my camera for dear life. | August 2015
The Forum was utterly transformational in a way that nothing to date had been. It really forced me to look at my shit (and life) in a completely new way. It began nudging me in the direction of possibility and empowerment. The entire course is lead by a single Forum Leader for the duration. 11-12 hours a day, Jeff Willmore was on stage, speaking, coaching, cajoling and debating with all 150 of us. That alone was inspiring. I was the very first person to get up in front of the group to share my tale of woe. I figured, “What the fuck? In for a penny, in for a pound.” I shared about my tax problem (covered here). I thought it was my father’s fault. No, not really. Jeff forced me to really look at it. Among other things, it turns out it was primarily my way of getting back at Amy. If I wasn’t making any money, how could I give any to her? See, I still remembered the day, after we began making solid bank at the photo lab, when I was frustrated with arguing about spending money with Amy. So, I basically threw in the towel and quit arguing and began spending, thinking I could essentially buy her happiness (or at least her silence). Since I generally go all in, after the divorce and crash, I made sure I was making the bare amount of money to live. Hell, if I couldn’t pay my taxes, there certainly wasn’t anything left for her!
I emerged from the Forum a changed human. I had declared the possibility that I could be creative AND successful – two traits that always seemed to me to be at odds with each other, except in rare circumstances. As a result, my photography improved overnight. I kid you not. Even I saw it. I began following up with clients. I increased my rates. I went in to jobs with a new attitude. I also realized that I really needed to dig in deep with Melissa Ford, the coach with whom I’d had several engagements over the years. When she told me the program and what it would cost (two and half times the amount she wanted to assist me in paying my taxes) I was shocked and disheartened. I told her I would figure out how to pay monthly. No, the payment is due up front. I was in or I was out. Drawing on my Landmark experience, I opened to the possibility of finding the money. I ended up asking my Uncle Steve for the dough. And, he willingly (with a tinge of reluctance, as I think he thought I was a little nuts), lent it to me. I was off to the races. Or so I thought….
