Story #014
You’re Not Lost, Just Waiting to Be Brave
Max J Miller
You Don’t Lack Purpose—You’re Just Waiting to Be Brave
For several months after I retired from ghostwriting, I found myself “floating in the river” again. That metaphor featured in my early ‘midlife crisis’ when, at the peak of my entertainment career, I felt adrift, without purpose. (See editions [011] and [012] for that story.)
And once again, U2 played in the back of my brain: “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”
I thought I was drifting again, like I had in midlife. But this time, the river carried a different lesson—one about courage, not direction.
Immediately, I reached for my journal to explore my thoughts and feelings through writing. As I began to write about what I was experiencing, something didn’t add up.
I realized that I had a clear sense of purpose. I was developing a curriculum to help groups of people share their life experiences in memoirs, talks, and social media. And I was excited about this project. By working with groups, I hoped to refine my storytelling insights and eventually share them with a larger audience through books and public speaking.
So why did I feel that old sensation of floating again? Why wasn’t I moving forward with my usual vigor?
Sometimes when I’m stumped or drawing a blank in my writing, I read. Such reading consists of four categories of material:
1. Books and articles related (or not) to what I’m exploring
2. Quotes and highlights (I have an extensive, cross-referenced quote database)
3. My journals and writings
4. Random ideas that serendipitously appear in the paper, social media, conversations, and other sources.
It’s often a combination of these that illuminates the path for my exploration.
This time, several quotes combined to crack open my thinking about what I was going through:
“People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances with our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.”
–Joseph Campbell
“Sometimes the single greatest act of defiance is shining your light no matter what the world tells you.”
– Jewel (the singer while performing as Queen of Hearts on The Masked Singer)
“The meaning I picked, the one that changed my life: Overcome fear, behold wonder.”
– Aeschylus
There it is! My heart was stirring me up. “You don’t lack purpose,” it assured me, “You need only to exercise courage.”
And then, just to drive the message home, I found this quote on the bookmark in my bible:
“We have come into this exquisite world to experience ever and ever more deeply our divine courage, freedom and light!”
–Hafez
Again and again, life invites me to be courageous in the face of fear and faithful in the presence of doubt.
The Shirt That Set Me Free
One morning, as a fashion-forward second grader, I emerged from my bedroom wearing a paisley shirt, plaid pants, and a confident grin. My mom took one look at me and gasped.
You can’t go to school dressed like that!”
“Why not?”
“The kids will tease you.”
“They already do. So what difference does it make how I dress?”
This morning drama played out like a sitcom routine.
Long before they invented Giranimals to help kids conform to stylistic norms, I loved paisleys, plaids, polka dots, and stripes (especially in daring combinations).
And I grew accustomed to unflattering remarks, strange looks, and teasing even from a few teachers. But Mrs. Ruzich, my 1st and 2nd-grade teacher, always told me I was “snazzy” and “colorful.” These may have been euphemisms, but I never felt any judgment or shame from her.
One time when my grandparents were visiting, I noticed Grandpa wore Madras shorts and a patterned shirt.
Now, I had new material for my wardrobe debates with Mom: “Grandpa dresses like me!”
“Your grandfather can get away with it because he’s old and doesn’t care what people think of him.”
Despite my defiance, I knew she was right. I did care what others thought of me, and it hurt when they ridiculed my style (despite my impeccable taste).
Somewhere along the way, maybe in high school, I learned to blend in. And for a long time, I forgot the joy of being seen. I rarely even wore bold colors. I never mixed patterns. I blended in.
We had a 50th anniversary party for my grandparents with a Hawaiian theme. Grandpa wore a gaudy Hawaiian shirt and a grass skirt!
I remembered what my mother had said about Grandpa not caring what others thought of him.
I wondered, “How old will I have to be to stop caring what others think of me?”
Shortly before my 50th birthday, I saw a Hawaiian shirt in a thrift shop. This was a few years before Hawaiian shirts were fashionable. The shirt was bright red — the epitome of kitsch. I had to have it.
I made a point of wearing it regularly as a declaration of my fearless self-expression.
Occasionally, it drew comments. I got a few odd looks. If I wore it while shopping at Trader Joe’s, people would ask me, “Where do you keep the mustard?”
At first, I feared people would think I was trying too hard to stand out. But in time, I realized the real rebellion wasn’t against fashion norms—it was against the fear of being seen as too much.
These days, I wear my loud shirts as a quiet revolution. A flag of freedom. A way of saying to the world (and to my younger self), “You’re allowed to be joyful, bold, and wholly yourself.”
And if someone mistakes that for ego? That’s okay. Maybe it makes them smile.
As Rumi wrote, “Your task is not to seek for love but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”
Hawaiian shirts helped me find a few of mine.
Anything Worth Doing…
…Is worth doing well.
Let’s be honest: this one sounds noble. It stands up straight. It makes you feel just a little guilty every time you think about doing something badly, even for the first time.
But let’s pause the motivational music and ask: Who says we have to do it well the first time—or ever?
Here’s the thing: if something is truly worth doing, it’s worth doing poorly at first. Maybe awkwardly. Maybe while sweating and questioning all your life choices. But still: worth doing.
Jim Rohn asks, “How long should you give your child to walk before you cut him off?
If this idea prevailed, we’d all be crawling to meetings.
No one becomes a wise elder, skilled painter, or great friend by waiting until they’re “ready.” Mastery is the child of motion, not hesitation. If perfection is the standard, nothing meaningful ever gets started.
Want to write a memoir? Write a bad first paragraph.
Want to reconnect with someone? Say the wrong thing… kindly.
Want to learn guitar at 73? Start with a G chord that sounds like a foghorn in a thunderstorm.
Do it badly. Then do it again.
This is how we become who we’re meant to be—not by skipping failure, but by passing through it with heart.
“Anything worth doing is worth doing well?”
That’s an idea worth shredding.
Cheers,
P.S. Quick survey: What is your highest hope for your Third Act? (Hit ‘reply’ and let me know.)
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