Imitation is Suicide. Insist on yourself; never imitate. – Ralph Waldo Emerson
- Write down in which areas of your life you have to overcome these suicidal tendencies of imitation, and how you can transform them into a newborn you – one that doesn’t hide its uniqueness, but thrives on it. There is a “divine idea which each of us represents” – which is yours?
Wow ... it's been tough for me to separate out the two thoughts here - suicide & divine idea - I guess I'm just struggling to see 'suicide' in a metaphysical sense ... There are days - like most of last week. And yesterday before STG picked me up (literally and psychic-ly) for the night. And on a hundred other cloudy days scuttling across the calendered skies of my past - when it simply is not okay to be me. That said, most of those days I'm also not interested in being someone else. Which leaves only the rather emo-kid answer of just disappearing. Which is also not an option. Most of those days I just keep on knowing they are fleeting.
It's apt that the first prompt I saved was one on suicide. It's a topic I've long pledged to speak openly about. And as often chickened-out on. This week there's a big gala event here in my town - a charity fundraiser with two aims: to support increased mental health services in the area and to help erase the stigma around mental health. Good looking former hockey players and their famous friends, and people from across the community spectrum pulling out their wallets in support. I said I'd be part of it. That I'd be interviewed. That I'd tell my story. And then I chickened out.
If I wasn't afraid to be me - if I didn't have the suicidal tendency of choking on my words and stories and experiences - maybe I'd be down shaking hands with famous people and sharing my story and making a difference for other people in our community.
And that's what really gets me ... I've long believed that the 'divine idea' that represents me is to support people in using language powerfully to tell their stories. And yet, even though I feel I have a way with words, I stop when it comes to sharing my story.
It's apt that the first prompt I saved was one on suicide. It's a topic I've long pledged to speak openly about. And as often chickened-out on. This week there's a big gala event here in my town - a charity fundraiser with two aims: to support increased mental health services in the area and to help erase the stigma around mental health. Good looking former hockey players and their famous friends, and people from across the community spectrum pulling out their wallets in support. I said I'd be part of it. That I'd be interviewed. That I'd tell my story. And then I chickened out.
If I wasn't afraid to be me - if I didn't have the suicidal tendency of choking on my words and stories and experiences - maybe I'd be down shaking hands with famous people and sharing my story and making a difference for other people in our community.
And that's what really gets me ... I've long believed that the 'divine idea' that represents me is to support people in using language powerfully to tell their stories. And yet, even though I feel I have a way with words, I stop when it comes to sharing my story.
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