My most defining work, the culmination of decades spent chasing dreams and making memories, was born from pain. An autobiography disguised as a novel, filled with characters whose real names are written on my heart.
All my life I’ve been on the run. Not from anything, but towards something I’m always within a breath of catching up to.
I’ve chased victory in wars that were never meant to be won. I’ve ran towards death while fighting for my life. I came home from one conflict just to enlist in another. I’ve pursued defendants to the ends of the Earth when they skip court and disappear without a trace.
These days, I find myself chasing whiskey with whiskey as I dive deeper down a rabbit hole that offers only darkness at the bottom. Living out of hotel rooms, meeting my next best friend who won’t remember me in the morning and making life plans on dive bar napkins.
A life lived on the road blurs from one city to the next, until you start to see the same old faces looking back at you from across a crowded room. The thrill of the chase and the high it gives you when you finally catch your prey, is fleeting. It isn’t a replacement for true happiness.
So, I always take time to enjoy the little things, there’s nothing bigger.
That’s the lesson most people don’t learn until they’re too old to apply it. Chasing cheap thrills and a quick fix of dopamine will rob you of the lasting satisfaction that comes from pursuing more meaningful passions. It will steal your attention, then rob you of your time.
Those people you’re following on social media, the politicians you defend in the comments, the pretty face you’re chasing at the bar…It doesn’t mean that much to them that they mean that much to you.
Most of the people you know are all travelling down parallel paths toward the same destination. They might be starting from a different place, reading a different map. But roads, like rules, only lead to familiar places. There is nothing new to be discovered there, no adventure that awaits in what’s already been charted.
I got bored with being in the middle of the road, so I dove for the ditches and crawled through the gutters. I walked the back alleys and explored the places you won’t find on a brochure. There I found the most genuine and interesting people I’d ever come across. Like flowers blooming through concrete. We met as equals. More than tourists, less than locals.
I’ve met more artists and poets in smoke-filled bars than I have in galleries or workshops.
The best writers are addicts, prisoners and veterans. Which are all synonyms, really. Those who have suffered greatly feel greatly. They paint with a fuller palette of emotional depth. The colors of which are only found by enduring the breadth and width of the human experience. Every shade of sorrow, every hue of happiness.
The answers you’re looking for aren’t out there. It’s you. You are the biggest secret you keep from yourself. Start chasing the darkness and find out who’s hiding in the shadows. Only by integrating what you’ve been avoiding will you become whole. Because the great paradox is that by hiding from your darker nature, you will be consumed by it.
Death is inevitable, it’s time that is never guaranteed. Make sure you’re chasing things that will be worth the effort when your time’s up.
"Chasing whisky with whisky," I knew this would be a good one as soon as I started reading, great article, Danny. Found you through FB.
That was beautifully written, Danny. I kept wanting to highlight lines like on Medium. So, I guess I’ll just restack the whole thing. :) I wrote a piece a while back about how pain can create depth in your writing. It’s called Walking on Broken Glass. I think that what you say about not hiding from your shadow self is so true. I really enjoyed this and I know I’ll be thinking about what you said for a long while.