The Nebuchadnezzar magazine

In the winter of 2016, I stumbled upon the audiobook, “Unleash The Power 2,” by Tony Robbins at my neighborhood library. I had just moved to Milwaukee, Wisconsin for work and school when my mother was diagnosed with Stage IV ovarian cancer. My friends were an hour away, and I’d been dumped by my long-distance girlfriend.

So, I felt like a mess.

Like most twenty-somethings, I was at a crossroads. I found that binging on self-help CDs helped me find a certain solace. The meditation they induced postponed my indecision in life. I listened to the CDs in my car, on my way to work, in the garage, and during errands. I listened to educators of the prolific variety: Stephen Covey, Dale Carnegie, David Brooks, and Ronda Byrne.

I’d heard of Robbins through Susan Caine’s book, “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking.” Trusting Caine’s taste I picked “Unleash the Power 2” with an optimistic disdain that can only be characterized by a teetering nihilist. Yes, I was skeptical of Tony Robbins. I didn’t want to be preached to. I’d already done enough of that in my prior life as a zealous Jehovah’s Witness.

But something stuck.

I stared at the cover of the audio-book. Robbin’s had a gregarious grin. I envisioned his charisma, as Caine noted. This made me even more weary. I dismissed it as disingenuous, and put it back on the shelf. Something brought me back But I kept an open mind: accepting free, subjective advice, and checked it out.

The audio-book was the second in an installment, with twenty CDs and a lavish 90’s cover. Completing it would be a challenge, but I decided to stuck to my guns…

As I placed CD one of twenty, into my car’s player, I cringed. The music was awfully reminiscent of Brian Eno’s endeavors in the eighties. And Robbins’ initial demeanor reminded me of a salesman. Drat. The dreaded solicitor.

In my earlier exploits, I listened to dating guru Ross Jeffries with a sense of awe. I enforced his methods in my travels. I “stupefied” beautiful women with charm. But after several heartbreaks, I recognized that his tactics on Nero-linguistic programming  were manipulative, and incurred more harm than good.

So back to my faith I went. Only to leave, yet again and be shunned.

Born in a strict non-denominational-apocalyptic-Christian household (that’s the best way I can describe it) , I was accustomed to greeting people in passing. My move to a new city, was difficult. Without friends I felt a cold isolation through the virtual window of social media. But most of all, I felt like a fraud, because I covered my abysmal depression, with a smile. I never broke character. My colleagues know me as a fun-loving guy, and I sustained this false image for a time, but all I wanted to do was to be by myself. The discord between my outward disposition, and my internal one brought me to a point where I’d sit on my bed in a nostalgic stupor.

Looking back, one reason for my troubles was my inability to accept change. I would cling to the past, without heeding any call to my future. Essentially, I wore lead shoes, and wondered why I fell.

My answer to these “adverse” changes was to lock myself away in the most compartmentalized space I knew: my Nest. (As an avid bird enthusiast mind you, I took much time in procuring it.)

My Toyota Corolla served two purposes. Obviously, one was transport. The other was compartmentalizing my stressors and emotions into one space I called the Nest.

The Nest was my lazy, slovenly sphere where I went to ruminate. It was my sanctuary from the outside world where I could read, and write with the heater blasting, as my Iphone played CCR, Gnarls Barkley. Here, I played my CDs amidst trash stuffed cup holders, gum wrappers, empty McDonald’s paper bags, extension chords, and dirty clothes. The backseat was a piteous expanse.

Because this state was embarrassing, I cleaned it on occasion. But when I lost motivation, the Nest came back with a vengeance.

And so went the rebellious cycle. I enacted my own advice half-assedly, of course.

The sad bit was that I felt like my armor was replete. Tucked away from the outside world, I felt a sense of solace in being by myself. I didn’t have to face any insults, or any false friendships. Here, I could subdue my anger with Enya. (Yes, I’ve sustained my boyhood crush.)

But Enya, regardless of her New Age Enchantment couldn’t solve what I lacked. The shear discomfort of my environment began to take a toll. It wasn’t long before I realized I was my only companion. It was then, that I began to face a hard, crude fact.

I became comfortable listening to a one-sided conversation. Because I resigned myself to being both the encoder and decoder of a lecture. I slowly lost my ability to sustain meaningful chitchat with real people. Avoiding them, blunted my charisma. My usual skill of reportage waned, and I stuttered when I spoke. I felt the calamitous pang of small-talk. Because I avoided what scared, or angered me I couldn’t progress. So back to the Nest I went. This cycle continued until December 10, 2016 when I resolved that the Nest was not my friend.

Until this point nobody knew this inner turmoil. I acted courageous in front of coworkers, and in front of acquaintances. I liked making people laugh, and that helped ease my social discomfort for a bit. Why? Because I would avoid the issue at hand. After the laughs, I retreated because I could not accept this intricate part of myself.

I’m awkward.

As a self-professed social heathen it took a while to admit this. It was difficult, because the label of weird is synonymous with craziness, thus indicative of mental illness. And as my fellow heathens can attest, depression is a topic not readily discussed in society. We put it on the back burner, because it makes the bourgeoisie uncomfortable. But as I failed to address the issue, it grew, and grew…

Why am I socially awkward, you ask? Because I suppress it. I didn’t want to accept that I was in the midst of conflict, in the throes of change–and because I tried to be everything but myself I lost myself. Truthfully, I may have done this to gain “friends.”

What’s funny about that is these so-called friends I procured, became aloof. As soon as I presented my true self, they dispersed. Beware of the Crazy African. He’s cuckoo, as well as foreign.

I don’t attribute it to any one cause. Pinpointing my upbringing is cliche, but when you’re born in a cult everything is fair game. As part of said cult, practitioners conformed to be accepted. We withheld our inclinations of expressions (notably anger, and bravado) to stay in. And because, we knew no one else outside of said cult, our friendships were conditional.

Let’s just say a cerebral cocktail of antidepressants, and alcohol didn’t help as a coping mechanism. Neither did slumping around in my Nest, or ignoring my alarm clock on my days off.

The true reason, and this is the one I couldn’t come to terms with, was because I kept my Nest…

From my meager twenty-three years of experience, I have found taking pleasure in personal suffering is a “sin” onto the self. It’s not like we try to enjoy it, but milling around after the stupor of our the emotion compounds it. Strengthens it.

(I’m going to get a lot of backlash from this statement, so let me explain it better. Hopefully it riles you up. No apologies)

Ok, I get it. You love the fast food, taking solace in the woe of self-deprecation, and flotsam of despair. This is a familiar space for us, and the real world kind of freaks us out. We say yes to our own flogging, and chastise ourselves for past events we cannot change.

In short we fail to observe the brightness of the future, because we allow past events to shroud our light. So, we quite literally roost in the dark.

It really took a paradigm shift for me to begin seeing my sense of self-loathing. I know I needed to impart kinetic energy into my new ideals, and values so that they could become a reality.

So I began to write down the things I would change for this upcoming New Year. I would activate four facets for myself: my spirituality, my physical well-being, my mental well-being, and my social well-being. I’m keeping them simple:

1.) Read. at least one chapter a day. (If unable: watch a film)

2.) Write a page a day.(Hence this blog)

3.) Socialize in a group setting without alcohol (I started comedy college. Yay)

4.) Run 3 miles a week. (I’ve also started boxing)

Starting early helped to prime myself for the New Year. The conditioning is brutal. Granted, I can’t profess that Robbins’ approach is a one size fits all. There are elements that are grueling, even inconvenient but practicing some of it helps somewhat.

Anyways that’s my schpeel. I wish you peace, Wonderful People.

-Eric

The Traveling African