What Other Myth Could I Live

Writer, Businessman, Poet, Lover, Man,
All that I ever was all along,
All that I feared I would never be
Funny how I ever thought I wouldn’t become me
Funny how the wild things, once teeming with wild dreams,
Now whisper their secrets to me –
What other myth could I live.


In my darkest days I slept till three.

What more need I say; I was very depressed.

Today, when I think about that period in my life, I recall Rollo May’s description of depression as: ” …the inability to see or construct a future.”

And I couldn’t. I couldn’t let. go. I couldn’t see myself outside of my first two loves; as Drake sings on Views: If I ever loved ya, I’ll always love ya. And that was terribly toxic for me, because I didn’t love myself. So, I spent a lot of time feeling essentially incomplete: as if I had failed to live up to my dreams, and all that was left was the past, which I ached for.

Thankfuck, time truly does heal all.

I just didn’t know it would take so many years, but it did; however, it wasn’t the past that healed: it was me. It was me letting the false parts of me suffer until I shed them, and it was gaining the crystal clear picture of my identity I have today.

And it took so many years for me to get here, because I had so much unpacking to do; I had so much grief to face. But in that grief, I fell into life and I found that I could be there for myself: even in my darkest hour in the smallest ways. And in learning to be there for myself, I got to discover who I was.

And the funny part is, that beneath all the fear of not becoming who I wanted to be, there was a person who just wanted to peacefully coexist with his dreams. That’s all. No trouble. No drama; I just wanted to make awesome things happen, but I was full of excuses to keep suffering instead.

I can finally see that, now that I am no longer living in the unconscious grip of the myth that things had been unfortunate for me. Today, I no longer feel sorry for myself. And now that I no longer pity myself, I no longer have to live with the pain of what felt like irreconcilable burden of sorrow.

It was my personal hell – my world of mirrors and fears – but I just didn’t know any better growing up. And I say growing up, because I was growing up the past few years, and in particular the past twelve months. Today, I’m still growing, but life has come full circle. I’m whole and growing. I’m upgraded; on a new level. The heroes journey has led me to the wilderness and back.

Today I know what lays within me may also lay before me, and I know who I am can never be taken away from me.

For not even the past is irreconcilable. After all, it is only in reconciling with future and past that we may find peace in our present lives. This is the power of personal mythology. When you change the way you see things, you change, you begin to grow. And when you take command of your story, it really begins.

So, I go: onward. And I’m excited about life, as I have never been, because in the sometimes apropos words of Kanye West: “My life is dope and I do dope shit.”

What other myth than that would you want to live. What other myth could you live than your own.

This is your life, so work with what you’ve got and control what you may, but give your all.

Be brave.

Believe in yourself.

Trust that life will get out of the way and allow your will to be done.

These are only a few of my truths, but they’re all I need. They’re all I need.

A Minor Breakup Poem, Magical Optimism, and The Toxicity of Self-Pity

Thought she was my priestess,
But she was a chimera

Her head in my lap,
Eyes on fire,
Masking the truth behind black mascara and desire

Looking up to me always,
Only to let me down again
And in our tempests, I tried my best to swim

But joy perished,
And I returned to the depths within,
Where I discovered our island was an iceberg

And she didn’t have the depth to see,
How her selfishness was slowly sinking me
But now I found bravery to sail back out to sea

And so I go on, once again happy and alone
To pick up the pieces and build a home she’ll never know

And that’s okay with me

I only wish I could have seen it was a dream

But I woke up and remembered,
How no soul can exercise the ghosts within me

So I look to the horizon, past the storms that made me


Onward

This is something I learned through writer Elizabeth Gilbert: the power of onward – of moving ahead – past my own bullshit and beyond my own ignorance via the difficult and highly valuable lessons life has blessed me with. This, of course, is much easier for me to do at thirty, having aligned my perception more closely with the truths of reality, or, rather, having spent my twenties suffering enough at the hands of my own indiscriminate idealism, until I finally started to learn that not everyone deserves to share in what I can only describe as my gift for magical optimism.

And this is something I am still learning. Because I have wasted a lot of my magical optimism on others.

This is, I admit, a difficult concept to describe – as I am only coming to see this in full now – but I am discovering, in hindsight, that I have invested a lot of this magical optimism into relationships, where I put my brightest energies only to have them burn up into a vapor, a misty fog of memories. These are not regrets I am airing out, only lessons. Because moving onward, I have dreams, I have desires in my heart, things I want to build and become. And like all human beings, I have recreated my fate time and time again in different relationships, different people, holding onto the same fallacy laden hopes, destined to repeat the errors of my ways until I have seen them.

But now I am seeing. And it is in this light that I genuinely am not regretful about the trials fate has engendered through me. Of course, as I get older there are tinges of sorrow in moments, things like realizing young love is a memory, but I am wise enough at this age to choose my perspective and remain grateful I’m still relatively young.

I also remind myself that I am a better man now than I was then. And, having finally seen the foolishness of letting my stock rise and fall with relationships, I know today that I am okay, and, with that fickle security blanket called modern love once again gone, I am returning to my magical optimism, never to forget it again.

This is important because the hard truth of reality is that modern love can and often does come and go; however, you should never lose the best parts of yourself with it – even if briefly.

I will personally admit that it is easy to fall back into my own depths in the tail end and wake of a relationship. But a person must, as I am, move onward. Hence the power of the written word: to draw maps on the uncharted territory called the future. And this is what I am doing: I am designing my life, I am writing my Wikipedia page, one aware, intention filled moment at a time. Because I believe I deserve better now than I did then.

Because then – looking back across the sea of time to the shores of my twenties – I see now how I spent long spells of time completely unaware, entirely blind to all that I was or could be. In a word: I wasted a lot of my life in self-pity.

And nothing kills dreams and robs life of it’s magic more than that which we call self-pity. Nothing. Failure is a mere thorn compared to the piercing arrows we sling at ourselves in self-pity.

Self-pity will eat away at your soul, and no amount of soaking in the acid of your own sorrow can heal your wounds. They will only demand greater, more destructive palliatives to ease the pain of feeling bad. And like Ed Ricketts said, For a very long time I didn’t like myself.

My own self-loathing was almost entirely the result of the self-pity I held onto (Coupled with a lack of self-compassion [Footnote 1] and a lack of understanding that what others do is not about you – something I will touch on again).

And as is the case with all time spent in negative feeling, self-pity is a total waste of life.

Self-pity is the default answer for those whose low self-image and lack of confidence compel them to make a martyr of themselves so that they may feel that they are the hero of their own suffering. But I’m such a good person, why me!! – or whatever version of the “I didn’t do anything to deserve this” story they choose to tell themselves.

I may sound callous in making such a statement, but I can only do so because I’ve been there: no, I absolutely did not deserve my first love fucking my best friend and mentor, nor did I deserve people in my first business conducting themselves without integrity at my expense. But this is life. Some people, when it comes to the things they feel they are owed, are savages. It’s just a fact that in the course of a human life you will be the collateral damage of selfish people. Now, whether you let this stop you from going onward is up to you. I will sheepishly but unashamedly admit, I let these things stop me from a successful second love, and a successful second business. Failure was one of the costs of my self-pity.

The problem was, I simply loved people. And I took things very personally. This made me a hell of a fantastic means to other people’s ends. Thankfully, I have begun to learn that not all people are worthy of my unconditional love and my magic optimism. I’ve also started to see that it is not about me. Some people are simply selfish. And they never think they are, because they lack the compassion for others to understand how self-centered and hurtful their actions are.

This is part of the spectrum of human nature, something we think we are experts on, but in fact requires decades to learn – just as it requires decades to understand yourself.

This is why I am writing, because I am learning.

And tonight I have been reflecting on the absolute toxic nature of self-pity, of denying yourself the compassion you deserve. It’s just another fact of life that some of us can give oceans of genuine compassion and empathy to others, yet treat ourselves with nothing but crippling self-pity. This is a grave injustice to ourselves. But nonetheless, few of us ever wake the fuck up and pick ourselves up and move onward. Thankfully for me, my age is a ticking clock. I don’t want to be forty and not have spent my thirties living my dreams. In my twenties, I lived some of mine, but those dreams are mostly vapor today.

Looking onward, I want to honor the crucibles I have passed through by applying the hard-won lessons they have brought me. I don’t want to waste my magic optimism on another over-entitled partner, and nor do I want my past self-pity to again push away a good one. But more than that, I don’t want my life to be about relationships, dreams that can vaporize. I have a legacy to build. And it’s not for me or the children I don’t have, it’s for the world. My mission is bigger than getting laid. My dreams are greater than the unfortunate things I had to face to get here.

And so, once again, I look to the horizon, past the storms that made me.

Onward.


You do not need to be loved,
not at the cost of yourself.
The single relationship truly central and
crucial to life is the relationship
to the self.
It is rewarding to
find someone whom you like,
but it is essential to like yourself.
It is quickening to recognize that
someone is a good and decent
human being,
but it is indispensable to
view yourself as acceptable.
It is a delight to discover people who are
worthy of respect and admiration
and love,
but it is vital to believe
yourself worthy of these things.
For you cannot live in someone else.
You cannot find yourself in
someone else.
You cannot be given a life by
someone else.
Of all the people you
will know in a lifetime, you are the
only one you will never leave or lose.
To the question of your life,
you are the only answer.
To the problems of your life,
you are the only solution.

Jo Coudert
Advice from a Failure

Footnote 1: Self-pity is not self-compassion.

edit / addition, 11/13/15: Wisdom on Self-Pity from Charlie Munger

“Generally speaking, envy, resentment, revenge and self-pity are disastrous modes of thoughts. Self-pity gets fairly close to paranoia, and paranoia is one of the very hardest things to reverse. You do not want to drift into self-pity. … Self-pity will not improve the situation.” – C.M.

“Another thing, of course, is that life will have terrible blows in it, horrible blows, unfair blows. It doesn’t matter. And some people recover and others don’t. And there I think the attitude of Epictetus is the best. He thought that every missed chance in life was an opportunity to behave well, every missed chance in life was an opportunity to learn something, and that your duty was not to be submerged in self-pity, but to utilize the terrible blow in constructive fashion. That is a very good idea.” – C.M.

Watch Me

I do not know how I am going to die, but I know I will.

If thirty years of edging towards the horizon of infinity has taught me anything, it’s that figuring out life takes time.

Hell, some [people] never do.

I think of those who are older and quip that they “still feel twenty five” or whatever age seems to captivate their disposition and persona, and I just could never imagine saying such a thing; I feel no more twenty five than I do sixteen.

I’m simply not the same person.

I am thirty year old Lawrence Black, which is really a beautiful thing.

The other thing thirty years of living on earth has taught me is that compassion is a thing of beauty, perhaps the seed of everything else we need to know about life.

And I say this because I look back on the boy who loved like a dog and hurt like one too, and I have compassion for myself. I understand my pain now in ways I never did – in ways I simply never could have before.

But this entry is not meant to be another look back – it’s just that no wise man can look ahead without seeing himself in time, between what was and what will be.

And that’s really what I am writing for right now. What will be.

Because I’ve figured something out.

I’ve come to the conclusion that we all know exactly what we want.

Hmph you say, well, yes, I too spent plenty of time “lost” to a degree – particularly in my mid to late twenties – but I am not writing this to lament that, I am writing this to prevent it from happening again; I am writing this to once again design my life with the conviction that has allowed me to live my dreams in so many respects.

You see, I think that deep down we all know exactly what we want.

Only there’s a fly in the ointment: we are too afraid to admit our desires to ourselves.

They lay buried beneath a terrifying fear, one that I believe goes hand in hand with that elephant in the room called death. And it’s this fear that prevents us from feeling and expressing our latent, innate desires. And the fear is simply this idea that we may not get them.

I’m almost certain that all forms of acceptable human madness – mediocrity included – stem from this failure to confess our desires to ourselves.

This is an expressly adult problem; no five-year-old faces this existential quandary. Hell, there are a million child presidents and astronauts and veterinarians and mommies out there. And maybe ten of them will become who they wish to be and the rest will simply become adults.

It’s madness. We are more afraid of not getting what we want than we are of getting it. We grow up being told to be careful what we wish for – because we just might get it. Well, what about being careful to make sure we don’t fail to wish for things because we most certainly won’t get what we don’t wish for.

Well, what about being careful to make sure we don’t fail to wish for things because we most certainly won’t get what we don’t wish for.

Let me tell you: I have been there and done that. I have lived the life of unwished desires, and I have faced that soul crushing dreadful misery that only an adult can know. I’ve been dead to life and asleep to the world. I’ve soaked in the kind of acid misery that only eats away at the souls of those living relatively blessed lives in first world nations.

NO MAS.

I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. I want bigger and harder erections, I want more happy chemicals in my brain.

The aforementioned desires are jests.

What I really want is a myriad of completely attainable things. The kind of things like health and happiness and wealth and creative actualization – the kind of things that make my figurative dick hard.

And I’d be a fool to let anyone stop me from attaining them.

I can only imagine, as a cognitive exercise, how therapeutically effective a simulation or virtual reality program would be in which you experience your death, a kind of “It’s a Wonderful Life” thing. Why, people might actually start living instead of working and eating themselves miserably into their graves. Hating their lives deep down all the way, telling their once love to “go fuck themselves” and meaning it. We humans are fools – yet we lack in the foolishness that happiness requires – the kind of foolishness to say, “Why not me?”

I have been a damn fool – you don’t need to ask my exes who are happily living their lives without me to know – I’ll be the first to admit.

But I have compassion for myself.

I simply didn’t know any better.

Aside: Kristin Neff  (Love this woman!) at the University of Texas has done some really insightful research into compassion, and what her and her research team discovered, is that there is no relationship between compassion for self and others – as many assume. Put simply: some people have a lot of compassion for others and very little for themselves, while others – like my exes ; ) – have very little for others yet an abundance of compassion for themselves. Of course, like anything quantifiable, compassion exists on a spectrum, but I am glad to have moved more towards the middle after years of having very little compassion for myself, yet loads for others – like my exes. 

Anyway, as I was saying, I have been a fool. haha

But now, I’m learning, my mind is expanding (Thank you drugs.) jk

But no, I’m learning. And part of what I am doing is developing new beliefs. For what are a man’s beliefs but his theories, the assumptions and hypothesis by which he lives – or tries to live.

So, my new theory, ahem – belief -, my new belief is that I need to be foolish rather than a fool; for a foolish man is a happy man, happy because he is foolish enough to live the kind of life that happiness requires, which is a starkly individual life – as unique as he.

Did you think your fucking cookie cutter life was gonna cut it? ha

I did.

But like I said, NO MAS.

So, here’s what I’m gonna do.

I’m going to cognitively wrap my mind around some crazy ideas, concepts that most people don’t reject so much as fail to consider. These, my friend, are known as possibilities. Because the only certainty is death. Face your future as a kind of ant farm for worms. haha

Now make life great.

Make today great.

Take a vow. Honor yourself with the belief in your personal potential.

Look ahead on your remaining years and order up the kind of life that the universe has for you on the Chinese Take Out Menu of Possibility.

I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna fucking get mine.

And I’m going to give back to the world in a major way. Hell, you ungrateful sloth, I’m already giving back with these words. Read em bitch. Make your fucking life awesome.

You know what you want.

Simple: you know what your desires are.

Admit them to yourself. Admit Lawrence that you want someone who possesses the kind of soul that is capable of loving you and only you. Admit that you want a thousand million dollars. Admit that you want the homes and the boat and the jar midwest family, and the life of the world’s most popular living writer  – Paulo Coelho did it, WHY NOT YOU Black? Seriously, admit that you won’t lose sleep if you are so immensely happy and successful in the pursuit of your dreams that your exes cry themselves to sleep next to their miserable husbands. Admit your desires to yourself Lawrence. Admit that you want to teach English in some public college when you are forty five and that you hope half the female student body harbors a healthy crush on you. Admit that you have a penis and a pair of testicles. haha

I’m serious.

Watch me.

Journal: Life is Sweet

I’m writing tonight because it’s what I do.

Also, I have a duty to myself, I have a duty to write – even when I am happy – in fact, I wouldn’t even mind making a habit of it.

And frankly: I am happy.

And sure, life goes on: that Thai place wasn’t that great tonight, and it wasn’t cool when I bumped into that girl at Starbucks after, while with the girl I am now seeing (Not to mention the girl who works there – ahem,… but that is another story).

And no, I am no player. Not in my nature.

But it is nice to no longer sit at home thinking:

Oneday, I will be able to give a girl the life I want for myself

I shudder just thinking of how blind [ignorant] I was.

Thankfully, I eventually said fuck that noise and I stopped being a bitch.

Seriously.

I wish I had some profound answer, but, eventually, you just gotta decide to quit being lame, and own your life.

And sure, the profound helps – but ultimately, it is up to you to make your life awesome.

And if you think it’s more complex than that, then please: go have a look at all the happy, successful, dumb mo’fuckers stunting on yo ass.

Today, there is more salt in a single liter of San Pellegrino than there is in all my philosophy.

Anyone following the evolution of myself and my writing this year can see that the clouds have lifted.

For the first time in far too long: I am in a great place. And – let me tell you – it has been a long time coming; for I see now that somewhere along the way, the clouds had become the sky and the mood had faded into a disposition.

Thankfully, there are three things capable of altering a person’s disposition – three things that let us see the clouds long after we have ceased taking notice of them.

These alchemical balms or, rather, solvents of consciousness are:
Love, G-d, and Psychedelics.

And the irony is that they are, in effect, all the same: for they all leave you with a deeper sense of gratitude, a greater sense of wonder, and a clearer understanding of life.

These are the very things that wash the salt away from the human soul.

Without the three craziest things known to man, I would have lost my mind a long time ago.

And – please – do not romanticize them; Love, G-d, and Psychedelics are no substitute for inward gazing – instead, think of them as alternative lenses through which, in moments of pure experience, stripped of your personality, you may see life for what it is rather than what you have unconsciously accepted it to be.

Perception is a filter – and once you have learned how to examine the filter, you will never again be blinded by it.

Now: I choose my perspective. I recognize today that I simply did not believe myself deserving of much these past five years – and, even now, I have to remind myself that I, indeed, am not only deserving but that I deserve far greater things than I have ever imagined for myself.

Let them be salty.


Dem Apples

I inspire –
I acquire what I desire –
And my girl gets what she requires –
Cause all she wants is we to perspire

So I feel healthy, like kind buds
She and I: we good buds

She a kind girl and my kinda girl
She say, I got that good D
I give her a vitamin, she swallow me

When she want takeout: I eat box
White boy swag: I beat box
Three times a day, no role play
And her body smooth like a rich girl
Only she ain’t no starbucks bitch girl

Got class, like 18 units
At the dining hall, we ball till we fall
Fuck me sober, cause I’m always over
Never under – but I get top
She young and sexy: halter tops

And I hope we never stop

And she says: “No one can tell us no.”
And she know, I love dat cookie doh