Until that day, fear had been an idea, a concept. Now it was real: a feeling I would carry inside me for the rest of my life. The day began innocently enough, with the basic routine of waking up at 5:30 a.m. going to the school, running the halls for a half hour and then sitting in Derek Snakenberg's sauna for twenty minutes. I'd go back home, eat a light breakfast, shower and head to school for the day.
It was late April, sophomore year of high school. A poor wrestling season had ended for me in early February. I had gone 14-25 that season. Finished a disappointing fifth at sectionals. My dad had recently broken up with his girlfriend and life for me at that time was bitter and depressing. None the less, I still felt that I had a shot at glory. That I stood a chance at accomplishing something. That if, even though things seemed at times hopeless, if I stayed positive and optimistic and gave it my all, things still might work out for me. I had two more years of wrestling left and despite how bad this past season had gone, maybe I might do well as a junior and senior.
When I got home from school, I noticed a vehicle in the driveway that I wasn't familiar with. When I went inside, I discovered that my Dad's cousin, Gail was visiting from New Jersey. I told her I was glad she was there to visit, and I'd be more than glad to catch up with her later, but I was busy at the time and had other things to do. I put on a sweatshirt, my hawkeye wrestling stocking cap and headed out the door. I had a 1.4 mile run that I did every night. Back in those days it took me about 8 and a half minutes. Today I'd be lucky if I could do it in under an hour. After I got done running, I grabbed my bicycle and did the route two times. I then went into the basement, and did a routine of pushups, curls, pullups and bench press. Exhausted, I went back up stairs and took a shower.
I now had time to talk to Gail.
She couldn't believe my dedication and how fixated I was on being a successful wrestler. She was shocked at how poorly I had done that year in spite of my efforts. It puzzled her as to why I had such certainty, when life was showing me the polar opposite.
She said something to me that night that has haunted me ever since.
"Are you sure this is what you're supposed to be doing?"
"What do you mean?" I asked her
"This wrestling thing. Are you sure it's your purpose in life? That it's what you're meant to do?"
My immediate answer was yes. It had been the only thing for a long period of time that I had any talent and ability in. Even though I wasn't that good at it, it was the thing in life I did better than I did anything else.
Looking back, I guess I should've questioned it every bit as much as she did. My junior year I went 13-12, sitting out part of the season with a torn groin and a torn left bicep. My senior year I went 26-16, a third place finish at sectionals and a career record of 65-70. Never qualified for state, never did anything in the sport worth mentioning or noting. In the sport of wrestling my name means nothing and it never will. It was not my purpose.
I don't regret anything that I did. I loved the sport and for six years of the 11 years I did it, I dedicated my life to it. I get angry when people question my dedication. When they are leary of my work ethic, sacrifice and determination. The sport of wrestling has a screwed up belief that the only reason you don't succeed is because you didn't try hard enough. It's funny. Not everyone can be Joe Montana. Not everyone can be Michael Jordan. Not everyone can be Cal Ripken Jr. But anyone can be Cael Sanderson as long as they work hard enough. It's an insulting, degrading and cruel thing to say to those who had the heart, but nothing else, but it is the thought process of the sport.
So no, I don't regret anything. It's what I wanted out of life and it's is what I thought at the time I was supposed to be doing. I just wonder sometimes if I should've been more exploratory. My only other talents in life were acting and creative writing. I wonder sometimes if I should've divided up my time, and given more towards those endeavors.
After high school was over, I knew then that wrestling wasn't my meaning. It's why I decided not to wrestle in college and instead dedicate my life to theatre. Maybe acting and writing for the stage/screen was my calling in life. Maybe that was my purpose.
And truth to be known, I think maybe it would have been had I gone to another college. I couldn't have picked a worse place to go than what I did. It's a whole other story in itself, but Northwestern College theatre made me fall out of love with acting. Matter of fact, it made me downright hate it. A pompous group of individuals, who made up their minds that they hated me from day one. With my build and my muscles, in their eyes I was an athlete and athletes DID NOT belong in their theatre.
I'd discover years later as a member of Iowa City Community theatre that I was a good actor, I did have talent and it was something I was good at. I was simply in the wrong environment, surrounded by the wrong people at NWC.
And in being someone that searches for meaning, longs for purpose I wonder if I didn't screw myself somehow, someway by not going somewhere else. I've talked with other friends of mine who had great experiences in college theatre at Iowa, Simpson, & Northern Iowa and I wonder sometimes if I had chosen one of those schools if my life would've turned out much differently.
I was 16 years old when Gail asked me those questions. 16, and for the first time in my life, I made myself upon her questions, seriously question all of it.
Today I'm 34, and for the past nearly 15 years of my life, I have felt my purpose in life has been creative writing and story telling. That writing, fiction, non-fiction, blogs, short stories, novels, novellas, plays & screenplays is what I'm supposed to be doing in life. Yet I've thus far gotten practically no where with any of it. None of my novels or novellas are professionally published. None of my plays are being produced. None of my screenplays have turned into films or television shows. Other than a few articles that I got paid $25 a piece for, I haven't a single thing to show for my writing.
And that scares me to death. It terrifies me. It's all I have left in life. It's it. I'm too old to have a serious shot as an actor. Even if I still have time left, you have to be in Los Angeles to even dream of getting a real shot at it, and there's no way I could afford to even try it. Creative writing is it. There's nothing else in life that I'm good at. If this isn't it, then there isn't anything. I have no purpose. I have no meaning.
And to some, that's ok. They don't get why I have to be so obsessive and so determined. Why can't I just get a factory job, get married, knock up Ashley a couple of times, have kids and God forbid be normal? Well, because I can't. That's not me. That's not who I am. That's not what I want. I tried going that route once in my life and it was the darkest, most depressing, sad existence I have ever lived. It may be right for others and I encourage them in that life, if that life makes them happy and it's what they desire. But it's not me and it never will be.
I'm weird. I'm an anomaly. I'm what seems to disappoint and piss my father off. I'm what my mom does her best to support but can't grasp or understand. She doesn't get why I demand so much out of myself and work myself into fits of level 10 depression for not reaching goals she thinks were out of my reach to begin with.
Cousin Gail I guess I have to admit today, as I should have 18 years ago that I don't know what the Hell my purpose in life is. That because creative writing is the one thing left in this life that I have serious talent in, that I believe it is my meaning. That obviously I have yet to give up. With novels, novellas & screenplays already written and more on the way, I'm still making a go at it.
My greatest hope in life. The best life has to offer me is the day I discover that I was right. A published novel. A screenplay turned into a film. A position with a major magazine. I have no idea what it'll be, I just know that I'll know it when it happens.
And my greatest fear? To one day discover with creative writing the same thing I discovered with amateur wrestling. That it wasn't my purpose. It wasn't my meaning. Only worse, it'll mean that I don't have one, and I never will.
So far in life I've met three people in life that have gotten what I feel. That have truly understood my thoughts and my feelings. Dennis Doderer, Dan Kim and Jason Janes. I'm very lucky to have Ashley Bunting in my life. I can't say she understands or gets me completely, but she loves me and supports me. As screwed up and difficult as I can be, especially when it comes to this sort of stuff, that in itself is a hell of a talent. I'm not sure I could do it if I were in her shoes.
