The night before my wedding, my older sister and Garrett’s brother made speeches on the sunset cruise. And my sister’s speech made me laugh. She talked about how I used to go to her room at night and start talking. And at first she was interested, but then it got late and really heavy, as I was unpacking the nature of objectification and rape culture in society—and I just wouldn’t stop talking. I was eight.
I laughed as she talked. About my intensity. My yearning for depth. My insatiable desire to understand our society and the Universe around us.
It reminded me that when I was 12, I wrote a screenplay about a beautiful, popular girl who committed suicide. The story subverted common teen movie tropes to show ways in which our cultural obsession with status is reduces people to simply what they represent, or what we can gain from them. Objectifies them. And her suicide become more imminent—and apparent—as she felt more like an object. Except no one around her could see what they didn’t want to see.
(I still question why my parents didn’t send me to a therapist as a child.)
Recently, my therapist asked me about my spiritual trajectory—how I got so involved in spiritual aspects of my work. And I told him my usual story—of getting sick and the series of synchronicities that led me to the work that I do now. But I also told him about when I was little—seven or so and barely knew how to use the Internet—and I’d always find my way to a website on witchcraft, paganism, Egyptian cults, ancient religions, or dragon magick.
By the time I was 10, I had memorized the entire Egyptian and Greek/Roman pantheon. I was fascinated by all things mystical—and, more specifically—how the conception of Divinity in different cultures taught us a lot about the people of that culture. How a culture’s view of ‘God’ was always a projection of the fears, desires, and worldview of that very society.
Obviously, I hid this. I was embarrassed by my fascination. And the first time I learned how to clear search history had nothing to do with porn like most kids. I was hiding my tracks on the strange rabbit hole of magick and herbs and ancient religions that I traveled down.
Who we are as kids is kind of incredible. Because so much of the work I’ve been putting together for our Sacred Mastermind—just this week—is related to these ideas that I started studying at eight or 12 years old.
It reminds me that a seed has all of the intelligence of a full-grown tree. It’s all in there already. We don’t need to become better or more ‘enough’ to be who we already are.
I think about how much of my work hasn’t been ‘becoming’ something new, but really unraveling all of the conditioning away from who I am. That it’s too intense or heavy to talk about certain topics. That it’s lame or weird or fantastical to believe in magic. That sharing who you are is self-centered—or boring. That being yourself isn’t enough.
I’ve had to let go of a lifetime of stories telling me who I’m supposed to be so that I could be myself. And it’s funny because I’m pretty sure my 12-year-old self could teach the Sacred Circle or Sacred Mastermind pretty well. Maybe even better than I can today.
There’s a lot of amazing mindset work out there. And it can be really, really helpful, so I don’t want to minimize it at all. But I’ve realize that, for me, mindset work—at least as I conceptualize it—doesn’t really do it for me. It’s a lot of reprogramming and telling new, more empowering stories. And that’s fantastic. But here’s the thing—I’m so bored with programming. I keep wondering who am I when I drop this conditional attachment that something is a ‘good’ thought or a ‘bad’ thought? Who am I when I just act of intuition and instinct? When I reclaim who I’ve always been rather than get hijacked by some kind of conditioning or programming.
Because I’m still the same guy I’ve been since I was very little. I still love to write and tell stories. I still love to stay up late having deep talks about why the world is the way it is. I still love to look at religions all over the world and study different kinds of magic and divination.
Not much has changed. No matter how hard I’ve tried to condition myself one way or another, the real, authentic me keeps creeping back up. And that’s someone I really, really like.
The Aligned, Zany, Free, Unmistakable, Successful, and Vulnerable guy.
It seems to me that who we were as children was so uninhibited and free from programming. And that’s what made us so authentic. It’s who we were before we realized it was wrong or lame or embarrassing to be that. Before we picked up too many stories—even the empowering ones.
So I wonder—who were you as a child? And what part of you then wants to be reawakened now?