Does life seem so hard because we expect it to be easy?
On my worst days, it’s gospel: I have a god-given right not to feel uncomfortable. Feeling sorry for myself looks like a pit of powder blue quicksand I'd like to slink into (seemingly harmless ‘til I try to get out). Heaven forbid my angst is due to something outside of my control. How tempting it is to then don a victim suit or, worse, pathologize my troubles.
And, that would be silly, wouldn’t it? Considering all the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune?
Shit will always hit the fan. Obstacles will emerge from the crust of the earth like the undead. We will have to force ourselves to do things that terrify us. That’s life.
I wonder if the notion that life should be one long, smooth ride is an inherent fallacy of the human condition or a recent cultural phenomenon. History dictates that the correct answer is usually both.
But still, I think we've gotten soft.
My ancestors walked across the plains barefoot and pregnant, and probably would have filled their gratitude journals with blurbs like “No one died of Cholera this year,” or, “Our ox drowned, so we ate good.”
I’m certain they would look at me now, sitting at my laptop in my art studio, dressed up like freaking wood nymph, surrounded by fairy lights and poetry books and imported cactuses, and they would be gobsmacked to hear the things I complain about: My paintings won’t dry fast enough. My phone died. The coffee isn’t from Sumatra.
In spite of this, or maybe because of this, I often feel unnaturally compelled to do that which feels impossible to me. Whether it’s running across America on foot, or sailing down the coast of Mexico in a tiny, broken sailboat, or launching a free art project in web3 at the height of a bear market, I have an uncanny penchant for masochistic—albeit transformative—initiatives. It’s in my DNA.
And yes, I know.
Every human on the planet has a great white whale.
(I’m not special.)
But, like everyone else, I have made my bed and must sleep in it. And in order to not throw in the towel, it helps to have a few special tools.
One of my favorite tools can be found deep down in mythology.
Those who have read Joseph Campbells seminal work, “A Hero With A Thousand Faces” may be familiar with the concept of the monomyth. The monomyth posits that many myths and stories follow a common pattern or structure, including a hero's journey through various stages. Examples of heroes that follow the monomyth structure: Buddha, Jesus, Luke Skywalker, Mohammad, Odysseus (my superhero crush) and about a jillion more.
But, the most epic story?
Your own.
Your tale is a pointed cycle of transformation. You are on a hero’s journey- just like Buddha or Luke Skywalker or Jesus.
Stop squirming in your chair. Listen. I’m about to lay some truth on you:
Your love is legendary. Your purpose is noble. The obstacles you encounter are not misplaced. They are an integral part of your story. The Odyssey would not be as great without the Cyclops. And the most brutal and seemingly impossible feats? The gut-wrenching grief, the disappointment, the impossible stakes? All the shit that keeps you up at night?
These challenges are what forge mere mortals into heroes.
But, most importantly, viewing your life through this lens means knowing deep down in your bones that this story concludes with victory.
To embody this is to elevate the mundane and alchemize suffering. Period.
So, I dunno. Maybe, try it on? See how it fits. Like any art form, it takes practice.
But eventually, you will no doubt be facing those indiscriminate slings and arrows with a certain bravery, even a sense of humor. “Look what the asshole Gods threw in my path today,” you’ll think. “This makes the story so much better.”
Of course, one need not scale jagged cliffs or vanquish armies. Simply embracing the absolute absurdity of ordinary moments can reveal profound narratives, connecting us to the whole of humanity through struggles that are both ancient and modern.
And, no. This framework doesn’t make sadness dissipate, or take the edge off grief. Problems won’t magically fix themselves. But, in my experience, it endows the practitioner with bravery to face these things head-on, knowing it is their destiny to overcome.
Talisman Number Four, Offering to Athena, has been drying in my studio on a squat wooden easel for the last few months. She has been speaking to me.
I’m not sure if it is how the calm wash of blue obscures some of the more chaotic, movement on the bottom layers. Or, if it’s the way this painting reminds me of sailing, the blinding sunlight throwing diamonds over the surface of the water. But there is an energy in this work that speaks to me about being on an Odyssey, and that calm, sacred bravery that arrives like a gift.
Goddess Athena was the consummate helper of the hero Odysseus, providing tangible, physical help as well as inspiration and guidance. She is the goddess of war, strategy, wisdom, and art.
I could use a goddess like this in my corner. (And maybe you could too?)
My offering to Athena is a simple one: a commitment.
To remembering that the story of my life is my Magnum Opus, to facing sea monsters and internal turmoil heroically, and to believing wholeheartedly that this story ends in victory.
I simply must keep moving towards it.
I will be releasing Offering To Athena on the blockchain tomorrow, September 16, at 10:30 AM PST here.
There will be 33 editions available.
After all editions are sold, one winner will be selected via raffle to receive the original, physical painting. All collectors of the editions will be admitted into the Scales Drop 9 release on September 23, 2023, where a collection of 700+ new hand-painted artworks will be distributed on the blockchain for free.
To view my the full gallery of my artwork, including the entire Scales collection, please check out my website.
Thanks for reading, friends. :)