I’m Glad You’re Here

They say, “You don’t have to explain anything to anyone.” Yet. Yet there is an incisive need to bare our naked soul to the crowd sitting on the plush, burgundy polyester weave theatre seats six feet from the ledge of the wooden stage marked with dots for you to stand, pace between and waltz your way through whatever flaws and accomplishments you demean sharable.

There’s a strong part of me that wants to whine about my inability to get out of my own way and succeed as a business owner. The two year old within (that’s in the middle of a tantrum) is demanding to kick and scream on that stage while the internal fourteen year old with raging hormones seeks outlandish words to weave into incoherent rants and dance with them in a way you feel sorry for me and manipulates you into buying my services. I know what you’re going say. It takes years to build up a clientele. People have to get to know you before they buy from you. You have to earn their trust. It takes a lot of effort to be seen.

My entrepreneurial story is similar to the majority of other solo-preneurs. It’s as if our names are interchangeable. Instead, I would like to climb off the stage and allow someone who is making a difference one family member at a time the opportunity to stand on it.

I met a young individual over the weekend that I will refer to as Bubba. I have no idea of their name, and based on what I’m going to share, I’d like to keep their identity tucked away in a safe space. Let’s just say, the location setting has also been changed, but not the conversation.

Maybe I’m wrong in this thought process, but I have come to the conclusion there is a story behind each tattoo a person chooses to adorn. Rarely do I hear, “This? Yeah. I woke up with it and a massive hangover.”

Bubba leaned over the counter and I caught sight of the word SURVIVOR in Times Roman font, semi-bold and each letter approximately two inches tall on his right forearm. There’s an array of tattoos dotting both of his arms, but that one… yeah, that one caught my eye. “What did you survive?” I asked.

“I used to be a very dark individual,” he replied without hesitation. He paused what he was doing, looked into my eyes and followed his statement with, “I tried to commit suicide. Twice.” He returned his attention back to the task at hand.

Before I could stop the words from flowing out of my mouth, I said, “My son succeeded. He died two and a half years ago.”

He looked up with his big brown eyes, and replied, “I’m saddened to hear that.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Bubba continued working on the project and shared with me the two ways in which he attempted to commit suicide and his determination to stay in the psych ward the full allotted two weeks after his second attempt.

I’m not one to ask too many personal questions. There’s something about me that people intuitively trust me with their vulnerabilities. It could be they know I’m not there to judge them, only listen.

There was no shame, regret or ill feelings of Self as he spoke. It was a compassionate, heart-centered conversation between two people. Anyone walking past may have thought we were talking about our dogs.

Through his actions, and life lessons, he has found his purpose is to help others with that familiar state of mind, and the parents of children contemplating suicide.

“I talked with a set of parents for a long time to help them understand where their,” Bubba paused, looked at me before saying, “eight… yeah… their eight year old son wanting to commit suicide.” He finished what he was working on as he continued, “The eight year old was severely picked on at school. I know that darkness. I was able to help those parent understand the dark thoughts their child was having. I know there’s people out there that don’t like me; I tell them they don’t to. I have to like me.”

Bubba has a bullet lodged in a bone that’s inoperable. “I have a constant reminder of my choice. The funny thing is, the doc said I’ll probably end up very sick from lead poisoning, and it may even be what eventually kills me, but it won’t be for a long time.”

I’m glad I had the good fortune to meet Bubba. His gentle kindness and honesty regarding the backstory of his tattoo will serve him well.

There is a darkness within all of us. Contrast motivates us to make choices and assists in defining our wants. We learn the grandest of lessons through those experiences.

I’m glad you’re here.