As a wee-little-lad, I was a daydreamer (hell, I still am).
I would think of the most outrageous situations and envision myself within them. Of course, some situations involved powers of a supernatural nature, or something else wildly intangible, but I also envisioned very reachable goals like being an animator or an illustrator—simply due to this drawing ability I seemed to be born with. This was where my focus was placed, and I have no regrets, but there was another somewhat reachable achievement I dreamed of that always felt out of reach.
Being an avid reader from the get-go, I’d often imagine being in the role of author. Wildly fabricating the writing of the great American novel (or something like that), and this became more and more common as I consumed book after book after book. In short, I held those who created such things in very high regard.
Yes, those thoughts were there, but they felt as unreachable as being a superhero. The sheer vastness of authoring anything felt like a delusion—a fantasy, a pipe dream. Instead, my focus stayed on my drawing ability, simply because that was the safest bet.
After an event in 2000, that delusion of a dream was pushed even further from reality as the side effects of a traumatic brain injury (TBI) altered my ability to read well (more about this is explored in my third book if you care to take that tangent). Though that TBI took away something so meaningful, it seemed to give me something in trade—a reconnection to an area of my brain thought dormant.
In the months and years past my TBI, as this ol’ busted-up brain was rebuilding itself, I would have vivid flashbacks of my childhood—allowing me to relive many moments of wonder I had as a child. This gift came from wherever, and I firmly believe it did so to remind of the wondrous view a child can have of the world. It helped me heal and made me view each day, each moment, like it was something brand spankin’ new (well, because each day/moment is). Not only was this something hopeful and new to latch on to, it was also the beginning of a story begging to be told.
At that same time, I was trying to get cartoons accepted by The New Yorker; none were accepted, but I grew to learn those rejected cartoons were created to coincide with this story that only I was able to tell. As my reading ability increased, so did my confidence, and an idea that took almost 2 decades to fully form was ready to be created. An idea that somehow started even further back as a daydream by a wee-little-lad, so many moons ago.
Many things changed as I wrote and illustrated Find Wonder in the Ordinary: A Kid’s Book for Adults. I could go on about how it improved my cognitive levels, how it furthered my reading abilities, and even how it deepened my connection to my inner child, as I wrote. Yes, I could talk of those things in depth, though something else seemed to grow from those pages that was way more important.
It deepened and solidified a mysticism in creating I would eventually describe as a sort of faith.
As I’ve talked about in Part I of this series, something happens when we create. Ideas, words, images, etc. come from an unexplainable location. When I started to experience this otherworldiness through writing, I started to realize this a connection I’d always had through my years of drawing. It is a more direct link to what some call the “Divine” or the “Source”, where we are influenced by this place of endless possibilities. A place of pure imagination, of infinite positivity.
This place (or space) is most reachable in our youth, when our path to that connection is the clearest. Unfortunately, like it or not, it gets pushed out of many as we age, though it is still accessible. We have the ability to reconnect, and that was what was happening as that book was being created. I had a head start, but as this simple book of small passages and cartoons grew, it became something only the Universe could have provided. I had fully opened a window that was only slightly ajar when the book started.
Once fully developed, it almost doubled in size to 21 chapters, 21 cartoons, 40+ spot illustrations, and about 30,000 words, becoming something I only had a glimpse of in the years prior. It’s no Moby Dick, mind you, or the great American novel for that matter, but it is something that came through me like nothing before. So, again, I have to honor wherever those intangible inspirations come from; endless thanks and gratitude.
When I first decided to write a book, I said, “If this helps one person, it would be a success”, and I’ve been humbled and honored as it has connected with way more than that small goal. Hundreds of people have reached out since its release in 2019, and many have provided kind words and praise that have truly touched my heart. Not many of these words can I remember offhand, but here’s one I will never forget:
“I didn’t have the best childhood, but your book taught me I still could.”
When you receive feedback like that, along with the multiple others that are still reaching me, it fills you with something that feels surprisingly like the power of a supernatural nature, so even the intangible daydreaming may not be as futile as one may think. Honestly, it can change your world, and gratefulness may never cover the feeling of receiving such energy. An energy that honestly changed my work and opened me to so much more, helping fuel that connection to wherever, andprovided a direct portal to the next book I didn’t expect to create.