Christopher and the Purple Thread

I wrote this story to try to describe the late, great, and beloved Christopher W. Turner’s amazing life (at his family’s request). I have truly never been more honored to be asked to do something. (Thank you again so much, Rachel, for letting me be part of this.)

I’ve known Christopher for about 15 years and had his life intersect with mine in a whole host of different ways. I am so grateful for the gift that his life was to me and to so many people I love. I tried to tell a story that felt like the type I heard him tell many times. I truly felt his presence and inspiration as I wrote. I will love him forever.

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Apparitions of idealism and the ghosts of true self

It's really easy to see why people get cynical, stop caring, shrink their world, build walls, and exponentialize the number of people they couldn't possibly give a flying f* about.

The past year I've just felt this constant beating drum urging me to give up and stop caring. At least to stop caring about so much stuff.

Buuuuuut that's not really doable for me.

The counselor I've been seeing thinks this is a problem for some reason. (Hah, what does she know! (I'm actually quite sure she knows a lot and is probably right. (Unfortunately, I've not figured out how to not think this way yet! (Yes, that sentence could have been written with fewer 'nots' and would've made more sense, but we're here inside the fourth Russian stacking doll parenthetical, so let's you and me just go with it and get the hell out of this paragraph with our dignity intact.))))

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Do it anyway

Try to do things beyond categorization that are as hard to describe as they are to pull off and there will always be pressure to tame them.

And every moment you'll have to decide whether to do the hard work of defying categorization or just pack it in and be like everyone else.

If you choose to do it differently, you will be—many times—utterly alone and everyone's expectations will make you feel like a fool.

People celebrate creativity and uniqueness when the work is done and the artist buried—rarely before, rarely during.

Do it anyway.

Originally posted here.