Kern Carter's Blog, page 189

Hostage

I was dishonest, I admit it. I lied about something that I shouldn’t have and completely disrupted my relationship to the point where I have to accept that it will probably never be the same.

It was straight chaos for weeks and what I think really exacerbated the dispute was that my girlfriend never thought I could ever do anything wrong. She thought I was perfect and would make a point to tell me that almost everyday.

But that’s just it, I’m not perfect. I never was. I make mistakes, a lot of mistakes. I sometimes say the wrong things at the worst times. Sometimes I forget to do things or I’m late for a date. And guess what, sometimes I even lie.

I’m not proud of what I’ve done and I don’t want this post in any way to justify me lying. My only goal is to say that we all have many sides to us. Both males and females can be equally caring and unemotional, headstrong and docile, angry and forgiving. We just need the maturity to decide when to best act on those emotions. No one person should be held hostage to being that one person all the time. We are multidimensional, emotional beings and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I still have a lot of growing to do myself. I’m slowly coming into the person I want to be but truthfully I’m not sure I’ll ever get there. I may always be a work in progress, trying to balance each side of my personality while trying to consider those around me who matter most. Hopefully they’re patient enough to stick with all of the “me’s” long enough for me to figure things out. Guess I’ll have to wait and see….

Hostage

I was dishonest, I admit it. I lied about something that I shouldn’t have and completely disrupted my relationship to the point where I have to accept that it will probably never be the same.

It was straight chaos for weeks and what I think really exacerbated the dispute was that my girlfriend never thought I could ever do anything wrong. She thought I was perfect and would make a point to tell me that almost everyday.

But that’s just it, I’m not perfect. I never was. I make mistakes, a lot of mistakes. I sometimes say the wrong things at the worst times. Sometimes I forget to do things or I’m late for a date. And guess what, sometimes I even lie.

I’m not proud of what I’ve done and I don’t want this post in any way to justify me lying. My only goal is to say that we all have many sides to us. Both males and females can be equally caring and unemotional, headstrong and docile, angry and forgiving. We just need the maturity to decide when to best act on those emotions. No one person should be held hostage to being that one person all the time. We are multidimensional, emotional beings and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I still have a lot of growing to do myself. I’m slowly coming into the person I want to be but truthfully I’m not sure I’ll ever get there. I may always be a work in progress, trying to balance each side of my personality while trying to consider those around me who matter most. Hopefully they’re patient enough to stick with all of the “me’s” long enough for me to figure things out. Guess I’ll have to wait and see….

I Cried Today

Yes I cried today. For the first time since making that fateful decision to leave my daughter for university south of the border, scared that she would forget who I was and what I meant to her, I cried.

Ask me why I cried and I can’t give you an answer. It’s just one of those moments that everything seems overwhelming and nothing seems possible. For me these are rare occurrences; I’m a dreamer who believes anything is possible and nothing is out of reach.

But today, right now, I just feel like crying.

And I don’t want to stop. I don’t want anyone asking me if I’m OK or if they can do anything to make me feel better. I don’t want help, I don’t want to feel better and NO everything not is OK.

I want to cry; let out all of these emotions that I would never let out publicly, let out this entire facade of pretending I’m in complete control of my life and everything and everyone in it. I want to let all of that go, uncontrollably, until I feel like stopping or until the hurt stops.

I had this conversation the other day and someone asked me my biggest fear. Without hesitation I answered “being average.” I don’t even know what that means right now. “Being average?” Maybe I mean failing. Maybe I mean not selling a million books. Maybe that means not having the courage to live my life exactly as I want without concern of how others will view my decisions or my actions.

I actually don’t know; and I don’t want to know.

All I want to do right now is cry until I feel like stopping or until the hurt stops.

 

 

Chit Chat Turned Powerful

How often can you say you’ve truly been moved by the words of another person. I mean truly moved to action, to change, to commit, to be a better person. I recently had one of those moments with a friend of mine through a relatively brief conversation.

After some small talk in which I joked about being jealous of her living in warm weather Vancouver while we Torontonians wait in fear for another brutal Winter fighting through ice storms, we got into a deeper discussion about something that I struggle with mightily, and that’s acceptance.

Acceptance really is a big deal for me because I really don’t know how to get there. Something about the concept seems conciliatory, like I’m settling for something when I know there’s so much more for me to do.

“But Kern, I’m not telling you to give up on any of your aspirations, all I’m saying is accept who you are now and appreciate all that you have accomplished thus far. And not just in your writing career, but look at the person you’ve become, look at the daughter you’ve helped raise, look at the life you’ve carved for yourself despite being a teenage parent and a high school dropout. Once you accept all of those victories, you’ll elevate your mind to a different level of understanding that will guide you to the future success that you crave so badly.”

Finding My Way

Acceptance…the word suddenly didn’t parallel mediocrity or failure, or settling for less than what I hope to achieve. Suddenly acceptance became liberating and freed me from the uncompromising burden of not being happy until I reach some intended point of “success” that would supposedly allow my happiness to kick in. That is no longer the case. Instead, I would accept and celebrate all of my victories and be happy throughout the entire journey.

I am fortunate in that I am able to wake up every day and do what I love to do. I am able to use my voice through my way with words to share thoughts, stories, points of views and life lessons with people who are connected through similar perspectives. I am not an angry person nor am I ungrateful. But it took that conversation for me to accept that it’s OK to be happy without feeling guilty; OK to feel proud of my achievements so far even though I’m nowhere near where I aim to be. That conversation brought a feeling of calm over me I haven’t felt since writing the first page of my novel so many years ago.

But I am thankful for those few moments. Sometimes that’s all it takes to change your life. And I’m not saying that I am a completely different person today since having that conversation, but I am better than I was yesterday and I will be better tomorrow. And when tomorrow comes I will welcome it not with the fear that days are passing too fast for me to grab hold, instead I will accept that it is another chance for me to do fulfill my calling and inspire others with my words. What more can I really ask for….

Ultraviolence

Sometimes I wonder how this even makes sense. If you know me personally, you know that I am half obsessed half addicted to Lana Del Rey's music. The connection was instant and grows deeper as her catalogue of music expands.

It's difficult to explain, but listening to her music engages me in the same way as reading John Milton's Paradise Lost. I relate to her perspectives just as strongly as I do with Kendrick Lamar's Good Kid Mad City. And although I listen to Lana Del Rey mostly when I'm alone (I played one of her songs to my cousin once who asked if this was opera), the emotional connection I feel to her music is powerful.


But why should this be surprising? If there is one thing social media has taught us is that we share commonalities that extend beyond borders or oceans, race or culture, gender or sexual orientation. It shows that as unique as we all are, we are more similar in ways that cause someone like me to relate completely to songs like "Sad Girl," or "Money, Power, Glory."

This is the power of art, the power of expression. The fact that the writing of a 17th Century poet moves me in the same way as a 21st century singer speaks to that power.

And we all want it. Any artist, writer, rapper, rocker, dancer who puts their expression on display does so in hopes of transcending any obstacles, including time, and touch their audience in ways that impacts them deeply on some level.

For me, I hope to accomplish this through the written word. To use my gift of writing to touch people who I otherwise would never be able to reach. It's a tall task but one that motivates me every time my fingers touch the keyboard.

My goal in a nutshell is to inspire and to impress.

So I ask, how do express yourself? What are your goals when putting your expression on display? Is it completely self-serving or do you hope to be understood?

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Let’s Not Capture This Moment

It was the perfect moment. Twelve writers sitting around a make shift round table, caps off the bottles of rum and white wine that half filled most of our glasses as the evening got underway. The sun had already disappeared with dim bulbs and a few sparsely placed candles providing more than enough light for us to read.

And then it started. One by one each writer read pieces they had created; some that day, others the week prior, others still years before. Collectively we listened, applauded, criticized, and praised each work and how they were delivered. We launched in to discussions about meaning, symbolism, alliteration, all things only a group committed to the art could understand and appreciate. Everyone spoke and everyone listened. And when the moment ended three hours later it left a connection silently acknowledged by all. A connections shared through our common passion for the art of expression.

The entire night was inspiring, and through it all not one single picture.

I couldn’t believe it myself. No one tried to gather everyone in a corner to create the perfect Instagram post. No one took pictures of the bottles of alcohol spread out around the tables. We were all deeply infused in the moment, engaged by our own words, our own thoughts, without even the slightest preoccupation of capturing the moment.

But the moment is still vivid in my memory. I can still feel the emotions of that evening without having to visit my twitter stream. We lived it. Every second of it. And it still means just as much

There is something liberating about the ephemeral. Knowing no matter how amazing or how crippling a moment, that “this too shall end.” You are free to be free. To embrace that moment and then let it go. No picture can ever capture that.  
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Read “Thoughts of a Fractured Soul,” a tragedy of family, failed potential, and the Millennial struggle with ambition, expectation and the fight for independence.

Available in print and e-book format at www.kerncarter.com.  

Let's Not Capture This Moment

It was the perfect moment. Twelve writers sitting around a make shift round table, caps off the bottles of rum and white wine that half filled most of our glasses as the evening got underway. The sun had already disappeared with dim bulbs and a few sparsely placed candles providing more than enough light for us to read.

And then it started. One by one each writer read pieces they had created; some that day, others the week prior, others still years before. Collectively we listened, applauded, criticized, and praised each work and how they were delivered. We launched in to discussions about meaning, symbolism, alliteration, all things only a group committed to the art could understand and appreciate. Everyone spoke and everyone listened. And when the moment ended three hours later it left a connection silently acknowledged by all. A connections shared through our common passion for the art of expression.

The entire night was inspiring, and through it all not one single picture.



I couldn't believe it myself. No one tried to gather everyone in a corner to create the perfect Instagram post. No one took pictures of the bottles of alcohol spread out around the tables. We were all deeply infused in the moment, engaged by our own words, our own thoughts, without even the slightest preoccupation of capturing the moment.

But the moment is still vivid in my memory. I can still feel the emotions of that evening without having to visit my twitter stream. We lived it. Every second of it. And it still means just as much

There is something liberating about the ephemeral. Knowing no matter how amazing or how crippling a moment, that "this too shall end." You are free to be free. To embrace that moment and then let it go. No picture can ever capture that.  
*******************************************************************

Read "Thoughts of a Fractured Soul," a tragedy of family, failed potential, and the Millennial struggle with ambition, expectation and the fight for independence.

Available in print and e-book format at www.kerncarter.com.  

Dealing with Expectation

I had a tough act to follow. Playing runner up to an older brother that excelled on the classroom and on the football field, earned a full athletic scholarship to Stanford University and then went on to play four years in the NFL was no small task. I remember the first time I got caught skipping class in high school. The first thing the teacher said while she ushered me to the office was "I don't expect this type of behaviour from you, Kern."  It’s a phrase I would hear countless amounts of time during my teenage years. At first I took it as a compliment; that my defiance against how I was supposed to behave in some strange way made me cool. And in high school, who doesn't want that title?
 But as I matured and the opinions of my acquaintances mattered less and less, I learned how to handle that expectation. Actually, it went beyond that; I craved that expectation. I stole those preconceived ideas of me being intelligent and talented with a gift for expression and focused all of that into my passion for writing.
"EXPECTATIONS ARE DANGEROUS ONLY IF YOU LET OTHER PEOPLE CONTROL WHAT THOSE EXPECTATIONS SHOULD BE."
Now I had new standards, and instead of worrying about fitting in, I concerned myself with meeting the enormous expectations I placed on myself. Today the standards people place on me is not based on familial affiliations. Instead they are based on the standards I created for myself. The way I carry myself, the way I speak, the quality of my writing are all expectations people instinctively (seemingly) place on me only because I have placed them on myself.     

Reflecting back I realize that expectations are dangerous only if you let other people control what those expectations should be. If you create your own standards, your own set of beliefs, and then live everyday by those measures, people will come to expect what you already demand of yourself. Meeting those demands..well that's another post.     
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Website: www.kerncarter.com Click here to see more of my posts on LinkedinMy book Thoughts of a Fractured Soul is available for purchase now

Why Men Need to be Weak…Sometimes

Waking up today and hearing the story of the Mississauga man apparently taking his own life, along with the life of his two young children, ran chills through my entire body. The three of them were found in a burning vehicle near Barrie last Friday, and police have come out to say that they do in fact believe the father intentionally killed himself and his own children. All of this followed by news of a Texas man shooting and killing four of his children, critically wounding his daughter, and murdering two other adults that were present in the home.

Now what I’m about to say is in no way a justification for these monstrous acts of horrific violence, and I’m not going to argue the politics of gun rights and gun ownership (common sense seems to elude most people who can make changes to these laws). Instead, I use these two examples only as a springboard to pose a question: Who do MEN turn to before they reach these critical breaking points? And the bigger question: How do we create a culture where men can feel comfortable and secure in turning to these groups and asking for help?

The latter I feel is the more difficult. While there certainly aren’t enough centres for males dealing with adverse stress, teaching men how to cope with the responsibilities and social ‘duties’ that are assumed of them, the bigger problem is how do we get to a place in our society where it is not considered weak or demeaning or odd for a man to seek refuge in these settings.

Where are all the ads for “male” empowerment groups, or centres for mentally abused men? Even writing these words and making these these inferences in some way feels taboo; like I am appealing to society to allow our men to be sensitive, which in most  instances would castigate our sex and place us among the weak.

But as I read more and more about these types of cases mentioned in my intro, then reading stats that the suicide rate among males is approximately 3-7 times greater than that of females, claiming an average of 3000 lives a year in Canada alone – with rates peaking when men reach their forties – it’s difficult for me not to suggest that we not only need to allow men to be weak (if that’s how they will be assessed), but we should encourage it.

Men need outlets just as readily as females, and not feeling free to express moments of weakness, instead internalizing these emotions until they reach an irreversible boiling point, is causing what has been referred to as a silent epidemic. We are murdering men, or in fact causing them to murder themselves when some intervention would have surely saved some of the men that felt desperate, alone, with nowhere or no one to turn to.    

So my call on society is let our men be weak. Not all the time, but sometimes a weak moment can be empowering and literally save a life.
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Written by: Kern Carter author of “Thoughts of a Fractured Soul,” available in all formats at www.kerncarter.com

 

Why Men Need to be Weak...Sometimes

Waking up today and hearing the story of the Mississauga man apparently taking his own life, along with the life of his two young children, ran chills through my entire body. The three of them were found in a burning vehicle near Barrie last Friday, and police have come out to say that they do in fact believe the father intentionally killed himself and his own children. All of this followed by news of a Texas man shooting and killing four of his children, critically wounding his daughter, and murdering two other adults that were present in the home.

Now what I'm about to say is in no way a justification for these monstrous acts of horrific violence, and I'm not going to argue the politics of gun rights and gun ownership (common sense seems to elude most people who can make changes to these laws). Instead, I use these two examples only as a springboard to pose a question: Who do MEN turn to before they reach these critical breaking points? And the bigger question: How do we create a culture where men can feel comfortable and secure in turning to these groups and asking for help?



The latter I feel is the more difficult. While there certainly aren't enough centres for males dealing with adverse stress, teaching men how to cope with the responsibilities and social 'duties' that are assumed of them, the bigger problem is how do we get to a place in our society where it is not considered weak or demeaning or odd for a man to seek refuge in these settings.

Where are all the ads for "male" empowerment groups, or centres for mentally abused men? Even writing these words and making these these inferences in some way feels taboo; like I am appealing to society to allow our men to be sensitive, which in most  instances would castigate our sex and place us among the weak.

But as I read more and more about these types of cases mentioned in my intro, then reading stats that the suicide rate among males is approximately 3-7 times greater than that of females, claiming an average of 3000 lives a year in Canada alone - with rates peaking when men reach their forties - it's difficult for me not to suggest that we not only need to allow men to be weak (if that's how they will be assessed), but we should encourage it.

Men need outlets just as readily as females, and not feeling free to express moments of weakness, instead internalizing these emotions until they reach an irreversible boiling point, is causing what has been referred to as a silent epidemic. We are murdering men, or in fact causing them to murder themselves when some intervention would have surely saved some of the men that felt desperate, alone, with nowhere or no one to turn to.    

So my call on society is let our men be weak. Not all the time, but sometimes a weak moment can be empowering and literally save a life.
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Written by: Kern Carter author of "Thoughts of a Fractured Soul," available in all formats at www.kerncarter.com