In the film, Memento, the lead character, played by Guy Pearce, is unable to create new memories and is reduced to polaroids with scribbled notes to his next self (who will not remember creating the note). The really important stuff gets tattooed on his body as ‘truths’.

[it’s great movie, which I’ve written about as part of my recommendation of Nolan’s Inception – and I highly recommend both films]

This year has been one of profound transition and transformation for me, some of which has been captured here at Vincet.net even if only obliquely. I’m only just emerging into my next self and, being deeply aware that things were moving within and around me, it’s been quite the journey to this point.

In the past two weeks, as I’ve been catching up with friends old and new, I’ve been filling them in on the journey. I can’t help feeling that, much like for Guy Pearce’s character in Memento, the events I’ve been describing must seem like polaroids with notes scribbled on them – of meaning to someone somewhere in time, but only making sense now when connected to the current me. I have my own share of ‘truths’ captured in my body, which I’m gradually learning are nothing of the sort.

Several of my friends have immediately picked up that I’m different before I even speak and then, when I do begin to discuss this year and connect it to the thread of my life, they’re able to step into the journey themselves for a little while – and make connections to their own travels.

Unsolicited, in the past couple of weeks I’ve been asked to speak to people, teams, groups to share the story of my learning and growth, to help those people to move into, through, or around blockages. I thought long and hard about it

[did the world really need another story of personal transformation? Was my journey of any interest to anyone but me? Would anyone even read it?]

and in the end, was guided by my gut and what I was hearing from my friends – people who know and love me well enough to provide sound counsel – that I have to share what I’ve learned and am learning. If it serves only to reflect that learning to me then that’s enough, though I’m finding there’s a universal nature to some of this stuff.

And it is just that: stuff. It’s my own polaroids and tattoos, telling a story that only exists in the connection between snapshots. It’s what’s happened, and is happening, to me and I’ll write about it here with honesty and clarity in the hope that it helps someone somewhere.

So, consider this preamble the opening credits.

CUT TO:

VINCE sits at his computer, typing into a blog client app. He’s thinking. Quiet. Listening to Dire Straits’ Alchemy on iTunes. He’s upright. His neck above his shoulders, his feet on the ground. His back curves appropriately at his shoulder blades and lower spine. His weight is on his pelvis, which is square beneath him. For the moment, thankfully, the pain of sitting is far away. VINCE speaks as he types the words.

VINCE

(exhaling slowly)
These twenty years… Locked in my neck, my back, my leg…
I’ve pushed myself down for the sake of inherited fear.
And now the release has begun – this happiness, this smile –
to feel the bliss of honest, congruent energy…

VINCE pauses. Thinks.

VINCE (cont’d)
But it doesn’t make sense to start at the end. Nor at
the beginning. Where to start… Where to start?