Working on
Procrastination

On that night, August 16, 1987, I was feeling like a deep vacuous hole of emotional need ready to suck the life out of anyone within a 90 mile radius. I was suffering from an acute case of divorce. Even though I didn’t know it consciously at the time, my adult life was really just beginning. I was 27 and after a few false starts as a broadcaster, doing the wrong music at the wrong radio stations for the wrong people, I found New Age music. Seriously it helped. It’s very debatable on what effect the harmonic Convergence really had. I didn’t hear world peace knocking on my door but at least, I was changing. It’s the only thing you can bet on, right?

There I was on my porn-star-throne, my plywood ‘free flow’ waterbed, writing the last chapter of my first book. Fueled by grandiose delusions, the kind we see on American Idol every Tuesday, I was holding on to the dream that my musings of being dumped by my wife would create saccharine sunshine for the world to heal, or at least some reasonable hand-drawn facsimile of a Kumbaya moment. It did neither and for good reason. Still, I was convinced that even though I was licking the floor with pain and self-pity my ramblings were still gold and on that night I was convinced I had written the perfect break-up self-help book. I just needed a title.

Trying to hold on to the Convergence deadline, I was fighting to stay awake to meditate with the masses but sleep won over. Interestingly, I had unknowingly set my alarm for the event and just before it rang I got the words “What’s Invisible.” As I reached for the alarm I felt like I’d won the lottery, not only had I written a masterpiece of modern literature but I had a hot New Age title. I didn’t know what it meant yet but I liked it.

Two years later I was going through another break-up. I was dumped again and really hadn’t practiced anything I preached in my first book. In other words, I hadn’t dealt with my divorce at all. Instead, I chose to date the most lovely beauty pageant queen. She was glorious and kind and 18 years old. For the few friends that I had fooled into thinking I was really a sensitive New Age guy, the facade was wearing thin. Everyone loved her, after all she was acting her age, I wasn’t. Dating a 40 year old when you’re 50 is no big deal but she was just a kid.

So, having done nothing with the first draft of What’s Invisible I chose to start fresh. I would write it again from scratch with my new found knowledge from this current break-up. This time something stopped me though, something, maybe a gut feeling. As Anthony Robbins says, “If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten.” I started thinking maybe it wasn’t so wise to date a girl 10 years my junior. You think? I decided then to reread my first book. If you think I felt bad after the second break up it was nothing in comparison to my reaction to the gobbledygook I had written two years before. “I’m an idiot,” I thought to myself, “What’s worse, an idiot who can’t write to save his life.” The good thing about humble moments though is they sometimes show us, albeit sometimes skewed, where we are on the map. In my case my map of life had brought me to thinking that my disposable emotions needed attention, a serious operation. So what did I do? I went back to the original plan of writing about my process but this time things would be different. I would go to counseling and even group therapy. I thought I was diggin’ deeper.

Fast-forward to 1992, yet another break-up. This time, at least it was a real adult relationship. An Italian woman I actually had mountains in common with. I adored her, she was smart, witty, charming, spiritual and beautiful but I still couldn’t help screwing it up and she left me. Here I was again, this time, holding my second copy of What’s Invisible in my hand looking for answers, something to keep me alive, I quickly realized to my dread that this one was even worse than the first version. I had learned nothing. I gave up. What’s Invisible I thought? My brain, my soul, my purpose.

This time, it seems, the universe would not let me off the hook so quickly. As much of a sad sack as I was things got worse. I was in financial ruin and then my car exploded after I scraped up enough money to fix it, I was in a car accident. Then I seriously hurt myself at the gym.  What a great country song my life had become. If I had a dog I’m sure it would have died, luckily she took the dog with her when she left. Maybe, I thought, the metaphor was more a snakes tale, after all when a snake sheds its skin everything comes off and that’s how I felt.

Ever notice how clear things become once you truly give up. Wayne Dyer says it’s good to actually imagine your own death, there's great surrender in the process and that’s exactly what I did. I let my old self die and the bonus was I didn’t write another crap-happy version of What’s Invisible. I just started to journal instead. Oh, did I mention I started calling my diary What’s invisible?

My biggest shift came a month later. I remember it like it was yesterday. I lived on the 22nd floor of a high-rise on Beach Avenue in Vancouver, probably not the best place for someone so depressed. I had just woken up and was meditating on my bed and then, like a flash,  I found myself sitting under a table. Where in the hell was I? I could feel the floor and could smell breakfast cereal. I looked around and I saw my Italian ex-girlfriends feet. It seemed I was sitting under her table. In spite of myself I was reminded of how beautiful her toes were but realized I had more to worry about then a foot fetish. In shock of how this could be happening I quickly positioned myself to get up and noticed a pair of men’s feet sitting across from her and then, in a wink, I was back in my bed. That’s when I heard this little voice in my head asking “What’s Invisible John?”  Even more weird, the phone rang and it was her, my ex. I blurted out, “You’re with someone aren’t you?” She denied it until I told her that I just knew it and she was having breakfast with him right now. Even though I felt clinically insane I was sure I’d had some sort of out of body or remote viewing experience. All my hopes of patching things up with what I thought was the love of my life were dead. We never spoke again.

What’s Invisible has been a mantra in my life. I hear it when I’m quiet. In the mid to late nineties I created a radio feature by the same name that featured spiritual anecdotal stories. It later became a music show.

When I meditate and I’m asked What’s Invisible? I sometimes send a prayer to my ex-wife, my much younger ex girlfriend beauty queen and the Italian woman. I thank them for being in my life and for being instruments for the universe to kick my ass. Two of them are still close friends. More than ex’s, What’s invisible to me means that even when I was chasing my self indulgent tail I could still do up my pants, I could still eat, I would still drive myself to the radio station and do my shift. Pain is never all you are, how else could I have done all these other things. I used my pain to become a better writer, eventually becoming a feature writer for one of the biggest spiritual magazines in Vancouver and I’ve learned to take responsibility. I think it was Stuart Wilde that said, “I live my life by two rules, (1) Be responsible (2) If anyone has a problem with anything I do, they can go fuck themselves. Of course the problem is most people go straight to number 2. I know I did for half my life. Every time I rewrote What’s Invisible it got worse because I was not being responsible. The therapy work I did back then was aimed at making me right not write. I was wrong on both counts.

So many years later here I am launching What’s invisible, the website. I’m happily, humbly announcing that I can still be a knucklehead but I’m happy and have been in a good space for years. My wife Shannon and I have a relationship I could not have imagined or manifested in 1987, 1989 or 1992. Without those foundations I would not be writing this now, I wouldn’t even see the point.

What’s Invisible may mean something to you, it may not, but this is my next step. I hope you like it. – by John Beaudin