When Lent Feels Like a Sticky Walmart Floor

Next week I’m leaving Atlanta and moving to New York. 

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down to write this. I wanted so badly to be eloquent and profound, but I’ve struggled to find the words to describe this moment accurately. 

In a lot of ways, post-graduate life has felt a lot like sitting on the sticky floor of a suburban Walmart… like a toddler straying a little too far from his anchor; so overwhelmed by his lostness the only thing he can do is hide in a rack of cheap graphic-tees and wait to be found. 

But I’ve since realized, my problem wasn’t feeling lost, it was feeling like I shouldn’t be. 

In my pursuit of a meaningful life, one where I never felt lost, I analyzed every aspect of myself and the world around me. I wanted to ensure a perfect future, one devoid of pain. Yet, in my angsty attempt to create that, I spent a lot of time missing out on the present… forgetting the future is built on the decisions we make every day to thrive. 

There's a laundry list of reasons why I'm moving to New York, but the most important one is it feels a lot like thriving. 

Aside from freelance work, I don’t have a job, just a one-way ticket to LaGuardia (the airport equivalent to a Bud Light-sponsored Nickleback concert), a slowly depleting savings account, a short-term lease in Brooklyn, and a checked bag full of J.Crew clothes I haven’t worn since college. 

I don’t know what’s next, but instead of that being scary, it’s exciting. Because, despite the challenges of the last three years, in the midst of all the transition and change, I’ve discovered I have so many people on my team. I have a family who loves me, fierce friends who support me, and a cat that likes me sometimes. Thus, regardless of what happens in New York, or anywhere else life takes me in the world, Atlanta is home, and it always will be. 

It feels fitting to move to New York City and begin a new chapter the day after Easter–a holiday marking the end of Lent–the pensive season celebrated by the Church for millennia and defined by wondering, doubting, and all the pains of waiting. 

While there's a lot that remains unclear, I think the most significant part of growing up is realizing from where your courage comes. Uncertainty doesn’t have to be your identity; you can not know where you’re going and still know who you are. 

So, here’s to 26 - to no healthcare and new adventures; overpriced coffee and Brooklyn bodegas. 

Here’s to feeling a little bit lost but a little bit free. 

See you soon, Manhattan. 

The Year of the "Delicate" Dumpster Fire

Hey, everyone -

I’m not sure if people still read “Christmas Letters” – or write them for that matter– but as, at least on the inside, I’m a Velcro pair of shoes away from sixty-five, I hope you’ll indulge me.

Let’s just be honest – aside from Taylor Swift blessing us all with "Delicate" & "King of My Heart" – 2017 was a complete dumpster fire. 

Even beyond the divisiveness of our country and political landscape, my own life felt upside down; as if nothing I’d ever known about the world, or myself, mattered any longer. 

I spent a lot of the year feeling I wasn’t “enough” – facing rejection after multiple rounds of interviews for jobs I thought I wanted. Most of this year’s first quarter was spent scrambling to bring my business back into ‘the black’ after a series of mistakes made us stumble. Finally, Big Pharma sponsored my Fall, filling my October with painkiller daydreams as I recovered from a traumatic, six-hour jaw surgery.

These "low-lows” were counterbalanced by “high-highs” – spending time in Amsterdam and Berlin with two close friends, driving an RV through Banff, sharing Thanksgiving dinner in Tokyo, and enjoying Christmas in West Palm Beach with my family.

Mostly though, the year was tumultuous because it seemed I'd lost myself. I think as humans we have a propensity to attach our identity to the roles we play in life. Yet, I've discovered those things come and go and who we are as people go so much deeper than what we do or who we love.

Here's to hoping 2018 doesn't *actually* turn my hair grey.

As someone with an ingrained performance mentality, I almost didn’t send out a letter this year. I don’t have a nifty new job-title to share… I’ve sold off my businesses and am unemployed aside from occasional writing gigs. I’m single, closing in on 26, and moving out of my downtown apartment. I don’t know what’s next for me; personally or professionally. So on that note, feel free to reach out with job suggestions (or blind dates) and follow along on johnmarkconklin.com.

There is so much unknown in my life and in our world, which is why I think it’s so important to return to what we do know. I hope wherever you find yourself this season you wouldn’t believe the cable news version of the truth. My prayer is you would realize, as I have, that "enough” is just wherever you are. 

Writing is my way of making sense of the world. Yet, I've always found poetry a challenge. I think it's because with poetry it's hard to know when and where to begin a new line. And yet you must. Otherwise, it’s simply a regular sentence. As 2017 comes to a close, I'm starting to realize maybe I need less clarity on what to do next and more courage to begin the next line. Grateful for friends and family like you who remind me what it looks like to be brave. 

Let's keep going... together. 

- J.M.C.

New Face, New Job, New York

Happy September! 

"Chasing Light" - Atlanta, GA - iPhone 6s Plus

It's a Monday night, and I'm drinking gin with a splash of soda while Caspian obnoxiously attempts to make herself comfortable across my chest. Since you already know me well, you can probably predict what's drifting from my speakers. Maybe it's a coincidence, but it seems kismet that Taylor Swift albums fall into my life like bookends, marking the end of one season and the beginning of another. 

Like music, I also, perhaps bizarrely, find significance in geography. Although, I suppose I have a propensity to find significance in everything, turning the most mundane events into metaphors. Part of this season has been about making peace with myself, even the sensitive, mildly melodramatic parts. 

This December will mark three years since I've graduated college… which somehow feels both infinitesimal and an infinity all at once. 

College was an important place. I think mountains keep us safe; they make us brave, there's something magical about them… there's something that makes them home. 

Life at sea-level was initially jarring. Returning home I was surrounded by physical beauty, solitude, but simultaneously enveloped in memories and unanswered questions. No longer protected by mountain peaks, there were things I needed to face in this valley, in this physical place, that I couldn't do anywhere else. 

Trading my childhood zip-code for my first true adult one, I moved into a downtown neighborhood in transition. The deconstruction surrounding me mirrored the state of my soul (see, I told you I find metaphor everywhere) as I worked through my theology, philosophy, vocation, sexuality, and all manner of other existential questions. But, instead of working through them alone, I learned how to find a "sacred circle" and found myself on an island of misfit toys, a place where shame didn't exist. A place where my entire self had a seat at the table for the very first time. 

In short, I found the darkness isn't so daunting when you let your eyes adjust and see all the people sitting around you, and realize they've been there all along. 

That brings us to today, early September 2017. I'm currently entering the final stages of acquisition negotiations. The sale will sell off all my corporate assets and dissolve my LLC in its entirety. Being an entrepreneur has been incredible - it's been an honor to work alongside a fantastic team, partner with Books for Africa to construct a library in Ethiopia and save over one million books from ending up in landfills. 

It's been an amazing ride and a challenging journey, but I realize there are bigger dreams of mine. While I'm still figuring out what those are, I've sensed the time has come to pass on what I've created and begin again with a clean slate. 

Speaking of clean... my beard will be gone for the first time in years very soon. I'll have to shave for an invasive double-jaw surgery concerning a TMJ disorder this Thursday, September 21st, at Emory University Hospital in Atlanta. The operation itself is blocked for six-hours, and my jaw will be wired shut for four to five weeks. 

However, not to worry, I've given my surgeon a photo of both Clark Kent & James Dean for reference and am looking forward to doing a Percocet/green-juice cleanse for a month. 

In short, there's a lot that's about to happen. 

New face, new existential perspectives, no real job… I feel like Soren Kierkegaard and Kim Kardashian's lovechild. It's the start of a new season, and along with it a new place; New York.

Many of you know that for years I've wanted to call the five boroughs home, it's simply never been the right time. 

If you haven't heard, I've been working on my first book, a memoir, and am going to share the first chapter with you in the next couple weeks! It's gotten a lot of great feedback, and I hope my own story can remind others their own is worth living. 

Simultaneously writing "Brave Once More" (www.braveoncemore.com) alongside ghost-created articles for various business executives on topics like the power of narrative or marketing strategy has made me realize why I'm passionate about communication in all its forms… I'm passionate about 'story' because I'm passionate about change. Both my personal and professional experiences have taught me genuine change only occurs when the other party sees themselves within the story you're telling. 

As I prepare a plan to move to New York, I'd like to find myself in a space where I can help others do just that. I'm exploring roles that would allow me to use both sides of my brain - strategy, AND creativity. Specifically, positions within brand management, creative strategies, innovation consulting, and copywriting… All of which, I realize, have their nuances and differences. 

I'm still figuring life out, and in a lot of ways I suppose I still don't know who I want to be when I grow up, but for the first time I know who I am now... and I'm okay with him. 

It feels weird to ask for help, I've always been better at self-deprecation than self-care… but (damn therapist) calls it a "growth path" so here I am soliciting it. 

I'd love to meet any friends you have in New York City (and probably flirt with them if they're cute.) Also, if you have professional contacts who may have a use for my skill-set, or are working in industries, and with companies, I may be interested in, I'd appreciate any leads. 

As I enter a new season of huge transition on multiple fronts, I appreciate your advocacy, help, and thoughts. I also would specifically covet your prayers as I prepare to go under the knife for six hours in just a few short days. 

More than anything though, I wanted to write and say thanks. I don't know if you've ever heard of Herman Hesse, but he's a brilliant author and personal inspiration. In his first novel, he writes, "love isn't there to make us happy… I believe it exists to show us how much we can endure." 

If there were ever a quote to define a season of my life, that would be it. 

Thank you for making me feel loved and believed in throughout a season where I struggled to love and believe in myself. 

Grateful, 

- JM

Hearts & Handcuffs

Nerstrand - Big Woods State Park / Apple iPhone 6s Plus 

It’s winter and I’m deep in the Minnesota wild, my fingers locked tightly inside yours. We’re sliding over icy rocks, your voice echoing through the trees, rising toward the sky like gray smoke. Stumbling through the snow we make our way down toward a frozen river. The solid water terrifies me, I’m afraid to crack the ice. I hesitate and you look back at me.

I’m uncertain, not just about the river… about you. I’ve never felt this way before…. I see half my life’s story in your face and I’m not sure I want to. I pause, and for a moment your smile steps off stage, then performs an encore as I trust my heart and take your hand once more.

That wouldn’t be the first time you’d make me brave. 

Like my teeth in thirty degrees weather, my Sony shutter clicks as I capture you leaping from rock-to-rock up the isolated icy waterway. 

Your laughter melds with the wind between the trees in eclectic harmony; pure white snow laps the heels of my Red Wing boots. 

I wish I could live here forever… for in that moment, and the many more we’d share, shame had no place.

On the water with you, the space between who I am inside and the way I projected myself to the world no longer existed. The place between who I am today and who I want to become had vanished.

Underneath a Midwestern sky the dissonant chasms within me where shame called home faded to cracks. Love had shrunk the gaps.

Love not in the abstract, love as a verb… love in the now (and the snow, as it were). Like coarse salt on the icy roads that winter afternoon, only love built upon vulnerability can dissolve shame.

Vulnerability is often conflated with ‘authenticity’ and yet the two words are markedly different; love in its truest form being more closely related to the former not the latter.

Authenticity is letting someone see your heart in handcuffs. It’s allowing them to bear witness to whatever story or idea of yourself you want to share, but restraining their ability to hurt – or to love you.

Banff National Park / Sony A600 / 20 MM 

Vulnerability is letting someone see your heart and handing them a knife. Vulnerability is inviting someone into the story within you… and seeing if they stay. It’s laying down arms and tearing down walls, standing defenseless and giving someone else a choice. That’s what makes it hard. That’s what makes it love.

Vulnerability is the antidote to the shame epidemic. This is why we need other people, not just romantically, platonically too. When you find a sacred circle with whom you can bring your entire self to the table, the impossible happens – shame ceases to be an adjective in your life. When you’re not at home in yourself, life feels like a house of mirrors; shame a constant, ever-changing companion. But love, born out of vulnerability with others, shatters the glass.

It’s been over a year since I heard your laughter in the trees. What once was so alive is now nothing more than a ghost. Yet, something you taught me has remained true in the months and miles since our first date in the snow.

Shame lives in the space between who I am inside and how I present myself to the world; the insecure place between where I am today and where I want to be tomorrow… and the only way to close the gap is to let someone inside it.

The theme of my writing has always centered around what it looks like to be brave... but the thing about bravery is we can’t do it alone. It’s only when we’re courageous enough to let ourselves be loved we find ourselves free from the chains of shame.

Vulnerability is not without risk, and one day you’ll inevitably give the wrong person a knife. Often when we get hurt it's not even malevolent. As you change and grow sometimes people in your life you once let in are going to tell you you’re too different or too much or that you’ve changed. 

Let me be the first to tell you that says more about them than it does you. You shouldn't revert to shame or rebuild walls, even as your heart cries out and the wound is still fresh. Let your sacred circle triage you and remind you who you are. You have nothing to fear. Perhaps one day the person who hurt you, who let you go, will realize all of who you are is more important than whatever idea of you they'd wanted to keep.

You'll never know true love — and the accompanying shamelessness — as long as everyone around you has their hands tied behind their backs.

So take off the handcuffs... and take his hand instead.

Courage dear heart,

-       JM