Epiphanies

Life is full of epiphanies. Sometimes they hit you subtly, sometimes with a bang to the head. Childhood is chock full of them, as everyday brings a new wonder. But we didn't see them as revelations then - we were just filling up our empty heads with whatever came our way. As adults, the epiphanies are more spread out and poignant. When you just instantly know something or realize it in a new way it can be transforming. I've had several life-changing revelations lately, if I can call them that.

The first I wrote about previously in a post entitled, "My New Religion." It struck me like a thunderbolt that my beliefs were not the beliefs I grew up with. The change happened over decades, but the realization was instantaneous. I was brought up Catholic and went through 12 years of Catholic school. I was an altar boy and always did well in my religion classes. I was pretty immersed in what Catholics believed and though I questioned a lot of it, even as a child, if there were such a thing as a Catholic test, I would pass it with flying colors. But then I had the epiphany that outside of the general morality of Catholicism, I really shared very little with Catholics in terms of belief. I don't believe that Jesus was God except in the way that everyone is part of God (see earlier post). I don't believe he rose from the dead. I don't believe in a Father in heaven or that Mary was free from sin or was a virgin. I basically don't believe any doctrine of Catholicism at all. I wholly accept Catholics, as long as they are loving people, but I share very little with them.

My second recent epiphany was that I want to become a doctor. It was an early ambition of mine, but was squelched by this and that, and overshadowed by my strong desire to be a creative person. I don't know why those two things had to be mutually exclusive. And my mother didn't help with saying often, "We're not the Kennedy's" whenever I had some grand design.

(I was doing some research on Brian Boru, the first king of a united Ireland from whom all O'Brien's descend and I found out that his father was from the clan of O'Kennedy. So, mom, you might not be a Kennedy, but I am, in name and spirit).

So my ambition to become a doctor came directly from the epiphany about religion. The only thing I know about what a God might possibly want is that He wants life to continue. It's the only theme that is present in the world. All life, from microorganisms to the great whales, wants to continue. It is programmed in us. We'll never know why, but I want to be a part of that. We want our own individual survival and we want the survival of our species. Some of us further want the survival of every species because we see how interdependent we all are. But sometimes I wonder, if the polar bear were to go extinct, that would be sad, but it wouldn't affect our survival. Maybe the grand design doesn't need every species. Obviously, many didn't make it. No one misses the dodo. Or the mammoth.

So, as a doctor, I see myself helping life to continue. I'm thinking about psychiatry, since it has already had a profound effect in my life. Since I didn't have kids, and am not helping life to go on in that way, I want to help other people live the best lives they can, be as happy and healthy as they can be and be a richer part of the world we're in.

My most recent epiphany stems from the first two and has had such shock waves that I'm still in awe of what I've found out. All my life I have felt the need to make art. In school I used to draw all over my desk all the time. I would draw in text books and on scraps of paper. And musically I felt I wanted to perform at every chance, from school plays to church choirs to writing my own music to playing in bars and clubs. I felt the need to create so strongly that I never questioned it. I didn't know why I had to, I just had to. As an adult artist there came a time when I decided that I would make a point to paint every day. It would not be just a hobby, it would be like a religious practice. My identity was cemented when I made that decision. There were times when friends would want to go out and I would say, "No, I've got to paint." It was my vocation, my reason for living. I was always searching for ways to make my work better and settled on the idea that it was a life-long quest, and that I would always be learning.

But then last week, I had the epiphany. I no longer have the need to paint. I still have the desire to paint, because I thoroughly enjoy the quest for better expressions of myself. But I don't have the need. I think my need was for people to pay attention to me, to think me intelligent and talented. I grew up fourth in a family of five kids where I didn't get that much attention. So as I grew, I craved it and the itch was scratched by art. It became part of my identity and I felt a sense of self-validation when I would do something I considered worthy. But that need for attention is gone. Painting doesn't really help anyone - it's just entertainment. I will still paint, but my painting will be different. It will be more intentional. I used to think that everything I did was so brilliant, but I just don't see that anymore.

We all have genius - we just have to recognize it and nurture it. My genius is not about painting or writing or music, as I thought it was for so many years. My genius is in communication. And in my life, I don't use that genius enough. I have amazing dialogues with myself, but so rarely do I have them with anybody else anymore. What good is a head full of knowledge and novelty if it isn't shared? So psychiatry seems to be the avenue where I can put my knowledge, and hopefully the wisdom it has engendered, to good use.

I feel free from the shackles of my own making. I used to feel that if I didn't keep painting, I would lose my identity. And some day, I felt, if I kept learning, I would truly make a masterpiece. Now I see that painting is just one of the tools in my box. Just as music is. And writing. If I were suddenly unable to do any of these things, I wouldn't lose my identity. I suppose that is what the epiphany was all about - that my self-identity is fully formed. I know who I am. I know what my tools are. And I know what to do with them. I know what I believe. It has taken 49 years, but I know who I am. And I am pleased to meet me.