Lost and Found: Write a short story/autobiographical essay about losing, discovering, and/or recovering yourself. You may choose to base your essay on a physical journey and/or an emotional, intellectual, or spiritual passage. How did you “get lost”? How did you feel? What did this mean for you? Did you learn something? Why and how? Make references to the stories of loss and discovery of Frank Hurley and Timothy Treadwell. Pay attention to how the stories of these adventurers are narrated and edit as you tell your story.

 

Lost Inside Myself

 

      It was a warm sunny day in late spring, in the western foothills city of Hickory NC. The year was 1979, and I was an eighteen year-old senior at Hickory High School, experiencing the very last seconds of a twelve-year tenure in public school, as I and my classmates finished up our graduation rehearsal in the gymnasium. The principal dismissed us as the clock approached noon, and we filed out reverently into a large breezeway.

 

      But in stark contrast to the quiet that had been imposed within, here in the bright early afternoon it was pandemonium outside: teenagers everywhere yelling and jumping around, hugging each other, smiling and laughing. A celebration of having made this transition into young adulthood, and of freedom, at least for a while, from the shackles ofacademic life. And why shouldn't we have felt this way? We had earned it, and tonight would cross the stage in another venue to receive our diplomas, in front of family and friends. It should have been a joyous moment for all that were there.

 

      I stood just a few steps from where we had exited, a silent witness to it all- totally lost, sad, and bewildered. No one noticing me, no conversations to enter into, and no hugs from anyone. I may as well have been invisible, because in a sense I wasn't really there. My identity was somewhere behind me, detached from the physical body, and suffering a major crisis: how was I supposed to feel? What was I supposed to do right then? Did I just walk away to my car and drive off of the campus forever? The latter was what I was getting ready to do, but then I saw a woman approaching me. She was an art teacher whose class I'd had that year. And she was lifting up her arms so she could embrace me...

 

      The large majority of us get “lost” sometimes during our lives, but the particular paths that we wander off of

are as myriad and diverse as we humans are ourselves. My route could not have been more different that the

very adventurous examples that explorers such as Frank Hurley and Timothy Treadwell embarked upon.

Whereas their bold personalities and inner motivations drove them literally to the fringes of physical endurance

and extremes of climate, most of us settle for somewhat safer and more realistic destinations. And for those

who experience extreme shyness, such as I did for all of my teenage years, the challenge is simply to be able

to lose the “self” at all. It was always there, suppressing and censoring any acts of expression, even though it

yearned to do so.

 

      There is a statement made, in the first paragraph of Michael Kimmelman's seventh chapter from The

Accidental Masterpiece, which reads “true stress and danger... bring out the best in some people and inspire

art in a few” (131). For the severely self-conscious, this “true” danger is instead a totally imagined one- it is a

paralyzing fear of what others will think when you call any attention to yourself. For the photographer Frank

Hurley, it was assessed that “he was almost literally willing to die for his craft” (133). By comparison, I was of

the preference to die rather than be noticed; particularly in a negative way (the shy person's biggest fear) but

ironically also in a positive one. Within the hyper-introverted individual, all attention is bad. We want to blend

into the wall, yet simultaneously are starving for people to notice and to care. These contradictory emotions

seethe under the surface.

 

      The psychological explanations for shyness are not entirely clear cut. There is some debate as to whether

there is a genetic tendency, or that it is more the result of an individual's environment. Most likely it is a

combination of them; my parents were both considered shy as young adults. It stands to reason that growing

up under their nurture, I would have learned some of that behavior from them. I have a personal theory that

perhaps my mother experienced post-partum depression, and that the very young infant I was felt that my

presence caused her pain, and so withdrew. There are very few early memories of my mother, compared to my

dad. But all these factors are circumstantial- who knows?

 

      For whatever reason, I lived within a self-imposed prison for almost eight years of my life, beginning at

about age twelve, or the onset of adolescence. Before then, although quieter than average, I had not felt any

really detrimental effects. Precocious in elementary school, my unofficial nickname had been “Brains”- and I

actually took some pride in that moniker. Not so, however, when the boys and girls around me (and myself, of

course) began having their first sexual urges. All of a sudden, my rankas the class “know-it-all” became

something to be ashamed of- I was a “nerd”, (well before ever hearing the term). And I set out to dumb myself

down, in order not to stand out in such a manner. That wasn't enough, but it was a beginning.

 

      It is this point in my path where the universe somehow saw fit to throw me a life-preserver; something I

could at least stay afloat on in my sea of self-doubt: an electric guitar. I've given the full account in other

writings, which some of my classmates have read, and will therefore forego thedetails. Let it suffice to state

that my shyness, my propensity to study very diligently, and a new means of expression all converged and

became my life's “accidental masterpiece”. Simply a present from my parents, the cheap guitar became my

constant companion at home, for hours upon end. I had only a few lessons, then proceeded on my own to

learn everything I could about music in general and the guitar specifically. Within a couple years I was so

entrenched that nothing else mattered. Some neighborhood friends and I formed a band, and we played at

talent shows and school functions. The irony of being so shy, yet performing in public- was not lost on me.

But here at last was something I cared so much about that it pushed me out there in spite of myself. I

continue to make that leap now, over 40 years later.

 

      To be lost within a craft, much as photographer Frank Hurley was- or to be so caught up in a cause as

was the naturalist Timothy Treadwell with his grizzly bears- this is a compulsion that I too have been fortunate

enough to have experienced, on my own terms. Although the risk factor for these gentlemen was off-the-charts

compared to mine, and very real; my more imaginary fears likewise were able to be confronted, and forced to

retreat some distance. Still there, but now manageable.

 

      Back to my opening scene, where I was standing alone and silent among my graduating class, and the

art teacher was headed my way to give me a hug. Although I would normally have been mortified at the

prospect, I was already in shock, so basically defenseless. She hugged me for several seconds, then backed

away a step. That was 35 years ago, and I can only paraphrase, but here is the gist of what she then said:

“See all these boys and girls? What you need to realize, young man, is that all of them are totally caught up

in themselves. You don't need to worry about what they think of you”.

 

      As transcribed above, that reads a bit harsh, but I intuitively sensed what she meant. Stop worrying about

them so much. Life is too short to hang your hat on what others think about you, at least to the extent that I

had been doing. There was no miraculous conversion on the spot- I still had struggles ahead of me with the

problem. But I will forever appreciate her gesture, and the gentle nudge that pushed me outside of myself.

Thank you, Ms. Bruton- wherever you are...

 

 

Works Cited

 

Kimmelman, Michael. The Accidental Masterpiece: On the Art of Life, and Vice Versa. New York:

 

      Penguin Press, 2005. Print.