A love letter to someone I owe to.
It’s 4 AM in the morning, April the 7th and I can't sleep. I need to let something out.
This intro, in a very strange but realistic manner brings me closer to one of my idols, the Iconic Kobe Bryant who too, once he had torn his Achilles back in April 2013 (almost 10 years ago) couldn’t sleep in the hospital and wrote this note to vent and let it out.
You see, I’m not in the hospital, but I’ve been to the emergency room about a week ago and have lost sleep ever since. And the ever-evolving questions that occupy my mind as I’m turning 33 in 3 weeks are: What next? How long should I persevere? When does something start clicking? Am I fooling myself and others? Am I out of this league? Do I belong?
And then just now, after another panic attack, I pulled my shit together and decided to remind the world, but most importantly — myself one little tiny thing…
Who is this guy, Sergey, who’s soon turning 33 years of age?
By skimming through my notes and documentation of various forms I came to the conclusion that this guy is not a joke. Anything but a joke. I am wonderful, awesome, and one-of-a-fucking-kind. Period.
I am someone who built a start-up in my 20th, wishing to become wealthy and powerful, but lost all this fortune not by accident, but by conscious choice. I wrote so many articles about the fancy funky business that forgot to write a love letter to something that speaks much deeper and dearer to my heart.
And this something is …. Arts — in various forms. I find a parallel between my path and Kobe’s, who after finishing his basketball career went on and won an Oscar for a story he wrote before an AI was even not in the making. Kobe’s basketball was my business venture, and his later endeavors, in my romanticized mind equate to a number of leaps either playing DJ sets, writing poems, or producing lots of content that I never planned on creating in the first place.
This is my version of “Dear Basketball” — a love letter to my life, which I started having doubts about understanding the perception of once a mild and ephemeral mid-life crisis.
Here is the truth: we don’t need the world’s recognition to live a meaningful life, as long as we lead a life of contribution.
In the words of Martin Luther King : “don’t let anyone rob you of your somebodyness” — sometimes it’s themost precious thing you have, especially in our foolishly recognition-driven world.
Sitting on a porch filled with regrets is a risk no one can bulletproof you from. But even at 30, or 40, or 50 for God’s Sake, if you wonder, try new things out and don’t settle unless you spot something that gives you goosebumps — you are ADMIRABLE. I’m with you. Look for something that you gonna fall in love with. Eventually, you gonna find it.
I, myself, am yet to find something that I can do without sleep and food but be rest assured: once I find that — the question of money and recognition will be secondary, and not define my feeling of a life well-lived.
I am now tying up loose ends. I think I am finally onto something. The combination of my talents and experience got a chance to finally all come together. And blessings to all of you my friends who have been supporting me and shared words of encouragement under my yesterday’s epiphany post and this last year. Also, thanks to my mom, who I know will try her very best to translate and understand what I wrote here. ))
I hope this little revelation reminds you that we are all similar.
We all experience highs and lows, but only our mortality makes life so precious. As I’m closing, and it’s 5 AM outside my window and curfew lets cars ride the streets again, while spring is taking its last rehearsal to finally come in full swing, I think the only appropriate words I shall leave you with are the following….
Buy yourself flowers
Write your name in the sand
Talk to yourself for hours
Say things you don’t understand
You can take yourself dancing
And you can hold your own hand
Yeah, you can love yourself better than anyone can.
Love you, brother and sister. Don’t forget to love yourself.
Serhii.
