Footprints in Stone
On the corner of a dirty street in downtown Los Angeles, I look down at a set of footprints in concrete and begin to cry. The midday sun beats down on a crowd of tourists milling around, but they dissolve into the background as I stare at her tiny handprints, blackened by the touch of a million pilgrims. What others feel when they step to the edge of the Grand Canyon or see the Milky Way on a clear night, I feel now: irresistibly drawn to majesty and decimated by my own insignificance.
At Grauman’s Chinese Theatre surrounded by these simple memorials to the greatest artists I know, I am too overwhelmed to speak. My only desire is to climb out of this pit of total deficiency and somehow to be worthy. One day, I might add my prints to theirs. And I won’t be proud that tourists point out my name and take pictures; I will be proud and humbled to be in the company of these beautiful ghosts.
Everyone is carrying a burden. You may shed it along the way, but chances are you’ll pick up a new one. This is mine.
I have never been satisfied with who I am. My inner monologue is a steady stream of abusive self-talk, a constant reminder of the cavernous gulf between who I am and who I want to be. So when someone affirms me by saying I or my work is worth something, I soak it up like a parched sponge. This rabid craving for affirmation requires deeper and more constant declarations of love, or I feel it’s slipping away. The more affirmation I get, the more I need it and the more I fear losing it.
It’s not enough for me to be a likable fellow who has friends. I need an arena full of worshippers screaming my name. I must be extraordinary in every moment, and when I’m not – when I’m boring or common – I punish myself with mental replays so I’ll do better next time.
At some point, I began to believe (never consciously) if I created art that was truthful and impactful enough, it might make up for who I am and fill this hole. So I poured myself into acting and writing, developing my craft, throwing myself off an artistic cliff in an attempt to be as unique and powerful as possible. I once said, “I would rather die of starvation, having failed in my attempt to create something of value, than be fabulously wealthy, having succeeded in creating noise.” I meant it. I need worthiness more than life.
Though I have learned to see this burden for the false narrative it is, I still fear giving it up. What would I be left with if I had peace? While imperfect, this hunger has led me to achieve remarkable things. Without it, I would have no purpose or motivation. I need this burden. It has energized and killed me for years.
I don’t trust God enough to find my worth in Him alone. I don’t want to. I want to earn my place in the constellations. If I was to give up trying to be good enough, trying to create art that was good enough, there would be nothing left to salvage my pride. It’s too humbling to come to the cross with no worth or significance to offer. He gives His own value, and nothing we do can add to it. To be a child of God is a title far greater and more meaningful than any I can achieve. I pursue the adoration of people to give me the value I crave. But God’s love, which is infinitely greater, is already mine.
If I never see my footprints in concrete, is He enough?
I don’t know. I don’t trust Him that much – not yet. I wonder how many more years I will carry this burden, how many people I will burn in my ambitious, discontented wake.
What’s driving you: a need for security, fulfillment, or love? We chase money, sex, career, fame, and everything else that promises but never delivers these things. The primal need of our souls can only be found in our Creator. We were made for Him and we will be satisfied with nothing less. I wonder if we will find our rest in Him, or if we will continue to run like a bleeding horse after a dangling carrot, for something He freely offers. For something we can never find anywhere else. “Our hearts are restless until they find rest in you,” said St. Augustine. I know this intellectually. Maybe one day I will experience it.
J.
July 13, 2021