I remember myself as a teenager, sitting lonely in the center of my own universe, writing the script that saw my future come out the way I wanted. But in the staging of the scenes, I was a second-rate actor who often forgot his lines or stumbled while crossing the stage. And in playing the starring role, I was just trying to become someone I had invented. I could act my heart out, impersonating the successful young man I wanted to be, but I was unable to master the real roles in my life … student, son , brother, friend. I risked failing to be a real person because I was trying to be someone I wasn’t.
The cock-sureness of my youth masked my natural feelings of inferiority. As I stumbled through my high school years, I began to know the disappointing truth that like many other teens I had never really accomplished anything, had never formed a truly selfless relationship with another and never stood up to honestly take my own measure. Since I was too young to admit it, I was left to cover my confusion with a blanket of arrogance. That covering wouldn’t last forever. Eventually it would shred away, and underneath would be found either a boy simply getting older or a man in the making.
I don’t remember how it happened. I know the process wasn’t clean and precise. This monastic life played a significant part in it. For some, maturity was inevitable. For me, it was a long road with uncertain directions and a changing landscape. But I eventually got here, and today I can say with confidence that I am indeed a man. But I am only a man. And although I will sometimes sit in the center of my own universe, I seldom set up camp there. It’s too lonely a place. In the wider universe … the real one … I am not alone, I am not in charge and I am no more important than anyone else.
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