Putting a cage around the obsession over incredible individuals
There was a time when I was a wee squirt that my short attention span took a vacation and the hyper focus witchcraft of infatuation took over.
One instance (among a few) was my utter devastating love of the professional wrestler Rowdy Roddy Piper. I had met him once at the local county fair with his family and immediately latched on to his humble and kind personality. Completely different than his WWF persona on TV. Mind you, I had thought his character was hilarious and very entertaining. The contrast of seeing and experiencing the real him just flipped a switch. Like Bruce Lee was to me, Mr. Piper became even more. Posters, comics, movies, videos, trading cards, cartoons, never missing a broadcast; I could not get enough.
It took quite a bit of maturing and almost a decade before I calmed the hell down about obsessing over the person. Skip to about two decades later; I had just finished reading the book, The Man of Legends, by the author Kennith Johnson. I had been a huge fan of his tv series V, and the book I had just read was pretty spectacular. So, being me, I wrote him a long fan letter expressing my admiration of his last book (the one I had just read). How I had just became a semi-professional writer a year ago and still had so much to learn, yadda yadda yadda. I tried not to gush, but I sorta failed at that.
Time past, and to my dumbfounded surprise, Mr. Johnson wrote me back. I assume I don’t have to go into detail about the myriad of obsessive tendencies that followed in the next few weeks. Suffice to say, after about a month. I finally emailed him back. Yes, he actually sent me his personal email address in the letter. HOLY F!
After a couple back and forth correspondence, I realized that my brain was slowly reverting to an unhealthy obsession. Even though I was continually trying ‘not to make’ this whole exchange of writing back and forth a huge deal. It was awesome yes. But he was just a normal person with really amazing talent and skill. A regular human being. Yet, my brain was trying to convince me that he was my idol.
Uuuugghhhh
It took a lot of fortitude for me to wish him well on his next book and future endeavors ‘to not write him anymore’. He was so kind and encouraging. I wanted to desperately be his friend. But that, for me, was far too much emotion.
I spent the next few months beating myself up about it. Digging myself harshly for acting like a lunatic fan in my head. And thanking all the gods that I did not write to him like one.
Cut to not 5 days later (in Las Vegas), I attended a private birthday party for a reality tv show producer and met a famous Vegas Strip magician. We got to talking and I ended up accepting an invitation to be his production assistant. WTF!!!!
It took me a solid four or five months to maintain my awe-struck mental faculties before I mellowed and did my job normally without freaking out after each shift had ended. For a couple years I relished the experience. Each and every day, padding myself on the back for not acting like a bat$#!+ crazy person.
When I finally moved away from Las Vegas, I moved into a house with a really close friend who used to work for Celine Dion. And actually took Elton John’s dog out to take a $#!+ on a swatch of Kentucky Bluegrass. For a few days I was wondering why this obsession with “fame/fame adjacent” was continually crossing my path. I abruptly put a tight lid on obsessing over my friend. “It” (my brain) started to actually piss me off. Why in the world was I like this? I never had any desire to be ‘ famous! I don’t even like being around a lot of people.
Cut to 6 years later, I am older and supposedly wiser (which remains to be seen). I am in hopes that such moments, like I have described, if any do cross my path again; I will be less crazy inducing, in the head.
Of course I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, if I were to ever meet Henry Rollins, my composure would immediately crumble to incessant clapping, and jumping up and down like a bubbly teen cheerleader.
Zues help me..
