Insults and Compliments

The uttered word carries with it many powers. It can lift you, or drag you down like an anchor. The weight is what we assign to it. I look back on words said to me in difficult times, words that were cruel and unkind, words intended to inflict pain and hurt. From the perspective of age and from the precipice of the greatest achievements of my life so far, I find it strange that many of the most caustic insults that once burned my sensibilities have turned out to be some of the greatest compliments to instill a sense of grace and humility in me.

Recently, an attractive woman I had known for all of three days called me a vagabond. She said it in a hurtful manner, precipitating the end of our blossoming friendship. Worse, when I brought a bottle of Blue Nun to her house, she told me my wine selection was vagabond wine. When I buy gewurztraminer, it is often just because I like to say gewurztraminer. I don’t choose gewurztraminer often, but it was what I wanted, and it came at an affordable price point. So I didn’t share any with her.

But I will applaud her, for she used vagabond in the correct sense of the word. Vagabond comes from the Latin root vageri (meaning “wanderer”) from vagus (to wander, undecided). Its true meaning is “wandering, of unsettled home.” In the 20^th century, it became associated more with a lazy, undisciplined person. For anyone who truly knows me – and perhaps those who are familiar with the writing life – that adaptation couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Since my return to Colorado in September, I have slept in seven different places. In a sense, I am homeless, even though I have been offered a temporary residence, for which I am grateful. I do not have an address listed with the Postal Service, at this time. It is “undecided.” One friend reminded me that Jim Carrey slept in a VW camper van on his sister’s lawn, before getting his first role of note, with “In Living Color.” Halle Berry lived in a homeless shelter. As a child, Dr. Phil McGraw lived out of a car with his father. Even James Bond was homeless – Daniel Craig slept on London park benches. Personal finance mentor Suze Orman lived out of her car for four months. When David Letterman moved to L.A., he lived out of his pickup truck for quite some time. Sylvester Stallone slept in a New York City train station and took a role in a sex flick before selling the script for “Rocky.” Thirteen-time Grammy winner Ella Fitzgerald was a homeless teen before getting an audition at the Apollo Theater that launched her career. The lovely singer, Jewel, was homeless for a period of time, as was Shania Twain. Drew Carey sold his plasma to make money, living off boxes of mac’n’cheese before achiev ing success as a comedian and one of the highest paid game show hosts in history. Magician Harry Houdini was a homeless child.

Jesus was a vagabond.

He was a vagabond by choice in the three years that he preached. Back in a time when travel was extremely arduous, Jesus took to the road. He wandered. Often, he was beckoned to the home of the sick, or to a wedding, or synogogue, or to the desert, where even Satan’s promise of wealth could not lure him from his vagabond life. The road was his home.

Being a vagabond is not the end. It is an eye-opening revelation of the vast possibilities of life. It is the catching of breath before the stretch run in a marathon. The word vagabond describes my life at this particular juncture, but it does not define my life. Just my wine.

Another insult changed my life. It bothered me for years.

As a college student at St. Bonaventure University, a journalism professor turned down every thesis topic I presented. After the fifth time, when half the semester was already over, we sat in her office for a conference. “Do you know what your problem is?” she asked, with no intention of stopping if I said I did. “You are nothing but a dreamer.”

She meant it in a very derogative way. For years, I countered the sting of her comment with a quote from another journalism professor, whom I respected. “Always consider the source,” he said.

As years went by, my dreams turned into goals, and goals turned into reality. I though about the world as it was, and the world as it might be. I dreamed things. I invented things. I created things. I built other people’s businesses into successes. I was an entrepreneur to a high degree.

I looked at other admired creators who achieved success, or fortune, or both. They all exhibited one common thread.

Leonardo da Vinci – dreamer!

Thomas Edison – dreamer!

Mark Twain – dreamer! And a vagabond!

Frederick Douglass – dreamer!

Martin Luther King, Jr. – dreamer!

Charles Lindbergh – dreamer!

Henry Ford – dreamer!

John F. Kennedy – dreamer!

The Beatles – dreamers, every one of them!

Richard Branson – dreamer!

Bill Gates – dreamer!

Steve Jobs – dreamer!

Steven Spielberg – dreamer!

Johnny Bench, Bobby Orr, Michael Jordan and every sports hero who has ever risen to the top of their games: dreamers!

That insult I carried with me for so many years was actually a compliment!

So much so, that I altered it a bit:

I am nothing, but a dreamer.

In my temporary endeavors and adventures, the ones that are leading up to the realization of my dreams, I have little need to issue insults to others. No matter what my situation, I try to pay three heartfelt compliments every day. It is amazing to see the reaction I get to my mere words.

It’s part of the payoff to a big dream I once had.