CLONE
Easy to be. Escape is possible.
When life tossed me into my shadow self, I didn’t want to admit what I found. No one does and everyone has one, even saints. My self-importance kept me blinded from mine and whether you are rich or poor, it is the same. Unfortunately, those we love are the ones who pay the price until we discover and deal with its contents. This is my regret, and she deserved better.
When my wife divorced me, I found myself hollow. Days were spent disconnected from my body, mind, or spirit. I seemed to interact with the world from a place behind myself as two separate people. One watched while the other talked, walked, and interacted with the world. As the clamors of the world surrounded me, I was a desert barren of life.
No one knew what I was going through. It seems I bought into the notion that when you have a seven-figure life, waterfront home, cars, boats, and stuff, you should not feel this way, but she took something and I couldn’t figure out what even though she left me everything.
Her last words, a sticky note, read, “I need more. I don’t know what, but I will never find it being married to you. Everything is yours. Please sign the documents as soon as you can. Send me a text when you do.” I signed, sent the text and three years without reply.
Long days at the office and countless business trips I am certain contributed to her leaving. I am sure she told me in her way, but the chase is a tunnel. The chase started in grade school and never stopped. I wanted to prove something to myself or everyone else? I considered this living, and my peers did too.
In the second year of divorce, I admitted to turning her into a living fixture. Another acquisition I chased and gained. Makes me sick I once thought of her that way. It took courage for her to leave. I hope someday I will have the same courage.
My precarious state of mind changed one evening when someone I met on a business trip posted an article about TENit with a guilt bait tactic, “IMPORTANT!!! Read if you CARE!” Care about what? It peaked irritation and curiosity and, of course, prompted reading the post. I hate it when I fall for this stuff. I should know better.
The internet, like the world, was divided and TENit the latest. Not new, but a rising star. The web had developed into a minefield of political groups fueling a norm of frothy outrage where issues were missiles on a thousand front war.
One solution banned the worst offenders, which meant they were off nets Main Street. A counterproductive victory, considering it solidified them. Did this mean they disappeared or reconsidered? NO! It was the same as busing homeless to another city. The banished popped up somewhere else because there are plenty of billionaires and dictators, like Batman villains, to give them a home. The homeless are not so lucky.
TENit started ten-years ago by Jackie O, whose last name was Orovich but given the nickname of President Kennedy’s famous wife Jackie Onassis. It began in North Carolina, where it remained under the national radar for years. At one point, it took on a life of its own when members left for other states and carried the TENit message.
The article wasn’t extreme and although they took liberty with facts; I ignored this because they seemed to care. A career in marketing allowed me to appreciate their methods, but things were not as cut and dry as they made them out to be.
I subscribed to the TENit and, like any relationship, experienced the honeymoon phase as articles filled my feed and me — with purpose. The articles, videos, and content held two things in common — outrage and urgency where the game of repeat — repeat — repeat equals their reality becomes yours. I played this game my entire career, but I was hooked, caught in the same tactics that made me wealthy — ironic.
It started when members friended me. I didn’t have any real friends; the ones who care whether you are alive. Mine were business and anyone will tell you who retires — they retire as friends when you do. Ironic that TENit became no different. It was nice to log in at night and someone drop a, “Hi it’s good to see ya.” or engage further; a family that is part of this thing together. The empty house and I no longer echoed despair, but I didn’t realize the price. Clone!
I fell for the “we care”, which meant “we care” as long as you don’t question. I saw what happened when someone raised an objection or pointed out something impractical, illegal, or sensible. Even innocent questions prompted fascism without a nation.
And then it changed when I joined in ripping apart someone who stepped out of line in a feverish pitch absent sensibility. I couldn’t hold back from writing another post or commenting. Ridiculous because my posts parroted the clone mind. The person made a valid point, but I lost a deal that day and an apportioned amount of TENit culture contributed to my tirade that helped in their banishment. The person banished — Jackie O.
I slept that night in satisfaction, but a sleepless week told me differently. I went against my principles and became a conspirator for one reason — Jackie expressed a different opinion.
TENit experienced a cabal of higher ups clamoring to fill the vacuum she left. Their methods became a war of loyalty not to TENit, but to themselves. This led to infighting between members over allegiances where free will became set by that days leader. A guy named Benderly came out the winner by using an old trick. He united us in a common cause by attacking another organization, and his competitors were banished.
I was a clone in a cult and not sure how to get out of it. I kept telling myself we were activists doing good, not clones. The lie didn’t hold up.
The organization restored the self-importance my divorce claimed. I was a TENit regional director and organized rallies, protests, and led members where my identity became intertwined with the CEO of my company and TENit. To lose either unfathomable because it would be a kind of death, but Benderly was a control freak nut job who terrified me. I thought I was dying and should have sought professional help, especially when a voice inside my head said, “You are dying.”
During this time, I sold the house for a condo and showed up for my first association meeting. The board of my condo, a bunch of “Benderly’s”, were upset over Grandma Jenkins blue flower pot on her balcony. Although ridiculous, a greater problem existed. The people who lived at the condo didn’t care whether the pot was blue, but remained silent before the board. We were the majority, not them. When did the sensible become timid? I don’t know, but I gave the board hell. Didn’t do any good, but Grandma Jenkins dropped me off some chocolate chip cookies.
That night, I set out to discover how the outrage started that led to Jackie’s banishment. Benderly was not the only factor, and I felt stupid. Review of past posts revealed a handful of people were instrumental in banishment of every person who ever objected to anything or raised a well-meaning question. It didn’t end there. They also attacked anyone who left the organization. A membership of tens of thousands were told what to do, what to think, what to write and what to say and how to say it by five people.
What I had to do meant a metaphorical suicide. The inner voice of death was a prophecy, but first I owed Jackie O an apology. We spoke on the phone for over three hours that night. She told me how and why she started TENit. She explained as the movement grew, she was excited, but the organization absorbed an intolerant element. Like my condo board, the control freaks took over.
I didn’t have a choice, but leave. No matter what, I became a target and my company too. Not to mention, a bunch of employees were clones like myself. When the company sold the condo was part of the deal.
I bought an old airstream trailer and hit the road with my ex-wife’s last words in my mind- “I need more.” With a better understanding of what “more” means, I will arrive in North Carolina tomorrow, a new man, because I am no longer hiding from myself. Someday I will define what “more” means, but for now I can rely on the intuition I am headed in the right direction.
I am certain North Carolina will be as beautiful as Jackie O. Funny thing is, my name is Jon Frederic Knudtson.
I found the courage.
Note: Who would have thought that a conversation with my brilliant friend Melanie about cookie cutters and clones would lead to an article like this? Maybe I will get around to writing the one about hand models. There will never be a shortage of writing prompts.
