Bio
My youth was spent in some very rural areas of New Hampshire, in a land of forests, lakes and mountains. It was a beautiful place to grow up. Some might think it boring, or find it strange that I may have known more dogs than people for the first half of my childhood, but I thought nothing of it then, and I really don't now, either. The woods were my playground and I learned to entertain myself there.
School was a relatively easy endeavor for the most part, motivation waxing and waning throughout the years as this or that caught my interest. On the playground, I was a shy introvert and occasionally bully-bait—I've often wondered at what influence these had on my early adult stories. In the classroom, I was easily bored, but managed to keep the grades up with little stress. I never thought much about that or of being told occasionally that I was bright. When I was interested, the learning came effortlessly and when I wasn't the classes seemed interminable.
My dominant theme during this time seemed to be a yearning for adventure beyond the staid world I perceived to lie in the general direction of my future if I weren't careful. My imagination was vivid and frequently in use; my mind packed full of adventure novels set in exotic locales. I lifted weights, ran along hilly roads, swam wide rivers and otherwise prepared myself athletically for my eventful adulthood. I was a dreamer, but I did manage to begin a lifelong interest in fitness!
Once in my junior or senior year of high school, we had a student teacher who told me her current project was to learn how to achieve a state of happiness at will. I was already fascinated by altered mental states, martial arts and human potential in general. Her quest made a big impact on me and 35 years later I hope she has had as much success with it as I have!
Despite encouragement from a few to attend college, my lack of funds and the glittering lure of adventure led me to enlist in the Marine Corps after high school graduation. I was a model Marine for a short time, but soon became bored and, in what was to be a pattern until I was around 30, I often substituted drinking and trouble for the elusive adventure. The Marines taught me dogged perseverance, though, and I have benefited from that lesson endlessly.
After the Marines came my wilder years, over a decade of truck driving, furniture moving and construction labor, made tolerable by frequent intoxication, more adventure novels and a few hobbies. I did crazy things on motorcycles and tried a couple of martial arts, took up Yoga and dropped it again, hung with dangerous crowds and looked into meditation. I also got married, had two strong boys (Darrell Jr. and Brian), got divorced, missed much of their growing up despite living in the same city and staying in contact. Before the divorce I had some small sense of stability in the family life, but after that I was adrift in the currents of chaos.
I bounced around a lot during this period: in employment, in relationships, in living arrangements, sliding from one bit of trouble to the next. It was the time of adventure and, of course, it fell short of the stories. It led me down, off the beaten path, into a netherworld of shuffling zombies and callous predators. I lived in a self-indulgent wasteland where I threw aside irreplaceable moments of my only life like crushed cigarette butts. In the end, there was nothing to show for this time but ugly, distorted memories. Homeless, penniless, ravaged and discarded by the lifestyle, I had an epiphany: change or die.
The day after my amazing revelation, I walked away, leaving the lifestyle behind forever. I would later learn a label that could be applied to my mental process during this period: cognitive restructuring. Back then, however, all I knew is that I had seen clearly through the futility and waste for the first time in memory. A fundamental shift in my reality had changed everything.
I had been to hell and walked out again. I had learned things about living, about me. Over the ensuing years I climbed back up into the sunlight, picking up as I went the things I had missed previously. I rebuilt my strength, worked my way up from clerk to webmaster to software entrepreneur, restarted my studies of the human mind. I dated around, finally marrying my present wife, Donna. I had come back to life.
Then, after a decade of freelancing web sites and database design, I got restless again. I had left the swamp behind only to find myself lost in the forest. I was sure there was more to life than aimless wandering in search of material gain. Such goals were interesting and rewarding in their own way, but they weren't fulfilling.
Some introspection brought me the realization that I wanted to help people who were lost, like I had been. I also remembered that student teacher from high school and her happiness project: that sounded real to me, it felt like a valid path. The key was not in what I owned or where I lived, but rather in my mind. I needed to know more, so I went where I had chosen not to go back at the end of high school: I went to college.
From volunteer EMT to Registered Nurse, I learned about rescuing and healing people. I found my quest led me to psychiatric nursing and to psychology. Then I began exploring outside academia, discovered Eckhart Tolle and Dan Millman, I rediscovered Zen and Yoga. I qualified for US Mensa membership and started a SIG called Metacognition (MetaC) that allowed me to network with others who wanted to explore our potential. I began to understand what I had been missing and I began to practice the skills necessary to obtain it.
I am still in school and finding my way. I spend my days happy, though, and people remark on my new reserves of patience and calm; I show them how to meditate. All along, the problem was nowhere but in me and when I realized that, I was free of it. I have seen the light through the trees and it is a beautiful thing.
