Sabbatical

The last several months haven’t been the easiest for me.

Let’s go back to September of last year. I had several profound life changes going on.

The stress at work was too much to bear, so I left abruptly with no prior notice. Also, I was reeling from a very rough break-up.

Initially, I thought I was fine.

I figured bouncing back would be relatively easy — I’m a hard-working, diligent college graduate with a few years of valuable experience under my belt.

But I quickly learned my work was cut out for me.

Job interview after job interview, rejection after rejection, led me to questioning my worth. And this coupled with my stunted creativity and artistry, led me into a very burdensome depression.

A few close friends, along with my loving parents, emphasized the importance of remaining positive and maintaining a routine. Yet, it honestly didn’t seem to matter.

And I began to retreat into myself.

This felt strange because of my extroverted nature. But at the same time, I didn’t want to appear inauthentic by acting like everything was ok.

Seeing my loved ones during the holidays brought both joy and agony. I was elated to see them, yet dreaded the persistent and repetitive questions about work and social life that were usually so easy to answer.

Over the years, I thought I was The Man— someone who was always on the right path and seemed to have it all together.

But during this particular time, I felt truly defeated.

How do you abide by the instruction manual and still lose?

It simply didn’t make sense!

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I cried a lot.

There were times I dwelled on lost opportunities that had slipped through my grasp both personally and professionally.

There were times I’d cry myself to sleep, clutching my covers trying to figure out the answers.

I never thought I could ever sink so low.

There’s one situation in particular that stands out — my trip to NYC for an artist showcase, which occurred shortly after I left my job.

I was contacted by an agency to perform at SOBs — a storied venue in the heart of the city, known for hosting many legendary hip-hop acts.

I was elated about the opportunity, yet careful to ensure that both the business and the legitimacy of the performance were handled accordingly.

Foolishly, I made the required deposit for the performance shortly after confirming the details about the gig with the agency.

Normally, I wouldn’t do this, but I had tunnel vision — performing at SOBs was a dream  of mine since I was 14.

It was finally coming true — or so I thought.

Despite my excitement, I dug myself into a hole financially — the tolls, valet parking, hotel and other expenses quickly ate up my savings.

And in the end, it was all in vain.

The artists on the bill (who came from all over the country) — including myself — didn’t end up performing.

The agency didn’t have its business in order and it had to move the showcase to another location last minute. Time passed while we were waiting to get on stage and we eventually realized it was simply not going to happen.

After saying my goodbyes, I left New York bitter, embarrassed and frustrated.

How could I let that happen?

To make matters worse, during a pit stop off the New Jersey turnpike, my card declined. I tried and tried again, but to no avail. My debit card was maxed out.

I broke down in the car.

I shook my head in despair, sobbed and gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

I ended up spending the night at a 24-hour rest stop. In the morning, I called my father who was furious about my foolish decisions. Thankfully, he helped me and I made it back safely to Virginia.

Upon returning home, I knew something had to give.

I decided to get some help and learned I had unspecified bipolar and depression.

I learned, however, that it’s not about the diagnosis. It’s about how you cope with it.

My antidote was and has been faith and time.

Faith — knowing God was and is not punishing me, but rather opening my eyes.

My worldview has been enlightened. I’ve become more resourceful and appreciative of life’s most simple fruits — housing, food, family and beloved friends to call upon in both times of joy and sorrow.

Time — the age-old saying “time heals all wounds” was the God-knows truth.

When I was diagnosed with my mental health conditions, it was an “aha!” moment. I was able to retrace certain moments in my life and analyze why I’d acted irrationally.

The friends I lost due to my misplaced ego.

And the lovers I lost due to my explosive emotional outbursts.

There are relationships with two wonderful women that come to mind, which were cut short because of my fear of the future.

There was an innate expectation of being this perfect man, which I didn’t believe I could live up to.

So instead of seeing things through and remaining committed, I let my insecurities get the best of me and those relationships suffered because of it.

It is something I regret to this day.

The last few months, however, are a testament to my resilience, especially when my faith was tested.

During that time and even now, I’ve strayed away from social media.

Originally, it began with a reclusive approach.

But then I realized there’s more to life than simply trying to document it. We have to live it!

The old soul in me prefers calling my close friends and family members. It reinforced the notion you never truly know how someone’s doing based off social media alone.

With that being said, I encourage you to reach out to your loved ones more. Truthfully, it doesn’t take much — a mere text message can brighten someone’s day immensely.

Rob ‘Ace.’ Holmes, III