In 2015, Blydyn Square Books published a novel entitled Thirty-three Cecils that was written by yours truly.
I am using the phrase yours truly because I think it’s one of the most pompous phrases out there, so I am writing it here to break the ice. Not for you, but for me. Because if we are going to do this, if we are going to test the Rewiring Everett concept, then I have to put myself out front. I have to become the subject matter. The lab rat. The focus. And this will be crossing well over the line into my discomfort zone, so I’d better start getting used to it now.
When Thirty-three Cecils came out, it won the top fiction prize at the London Book Festival, it became required high school reading, it was used in writing classes and book clubs, and it had the film rights optioned. Now, you could see all these facts as self-aggrandizing, I guess, but I really just mention them to offer credibility to this project and to introduce some of the amazing people involved in it. More of that to come.
The novel concerned two men from totally different cities and backgrounds. One is a white-collar ex-con who has returned to his hometown to restart his relationship with his two young daughters. The other is an alcoholic who works in a landfill whose wife has left him and whose only friend is whoever happens to be sitting on the next barstool.
During the course of the novel, these men determine that they not only need to change their lives, but they need to change the very core reactions, drivers, fears, and motivations that got them to where they are. They need to completely rewire themselves. Otherwise, they could abstain, they could try to break through, they could set goals, they could take all the right steps, but it just would not matter. Eventually, their programming would take over and they would end up in the same place they were before.
That concept brought up an interesting question: Can we really rewire ourselves, or is this just the stuff of novels? And if people can rewire themselves, can I rewire myself?
I mean, I’m not anything like the characters from my novel. I’ve never been to prison. I’m not an alcoholic. I’ve never been divorced. In fact, I have been happily married for 28 years and have two great kids and daughter-in-law I adore. I also have a nice home and consider myself very lucky.
But I would also consider myself a good test subject because . . . well, I’m a total mess.
Now, you may have also noticed that I’m using the present tense—I am a mess—and not the past tense, suggesting that I once was one. I have not moved on from this condition. I’m not writing to you from a safe distance away. I am here.
Which is the perfect place to start, but exactly the opposite of how most self-help stories begin. Usually, they start from the other direction. At the end. Where the individual is standing aboard his sailboat in his designer yachting pants telling you how broke and out of shape he once was, but hey, look at me now.
Well, that’s not me. I don’t even know what yachting pants are and I’m pretty sure that I just made them up. If we are going to do this, if we are going to rewire me, then we can’t start at the end. We need to start from where I am now. Live. Here. From the beginning.
If we are going to do this, then it needs to be from this point, honest and open and transparent. You get a ringside seat to my personal, big, fat mess.
The fat part of this mess comes from this: I’m pushing 300 pounds on what should be a 170-pound frame, I’m unhealthy, and I haven’t even been able to get my wedding ring on for seven years.
I’m also an emotional mess, with the majority of each day being spent worried, frightened, frustrated, unfulfilled, and hoping something amazing will just fall from the sky and change it all. I am also one of the world’s leading guilt-catchers and don’t believe I deserve what I have and that I will somehow mess things up worse than they are now and even that will be taken away.
On the social scale, I’m a mess because I don’t really contribute to anything, to any organization, to any cause, to any community. I don’t help anyone other than my immediate family. And outside of my home, I don’t make much of a difference.
Now, as I describe myself to you, you may be picturing this huge, broken soul who might throw you a sob story in between bites of his triple-meat hoagie and try to borrow a few bucks from you if we ever shared an elevator together. But the truth is that, like many of us, my mess is pretty camouflaged. If we were in that elevator, you would smile and so would I, and we might even strike up a friendly conversation, which might lead you to even feel slightly good as the elevator door opened and we both stepped out: You first, of course. Have a nice day.
And that’s how it is with most of us whose lives, or specific parts of it, are messed up. We are friendly people. Nice people. We are good people. We are productive people who have much to be grateful for. And most of those around us, even the ones we are close to, will most likely never know what is going on in behind all those wires.
So after thinking about this, we decided to test it. For Everett to be the guinea pig.
I’m not doing this to attempt to obtain a specific prize, reach weight goal or financial level, or so that a year from now I can stand in front a Ferrari showing off my six-pack abs. Instead, I’m doing it to change the reasons, fears, and worries that have stopped me from enjoying, living, and being the best me I can be. I’m doing it to rewire—to change the wiring and the code that I programmed in, which got me where I am.
Why? Because if I can do it, if I can rewire, then this will be a breeze for you. And that’s what we’re doing. If this works, we’re giving it to you. All of it. You’ll be able to use all the mistakes as well as the tricks that work to help yourself rewire the aspects of your life that you want to change. If it doesn’t work? Well, at least it should provide some solid entertainment.
So who is this we that I’m talking about? Who are the people involved in all this?
Well, let me introduce you . . .
