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For
as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a storyteller.
Perhaps
the desire began to grow as I listened as a child to my father
weaving tales of his adventures that he lived long before I was
born. The fact that he repeated those stories numerous
times probably didn't have anything to do with it.
Or,
perhaps the desire came from holidays and special dinners when
family friends would come over to our small, remote, Northern
California Pacific Power and Light company house, and The Men
would hold The Women captive (or so The Men thought) with their
stories of adventure and daring and whoa.
The
fact that their stories were repeated numerous times probably
didn't have anything to do with it.
Or
maybe my calling goes deeper, a memory from a place and time,
that we as of yet, don't have any "proof" exists.
Or,
as a long-ago old friend used to say, "What if . . .
?"
All
I I am certain of now is, when I was six, my family went into show business as a
professional acrobatic team with a health and fitness message.
We performed mainly at schools throughout the U.S. for
the first six years. Then
we went on to do special events and amusement parks for another
four years. By the
time we retired in 1979, we had presented more than 9,000 shows
and been seen by over 20 million people, not including numerous
national television audiences.
Being on stage and entertaining people had become natural
for me.
My
first storytelling attempts, outside of the “family biz,”
and creating the usual childhood dramas, were drawing cartoons, putting on puppet shows or presenting
astronomy shows with my home planetarium projector.
My little (two years) brother would often team up with me
for these. In my teens, I progressed to 8mm film. During this time my family retired from show business and
bought The Yellow Bait House in the Florida Keys.
Because
the films that I made didn’t have any actors, filming and
editing them was a solitary experience — just me and the
camera, the film and the music.
When they were shown, I derived immense joy just sitting
in the back and watching the audience’s reactions, which ran
the gamut from tears, to cheers — to vomiting.
(I ended one of my first films in the front seat of a
roller coaster, and a lady in the audience suffered from motion
sickness. Luckily she was sitting in the front row when she went
looking for “Ralph!”)
And
I dreamt of someday watching the audience from the back of a real theater. I
didn’t need the audience to recognize me, I just wanted to
experience their reactions. Through the images that they
saw on the screen, I wanted to make them laugh, cry and
think.
When
my films were shown in those early days, I always received
compliments and encouragement to pursue a career in filmmaking. But, for reasons I am now just coming to understand, I was
never able to make the career happen (or get the education to
make it happen).
So
I shoved my dream into some dark corner.
I managed my family’s business in Key Largo and worked
ambulance and fire/rescue for volunteer and paid departments.
In between, when I got bored with selling bait, there was a smattering of odd jobs: pizza
delivery, construction, pest control, charter boat mate,
freelance fishing guide, multi-level marketing, door-to-door
sales.
Sometime
in late ’87 I was led back into storytelling when I
self-published inshore and offshore editions of The Complete
Guide to Florida Keys Fishing.
I had gotten tired of answering the repetitive questions
I heard at the Bait House, and there were no books that
addressed most of said questions, so writing a book was the
logical answer. With
satirical humor sprinkled throughout — I had a strong dislike
for the fishing industry by this time, and making smart-aleck
jokes was the only way I could write about it without throwing
up — they received good reviews and sold briskly.
This led to writing for local newspapers.
In
1988, my fire department and writing experience landed me a
position with an Arctic expedition as their medical officer and
photojournalist. The
group was searching for a sunken whaling ship that had sunk in
1897, 60 miles west of Barrow, Alaska – 250 miles inside the
Arctic Circle. The
experience was haunting and profound, and left me with a deep appreciation
and love for the Arctic.
They
also gave me a video camera to document the project.
That
was the beginning of my second attempt to break into
storytelling in the film or television industry.
Between ’88 and ’95 I actually worked with and co-produced
projects with some pretty important people in the industry.
From
the outside, the projects I worked on looked impressive, but it was all just an
illusion (isn't everything?).
When I wasn’t working on these projects, I was selling
bait. Even though
the projects were a great education, they came at a heavy cost
to me (and sometimes those close to me) personally and
financially.
No
matter how hard I tried, I could only get so far in any given
project before running into some kind of invisible barrier
that prevented me from going any further.
It was as if I were playing a game where someone was always
changing the rules and then not telling me.
The frustrating part was that I knew I was only missing a
‘door’ in the barrier by less than a degree, yet I
couldn’t figure out why.
So
I began a search. I
did just about everything anyone might do who ever sought
answers to the eternal questions: What is my destiny?
Why can’t I be successful doing something I enjoy
doing?
From
a very early age, I had come to understand that our thoughts
carry tremendous power. My
search confirmed this and also showed me that our feelings
(especially our subconscious feelings) about our experiences and
ourselves are reflected in our lives.
And so I began to look inward for answers to my
questions.
The
books and counselors, from which I learned, told me ways to
“fix” the problems that were plaguing me.
Yet, no matter how hard I tried, about the time I would
gain momentum, I would slam nose-first into that invisible
barrier again. I
felt as though I were living within the boundaries of some
profound sort of madness.
Sometime
in early ’95 I reached a point where I couldn’t give anymore
emotionally and financially to the projects and the way of life
they created. I was
tired of playing the games the TV industry forced me to play –
that a large part of it was about who could fake whom out
better. That
“success” often had little to do with talent.
I
also had a falling out with my father – one that I didn’t
feel the need to repair at the time.
So I turned and walked away, deciding to create a new
life.
At
that time a realization settled over me: My life resembled the
frustrating side of a soda bottle cap game – every time I
would unscrew the cap it would read, “Sorry, try again.”
That’s
when a voice started to talk to me, from deep within, in
whispers so subtle I could barely hear them over the dirge that
had become my life. The
more I listened, the more I heard, until one day the whole
message became clear:
“In
order for you to find your own truth, which will lead you to
happiness and prosperity," a voice said, "you must recreate yourself.
“You
must let go of what you know.
“You
must release your expectations and attachments to outcomes.
“To
do this you must go to that place where your physical, mental
and emotional limits are, indeed, pushed to their limits.
“You
must walk into the unknown.
“You
must go to that place where there is only you to depend on;
where there is only one direction to move – through your
fears.
“You
must experience laughter like you have never experienced it –
tears until you can cry no more.
“You
must experience the loneliness of disappointing others, and risk the
accusation of betrayal, because you are being true to
yourself.
“You
must experience the absolute freedom as your old truths burn
away.
“And
you
will find these experiences somewhere on the road that leads halfway to nowhere.
“When
your ego has fallen away, and you know with every fiber of your
being that you cannot die, that no one can harm or take anything
from you, that you are in infinite being of creation and the absolute
master
of your experience — only then will you find the answers you
are seeking. This
is where your journey begins – and ends.”
With
that inner voice haunting me, I finally left the Florida
Keys in 1996. When
I landed quite by surprise a couple of months later in Colorado
Springs, Colorado, I committed my life to video production, and
began making an encouraging and steady income in the businesses.
Even
so, my Colorado life had its ups and downs that let me know that
I was still missing the mark — if only by a lesser degree.
I enjoyed working in the marketing industry producing
videos for small businesses, but it was not where my heart was.
My
heart was in telling stories that had meaning to people beyond
making them want to buy "this or that" from one of my clients.
So
with “the voice” as guidance, and with the most dedication I
have ever given any personal project, I have spent the last few
years making the changes in my life that would eventually get me
to Key West, Florida, on October 2, 2000.
That is where my search began – and this story begins.
As
I write this, I have been on the road for over a month.
I have experienced some highs and lows.
I have experienced some loneliness.
I have seen things some people wouldn’t believe.
But the real adventure still lies ahead.
My truth is still out there, hiding somewhere deep within
me.
Through the morning fog, from beyond the next bend, or at
night as I gaze at the stars from my sleeping bag, it beckons to
me: “Come on, you can find me – I am in here . . .
somewhere.”
I
invite you to join me.
Perhaps there is something in this for both of us.
Until later, I remain halfway to
nowhere . . .
—
Robert Lewis Knecht
Nov. 12th, 2000, Long
Beach, MS
The
Adventure Continues Here
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