What's Your Value?

A friend recently asked about my work, and it was offensive. Instead of saying, "How did you become the most talented person ever?”, this feckless jerk had the audacity to try and help me with my self-esteem, focus, and career, by asking, “How are people better off after consuming your books, essays, music, videos, cartoons, and podcasts?”

All jokes aside, I was blown away. I’d never thought about my value from that perspective. And I wish I had, because I’ve been trying all my life (but failing) to understand my purpose, and that has felt intense, lonely, and frustrating.

No one asks an auto mechanic, "What is the value of your work?" It's obvious. Their value is their knowledge of cars and how to fix them, and that value meets a defective-car owner’s needs, given limited time, tools, and other resources the job may require.

Now compare that to entertainment. Seinfeld is one of the most lucrative shows ever, but fans know that in 1989, its concept was not an easy sell. They even made a season about how hard it was to convince NBC about the value of “a show about nothing.”

Flash forward to 2024, and Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David, the show’s co-creators, are two of the richest television producers of all time. Their art is valued. Their ideas are valued. It turns out that “talking about nothing” is valuable.

Which brings me back to my friend’s question: What is my value?

Who cares! I’m more interested in helping you discover yours. Ironically, helping others see their value is what I value, and what makes my work valuable. I care about showing people ways to make their life feel important, auspicious, and exhilarating.

My creative work has value because it articulates “divinity,” a feeling people need, even more than they need cars and entertainment. Mechanics help us keep driving, Seinfeld helps us keep laughing, and I help people remember the greatest feeling of all:

Divinity.

No matter who you are and what your creed is, I’m sure you've experienced an event that made you feel an emotion far more profound than the normal ones we experience in our daily lives. I call that divinity, and I think it’s so powerful that it makes all of us, even nihilists think, “Wow. There may be something more to this human experience.”

Looking back, I’ve made it my life mission to articulate divinity and cultivate an awareness of that feeling in all my projects. I want to connect with people in that deep-rooted spot inside of us that recognizes divinity, hoping to expand it so it becomes harder to cling to those negative, nasty thoughts that make us suffer.

You Are Here is a series of essays that articulate divinity, one week at a time.

Coffin Talk is a unique podcast because I encourage guests to relate their inspirational experiences with divinity. I could have called it, “Other People Articulating Divinity.”

My seven novels feature plots that are fun to read, but they also help us think about how we conduct our lives, and more importantly, how that gives our life meaning.

Even my films, music, and silly cartoons aim to evoke a sense of childlike awe.

So that’s my answer. My value is articulating, recognizing, and honoring divinity.

Every night, just like you, I do that thing we call dreaming, only I don’t think those experiences are the only ones I have. I think this place is also a dream (and not a nightmare), and like movie audiences, we’re supposed to be thrilled and enraptured by it, but we’ve somehow socialized ourselves very, very far away from that concept.

I articulate divinity because I want to convey how magical life feels to me, even when it seems like everything is going wrong. I’m devastated by people who have lost faith in divinity because we begin life connected to it.

Even in deplorable circumstances, I think we can and should help each other to focus on our divinity because when we suppress our connection to that, we suppress an innate desire to curiously and honestly experience humanity, warts, tragedy, and all.

I want everyone on Earth to feel happy, healthy, and successful. I’m a big, goofy, wide-eyed, smiling weirdo who genuinely likes liking everyone and everything, even when my brain begs me to ignore my heart and choose a different, negative feeling.

Oh, and that jerk, I mean friend? I’ll dox him, since he helped me so much. His name is "Vin Jensen" and you can hear his gentle, generous wisdom on our podcast episode.

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This week on Coffin Talk I talk to my college roommate, Marshall Roupp. He is a teacher, performer, and family member. He has taught special education and worked in mental health for over 20 years, he has performed on comedy shows, and he is the proud father of a 3-year-old girl who makes him happy to be alive. He tells us about his road to success, which features an "insanely lucky MS diagnosis" that certainly didn't seem that way when it came on his thirtieth birthday! Listen right here.

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