Never Famous

Hello in there, hello… The times they are a changin’.

I live a life of contradictions. I want to be well-known, but I‘d rather stay small.

I enjoy buying new things, but I like fixing up old ones and making them like new—even better than before.

I like my alone time, but I also appreciate spending time with others.

I have plenty to do when I’m by myself, but I don't like it when I’m stuck in a place where I can’t get the help I need, and no one is listening if I do.

“How can you be all these things?”—some ask.

Because I‘m human, not an internet bot trying to run the world. Just a person with many hats—some given to me, some I chose myself, and some I never wear, because they simply don’t fit me.

I’m Marc, with a “c”, but some know me as “Manny Eldore”—an elder man of New York. Others prefer to honor my degree and call me Doc or Dr. Cecil. Some confuse my surname with my first and call me Cecil.

Call me what you like. I’ve heard many less complimentary ones growing up, where it was hard for a Jewish boy from Buffalo to hide.

I’m just grateful to be alive and moving, but my body keeps the score in a long game with lots of twists and turns—starting to run out of innings.

I hate some of the things happening around me, but I love who we are.

Fighting within families reminds me of the old days—not wanting to fight in a war I didn’t understand, and not always recognizing the people we were fighting for—or against.

And yeah, we all know how that turned out. We glow in the dark when singing our anthem, but the light keeps me from sleeping at times—as well as the darkness.

I worry when I look in the mirror and see someone else wearing an old hat I thought I discarded long ago. But I like that I’m changing and try not to forget who I was. Because who I was is who I am.

I prefer to be “never famous” instead of infamous. I can still be your friend—as long as you understand that I’ll never be either—at least from where I sit.

Who I am is the person you see—no bullshit. I don’t want to leave the wounded parts behind—either my own or yours. I can be compassionate, but I can also be irreverent.

Fuck you if that’s not good enough. I’m sorry if I offended you. But that's on you if you think I will never be famous because I know how to stand up for myself. Anger isn't a dirty word to me anymore.

Why does it matter? Because to be famous is my biggest fear—the pressure to sell tickets to those who just want to yell at me or tell me I’m going to hell, makes it hard to be real.

But, to be infamous is just being famous without regard for others. I don’t want to forget who I am—and who I'm becoming.

I don’t like to think about losing my voice or the right to express it. That's my dignity.

I hope I don't disappoint people by falling short of their expectations. But I’d hate to be a loser for not trying to meet my own. Then I would really feel small.

I’d rather not be famous, so I can feel big in my own way—to do the work, to share the wounded parts side-by-side with my Core Self—my birthright, not stuck in the past.

I know my life is a contradiction. I hope that doesn’t make me famous for being annoying. I hope that works for you, even if you’re never famous, too—and feel like you need to sit next to someone who makes you famous.

In the end, I can’t run from the mirror or the selfie that helps me see who I was then and who I am now—never famous. Things haven’t changed much but I’m always changing.

I’m still the person I was meant to be—wearing my old favorite hat, eating American chop suey at the local diner, telling stories to a person that knows I’m different and still likes to listen.

That’s what matters most—for all of us, especially those trying to be famous but end up being infamous.

Better yet—think about who you are, and the person you were always meant to be. Then you’ll finally see yourself in the light of invisibility. That's what healing is all about—and what we all need to not feel so alone.

With a nod to John Prine, his song, Hello in There—is always in my heart. I know you’re listening, too.

Let Dylan’s music mix with your words. I hope they help us find our own—and listen—no matter what side of the table or aisle we sit.

Imagine the bigger picture. I think of it as paradoxical gratitude—the things that bother you most can bring you home.

I’m sure some famous biblical or spiritual philosopher said something about this. Maybe I’ll write more.

I hope I'll always be listening and prophesying with my pen—with the hope that someone will be listening—and “the times they are a-changin’.”

Together, we can bring that light to the world. That’s the truth, the connection inside and between us that is much more meaningful than fame.

So I’ll sit at the local diner, with Dylan singing the chorus and a sprinkle of Prine on my goulash, as we tell our stories. Famous or not, this is who I am—still wearing my old favorite hat.

It’s getting late—they’re starting to dim the lights—and it‘s just me and my honey. I’ll stop telling stories. Now is the time to sit back and listen.

The times they are a-changin’. Hello in there, hello… We’re almost home.

Confidentiality note: Any resemblance to your own life is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the shared fabric of human experience.

Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close or long to be held.

Dr. Cecil is a licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. He specializes in treating complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma, bringing therapy to life through heartfelt stories and images of connection and healing that emerge from the light of invisibility.