Chapter 10 #2
"Uncle Luce!" Delia and I said in unison—there were two ways of pronouncing his name: LOOSH-an and LOOSE-ee-an.
He would answer to either and refused to say which he preferred, so some people in the family shortened his name to LOOSH and others to LOOSE; Delia used the latter while I used the former.
"Hey, kiddos." Uncle Lucian has always been the epitome of laid-back cool.
He moved slowly and with purpose, stayed quiet unless he had something important to say, and was almost always even-keeled, soft-spoken, and easy-going.
He and Aunt Joss owned The Garden, a bookstore-cafe a few doors down from Badd's Bar and Grille that had a pretty big following online.
Lucian was also a fairly well-known nature macrophotographer, and his work was displayed at The Garden, as well as being sold online and in galleries around the country.
He, Joss, and their two kids were also inveterate travelers who spent a good portion of the year out of the country—their kids were homeschooled online to accommodate their travels.
He perched on the arm of Delia's Adirondack, took the joint from me, and took a long hit. “Came down here to say hey and couldn’t help overhearing you two."
At that moment, there was a shriek, a smack, and a wail—Delia's head whipped around toward the sound as if yanked by a string.
"Ooop, that's mine. You can take my spot, Uncle Luce, Sebastian is gonna need a nap, and he's in this phase where he'll only let me put him down.
Hunter just winds him up, no matter what he does, and Harry is… well, she's just impossible."
Harry was Delia's and Hunter's youngest child, Harriet, affectionately known as Harry to everyone; she was named after Hunter's second-in-command, a tough old battle-axe of a woman who was a regular at Badd Clan shindigs and was known to all as Grandma Harry.
She pretended to hate the nickname, but it was clear to all that she secretly loved it.
She was particularly enamored with her namesake, who called her "Mamaw Rarry. "
Delia hustled off to sort out her kids, and Lucian settled into the vacated chair, taking another puff before handing it back. "Purpose, huh?"
I groaned. "A topic I’m getting almighty sick of, honestly."
"I know exactly how you're feeling, kiddo." He extended his long legs, ankle crossed over ankle. "It's a tough row to hoe, not knowing where you want to go in life, who you want to be."
I frowned at him. "You're a famous photographer. You own a cafe that's a beloved tourist landmark."
"Yeah, but that's just where I ended up.
I grew up feeling exactly how you're feeling.
Think about my brothers, Dane. Bast was the heir apparent to the bar.
Zane was a SEAL. Brock was a hotshot pilot.
Bax was an athlete—a football star and then an MMA god.
The twins were musical geniuses, and Xavier was…
well, Xavier. I was the only one who didn't come out of our mother with a predefined purpose in life.
" He was quiet awhile, as if speaking so much at once required a reset.
"I left home to get away from the feeling.
I only did photography because it amused me.
I never thought of it as art or a possible career—your aunts Tate and Eva were the first to see my talent.
And The Garden was Aunt Joss's dream, not mine.
I ended up in photography almost by accident.
I met Joss by accident. I bought the retail space because I wanted to give Joss her dream, and discovered that it was my dream, too. "
"So I need to hope for an accident to give me my purpose?" I puffed and passed.
He laughed. “No, man. Good lord, that's idiotic.
" He took the joint—now a roach—and took one last little puff before pinching out the cherry.
"My point is that it'll happen on its own.
As long as you're moving, you'll find your way.
You're putting too much emphasis on the idea of purpose, like everyone is supposed to have some sort of, like, holy, god-given mission.
It's just life, kid. Do the things that bring you joy.
Get a job that pays the bills and that you don't hate, a job you can wake up and not mind doing most days.
Have a hobby that fulfills you. Do good things.
Love people. Have fun." He shrugged. “It’s pretty simple, really.”
I stared at nothing for a few moments. "But…but I…"
"Your sister and Dunc grew up wanting to follow your dad in the family business,” he said. “Emerson has a natural talent for soccer. Ella is a born entrepreneur. Jax is a tech god like Xavier. They were born that way."
"And I was born without that built-in value."
"Value?" he repeated, incredulous. “You equate purpose with value?"
"Well…yeah?"
He shook his head. "No wonder you feel so trapped, kid. Jesus."
"What?" I asked, genuinely lost.
Didn’t everyone feel that way?
"Is someone who only works as a bartender as their career—Elias, for example—less valuable than…say, Emerson, simply because Emerson was born, through no effort of her own, with a talent and passion for soccer?"
"Well, no, but—
He cut in over me. "Is a plumber less valuable than a painter? Is a retail manager less valuable than a corporate CEO?"
"Uncle Luce, I get your point, but—"
"But what, Dane?” His tone and gaze were both sharp; this was a rare glimpse of strong emotion from Uncle Lucian. “It doesn't apply to you? You're special, somehow? You're less valuable for not having a predetermined life path, but that only applies to you? I'd call that inverse hubris."
I cocked my head, considering the meaning behind his statement. "I mean, I guess I see your point."
"I love photography. I love macrophotography in particular—I love seeing a whole new world through the lens.
I do it because I love it—I just happen to be fortunate enough that I can make a decent living doing it.
But I'd do it anyway, even if I never made a dime from it.
Joss's dream of owning a place like The Garden was born out of her life experiences—it wasn't something she wanted from the jump.
You can do things you enjoy just for the enjoyment of them.
And you can work a job that's…just a job.
That's okay. There's nothing wrong with simply working to pay the bills and finding your fulfillment in life elsewhere.
Your family, when that happens. A hobby.
A sport. Art. A community choir or theater troop.
Whatever. It doesn't fucking matter. You're putting an expectation on yourself that's unfair and unrealistic.
Not everyone in this world is going to be born with a predetermined purpose or mission.
Joss and the kids are my purpose. Photography is my passion—making money from it is just gravy. "
My mind was reeling. It was a stunningly simple shift in perspective, but a massively significant one.
We sat in silence for a while as I processed this. Eventually, Uncle Lucian spoke again.
"You don't need to know exactly where you're going, Dane.
You just gotta be moving. Living. Seeking.
Creating. Stagnation is the enemy, not a lack of purpose.
You're not stagnant—you're searching. And right now, maybe that search is your purpose.
Take the pressure off yourself, kid. Stop thinking you need to be like Delia, Duncan, and Emerson.
You're not them. You're you. I know your parents, and I know they want you to just be happy, whatever that looks like. "
"I think that's the most I've ever heard you say, Uncle Luce. Like, combined, across my whole life."
He chuckled. "Don't be a turd."
"So you're saying I just need to do what I've been doing?"
"You're a smart, hardworking young man. You'll figure it out. Why do you think your parents aren't worried? They know you'll figure it out."
I nodded, sighing. "That actually does make a massive fucking difference."
"I felt like a fraud for years,” he said.
“Even when I was starting to get some name recognition in the area, I felt like people would see through me.
I didn't see my photography as a career.
It was something I loved doing, and people just happened to want to spend money on it.
Running The Garden with Joss was the same for a long time—I felt bad for getting so much meaning from it when it wasn't even my idea.
But eventually I realized what I'm telling you. Hopefully, I can save you some heartache by sharing my experience.”
"I think you have, Uncle Luce."
"Then it was all worth it. Now. C'mon. You, me, Goldeneye. Like the old days, huh? Whaddya say?"
I followed him up to the house, but paused before we went inside. "Got any advice for how to convince someone who's scared that it's safe to let herself love me?"
He paused with his hand on the sliding glass door handle, thought for a moment, and looked at me.
"Be there when she comes around. If she's scared of it and actively running away from it, then it means she has real feelings; she's just fighting them.
There's no guarantee she'll come around, unfortunately, but if she does, be ready. "
"Hurry up and wait, huh?"
He nodded. "Wish I had better advice, but yeah, basically.
You can't make someone do anything or feel anything or want anything.
Someone can love you but be too scared to act on it, and there's nothing you can do about it.
I've never been one for thinking ‘Ohhh, it's fate, what's meant for you will come to you,' or whatever.
That's not always true, in my experience.
But I do believe that on the whole, things have a way of working out.
Sometimes, it just sucks along the way." He clapped a hand on my back.
"Now that I've used up my quota of words for the month on you, it's time to kick your punk ass with Odd Job. "