Michael Allen

Michael Allen Defines “Sovereign Hero”

It seems a little odd to be writing about myself as a “sovereign hero.”  It sets off all the old haunting bugaboos from the unconscious: “How dare you call yourself a hero!” “A little narcissistic don’t you think?” “The people who believe that your personality is purely political will call you names for this…” You know, all the stuff that would qualify me (us?) for a seat at a 12-step program called “On-an-on-an-on.”

Thankfully, at the tender young age of 58, I’ve learned how not to pay too much attention to all that.

I am indeed a hero, but no more than you, or anyone else. You see, one of the objective truths I’ve come to know about each, and every individual—a universal human attribute—is that we all have the ability to think, and thus choose our own way. Groups do not think, nor do they feel. Individuals do. But thinking for yourself is not, I repeat, this is NOT an easy path, but it is the most rewarding path I have ever been on.

“Tell the truth and see what happens” became my mantra a couple of years ago. But like all new outlooks on life, it came at a price. The short story is that, after the financial crash 2008 and the subsequent end of a 12-year marriage, I went into snail mode. Thoreauian hibernation mode. Fuck everyone and everything mode!

Fast forward ten years…

After my daughter died of a drug overdose, and soon afterwards having to make the choice to end Bella’s life (my 11-year-old Cavalier King Charles Spaniel), I was a mess. Thoughts of suicide run amok—beer and chicken wings became a temporary cure. I became morbidly obese, paranoid, and narcissistic.

And then, my only meaningful escape from the hell that was my life—creative writing—flew out the window when the MFA program I was in got infected by identity politics.

Enter Jordan Peterson…

12 Rules for Life saved my life. Or, more accurately, pointed to a direction I had never known I could choose—to stop being a victim and take responsibility for what I could, to “carry a load.”

Since deciding to “tell the truth and see what happens,” my life has changed.  After tens years of being single and swearing off on marriage for the rest of my life, as serendipity would have it, I met and married a beautiful woman from the Philippines. Visiting a third-world country gave me a new perspective on how lucky I was to live in the US—something I had taken for granted. Since we moved in together in May of 2019, our lives have blossomed. I started back working in my trade as a carpenter (I graduated from a trade high school in 1979) and for the first time in my life, fell in love with my talent and ability. I’ve also attracted some amazing clients who appreciate my skills and gladly pay me well for them. My wife landed a great paying job in IT. Our little home is decorated (something I am clueless about). We cook and eat at home and have good old-fashioned conversations around the dinner table. Alcohol, soda, junk food, and junk TV have, quite naturally, become a thing of the past. My wife’s 16-year-old son plays the piano every day in our living room.  And I am down from a peak of 275 lbs. to 190 lbs. Life is good, but certainly not without pain.

For the first time in my life, I’ve been called a “racist” and a “bigot” recently for telling the truth as I see it. I found out the hard way that the postmodern horse-hockey players, groups thinkers, or what I like to call the “Meta- Marxists” (which includes a nefarious mix of postmodernism, critical race theory, intersectionality, neo-Marxism, cancel culture, grievance studies, and a host of other offshoots) can spin on into infinity ad nauseum about how there is no objective truth—only power—and give all credence to the war of groups.

I will not bore you with a rant, except to say that the outcome of this world view was set in stone for me by the recent example of “CHOP”.

With all the histrionics on my Facebook page surrounding the virus, the riots, and the upcoming election bearing down on me recently, I had a thought pop into my head one morning. Sovereignty Inc., sounded like a bell in a tower while I was just waking up. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I knew I had to write something. I thought about re-opening one of my old website-experiments, but the idea didn’t feel right. The past is dead but can still be learned from is a new axiom in my day-to-day consciousness these days. So, I opened an MS Word page and typed Sovereignty Ink!  And thought a feather pen would look good as the exclamation point.

The rest is history in the making.

Stay tuned!

And do send us your own “Sovereign Hero” story!

Learn how to think, “to choose one’s own way,” regardless of the suffering in your life, and you will make the world a little bit better. Beats tearing it all down, methinks.

Cheers to your sovereign soul (if you so choose)!