Rubicon

In 49 BCE, the Roman Republic was hanging onto its existence by a thread.

Politics in Rome had always been nasty and spiteful, but over the previous century in particular, things had slid so far away from the values of the Republic itself so as to make a mockery of those republican values. Wealthy and powerful men exerted nearly all of the political influence, often being perceived as above the law.

While The uneasy alliance between Julius Caesar and Pompey was unraveling, there was still Roman law and tradition, which forbade any general from crossing back into Italy while commanding an army. The idea was to disband the fighting force to show that your intentions were peaceful before entering the city.

Pompey knew this, of course, and used it to full political advantage. He had convinced the senate to order Caesar to return, knowing full well that they could then arrest him once he was in Rome.

Even still, the Roman law and its traditions still stood, if on shaky ground, as Caesar and his troops approached the river that separated Gaul, where Caesar governed, and Rome, where he would be vulnerable to arrest and imprisonment.

Caesar’s choice was stark, and by crossing this river, he knew that he would be openly defying the senate and the rule of law in a way the public couldn’t ignore. The polite fiction that everything with the Republic was hunky-dory would have to come to an abrupt end. Caesar would cast the die, so to speak.

He crossed the Rubicon, and everything changed. Hundreds of years of tradition crumbled in an instant, although Rome continued its polite fiction once the dust settled by pretending its empire was still a republic.

There was simply no going back from this. I know that feeling well.

Some people might decide to commemorate a new start to their life with a tattoo, so that it reminds them that this decision is irreversible. For me, going punk was my own personal Rubicon, and I wanted to make sure this was no two-way door. I wanted the world to understand that I wasn’t going to jump through the same hoops as everyone else, ever.

This was the same instinct I felt when I tested the boundaries of my crib, eventually figuring out how to pour baby powder in front of a running fan. I felt it when I refused to stand and repeat the Pledge of Allegiance, and I certainly felt it when I formed my own companies years later.

Agency—being able to make my own decisions and be my own boss to the extent that’s possible—has always been at my core. It’s not the only thing that separates me from an inanimate object, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s the most important thing.

This innocent kid you see above? He really was innocent, but this goofball look didn’t last very long. I pierced my eyebrow with a safety pin (like, literally the punkest thing ever) and dove much deeper into anti-fashion, as I saw it: just trying to look like I didn’t belong in mainstream society.

I felt like this was an important step in escaping the shackles of youth, so that I could create my own identity as I saw fit. I didn’t want anyone else to tell me who I was, and I wanted a physical reminder for myself, and a clear message to the outside world, that this was the case.

This was more than three decades ago, and I still feel this way. It’s very easy for me to shrug off any sort of criticism about the way I dress, because I rejected the desire to find approval with status symbols. I’ve been practicing this ever since then, and let’s just say that I’m very comfortable wearing Crocs with socks, to say the least.

I’ve crossed a few of my own personal Rubicons in life. Rome wasn’t the same after Caesar crossed that river and cast the die, and it wasn’t the same for me after these phase transitions.

How about you—have you crossed any personal Rubicons? If you’re willing to share them, please do so: