"What's he building in there?
What the hell is he building in there?
He has subscriptions to those magazines,
He never waves when he goes by,
He's hiding something from the rest of us,
He's all to himself, I think I know why..."
Tom Waits, What's He Building In There?
But really, what are you building in there? What magical, dark, great, goodness-only-knows, genius, singular, unusual, unique, wonderful thing is spinning up inside your skull and chest space that you haven't unlocked yet out of fear? Fear of failure, fear of trying, fear of being known, because being known, truly seen, is the hardest thing of all? Gosh, just give it all up and open it all up and let yourself grow and bloom and be. We each inside of us store things we will never know if we don't take the time to use this life to explore and find out just what the inner us is constructing. What are you building in there? Take a risk, take a chance, be real, and show off your weird, your funky, your million-ways-completely-fucked-up, your imperfect symphony, your unfinished work of art, the words you scrabble. Let me see your insides.
23 August, 2018
13 August, 2018
Self Confident: A few thoughts
What separates us from who we were, in essence, born to become? Even outside the realm of destiny, most of us are gifted in some way or another, and if we have the courage to follow the treasures in that chest inside us, a world opens up to us anew. Why aren't more of us leveling up and discovering next level happiness, success, joy, love, openness?
I was sitting in yoga on Saturday morning, flowing through a sequence, guided by a friend, ujjayi breath streaming in and out, like the waves on a shore, and I caught myself doing it. Monitoring myself, hoping I looked legit. This isn't anything new.
My love language is affirmation. (And gifts and time and... I'm needy. I think I always have been.) Especially - particularly - if I exhibit some level of skill at an activity. It seems aptitude digs the hole deeper instead of filling it, like if the dozer missed the well by three feet and instead of striking water, the workers dig for thirty feet only to find no springs or aquifers.
I am that empty pit, depths dark and cold. It's hard to fill, and I often try to do so via comparison. It's a bad habit, and I can't remember a time when comparison wasn't a black chip in my brain. If someone dug into my gray matter, I'm sure they would find a chunk of mysterious matter that sits deep in there, driving me to seek affirmation in my own soul via comparison.
I caught myself, though, working to fill in the hole with buckets of lies, and that's when it happened. We were in downward facing dog, and I thought to myself, "It doesn't have to be this way. I don't have to feel like this." And I thought of myself in a bubble, separate from the world, and I knew that in that void, I would still... know. If I put in the work, I will meet my goals, and that has nothing to do with anyone else. I will see the fear, and I will nod and say, "Hello there, old friend," because the fear is there because I am following a worthwhile path.
Self confidence is the quiet awareness that I am the vessel, here to enjoy my work and my play. It is knowing life is practice, and perfection is elusive at best. It's waking up and doing the work every day, and leaving nothing to chance. It isn't a checklist, to be compared with your neighbor's work. Comparison is built on a foundation of fear: terror that what you do will never be enough. Confidence is your work, your fun, and yours alone. Your effort, your kindness, your love, that is the source of confidence.
I was sitting in yoga on Saturday morning, flowing through a sequence, guided by a friend, ujjayi breath streaming in and out, like the waves on a shore, and I caught myself doing it. Monitoring myself, hoping I looked legit. This isn't anything new.
My love language is affirmation. (And gifts and time and... I'm needy. I think I always have been.) Especially - particularly - if I exhibit some level of skill at an activity. It seems aptitude digs the hole deeper instead of filling it, like if the dozer missed the well by three feet and instead of striking water, the workers dig for thirty feet only to find no springs or aquifers.
I am that empty pit, depths dark and cold. It's hard to fill, and I often try to do so via comparison. It's a bad habit, and I can't remember a time when comparison wasn't a black chip in my brain. If someone dug into my gray matter, I'm sure they would find a chunk of mysterious matter that sits deep in there, driving me to seek affirmation in my own soul via comparison.
I caught myself, though, working to fill in the hole with buckets of lies, and that's when it happened. We were in downward facing dog, and I thought to myself, "It doesn't have to be this way. I don't have to feel like this." And I thought of myself in a bubble, separate from the world, and I knew that in that void, I would still... know. If I put in the work, I will meet my goals, and that has nothing to do with anyone else. I will see the fear, and I will nod and say, "Hello there, old friend," because the fear is there because I am following a worthwhile path.
Self confidence is the quiet awareness that I am the vessel, here to enjoy my work and my play. It is knowing life is practice, and perfection is elusive at best. It's waking up and doing the work every day, and leaving nothing to chance. It isn't a checklist, to be compared with your neighbor's work. Comparison is built on a foundation of fear: terror that what you do will never be enough. Confidence is your work, your fun, and yours alone. Your effort, your kindness, your love, that is the source of confidence.
03 August, 2018
If Father John Misty and Sri Patthabi Jois ate lunch?
Part One
"I didn't get invited but I know where to go..." Date Night, Father John Misty
Let's swoon over FJM for a minute. Now, proceed.
I had a bit of an identity crisis over summer break. It happens. My very spirited child talks all the time, which sometimes gives the sensation of assault by words, so that at the end of the day I'm exhausted from doing nothing, and I've done nothing to stave off my laundry list of normal housework, much less the short list of work I attempt to accomplish daily in the pursuit of my larger goals.
The book I am writing sat untouched for weeks, and who knows what the heck my characters are doing now; they've probably solved most of their problems on their own and moved on with their lives. In which case more power to them. Insert shrugging picture of myself here. I won't even bring up the huge pile of untouched fabric. Actually, it looks like I am, so let's just say that romper I planned to make a month and a half ago is still just a few yards of fabric laying in the extra bedroom.
Of course, this is not an environment in which I thrive. I begin feeling very fight or flight, tending toward flight, flight being the search for what the hell am I doing with my life, when just three months before I was on a bike ride with Mary and told her I felt so good about where my life was going. Okay, so I'm not living in the moment when I feel frantic and anxious, and I'm fighting against the current. Let's acknowledge this. But the current is so damn strong sometimes, and it feels like it's pushing me under and I forget I can swim...
Well, in the midst of this tumultuous period, I held the situation out for another friend to flip through and examine, and he told me that people like me have to take risks. Damnit. Always with the risks.
Lately, I've been hungry for the confidence I see in some of my friends and peers, their surety. They are aware of their valuable unicorn awesomeness. I want more of that, more nonchalant self-belief. More, "I didn't get invited but I know where to go." More "I belong here, doing what I'm doing, and I'm damn good at it".
Part Two
"Practice and all is coming." -Sri Pattabhi Jois
Oh dear, I feel like I'm quoting hashtags, but it just isn't true. It's a quote from the father distiller of Ashtanga yoga, and lets discount his questionable personal history and look at this phrase.
My work is far from perfect. Maybe I'm the next Atwood or Kafka or Vonnegut or Hemingway or Garcia-Marquez, or maybe I'm not, perhaps I'm the next me, but I'm working hard in the gap between where I was and where I can be, pushing on toward that 10,000 hours to adeptness, honing my craft. I can be confident that I am building the house brick-on-brick-on-brick-on-brick, and someday I will be confident that I can add on the roof and windows and doors. Let's throw an English roll arm sofa in front of the fireplace to indulge my obsession. Now I need to stop worrying about the invitation, and follow the path to where I need to go.
"I didn't get invited but I know where to go..." Date Night, Father John Misty
Let's swoon over FJM for a minute. Now, proceed.
I had a bit of an identity crisis over summer break. It happens. My very spirited child talks all the time, which sometimes gives the sensation of assault by words, so that at the end of the day I'm exhausted from doing nothing, and I've done nothing to stave off my laundry list of normal housework, much less the short list of work I attempt to accomplish daily in the pursuit of my larger goals.
The book I am writing sat untouched for weeks, and who knows what the heck my characters are doing now; they've probably solved most of their problems on their own and moved on with their lives. In which case more power to them. Insert shrugging picture of myself here. I won't even bring up the huge pile of untouched fabric. Actually, it looks like I am, so let's just say that romper I planned to make a month and a half ago is still just a few yards of fabric laying in the extra bedroom.
Of course, this is not an environment in which I thrive. I begin feeling very fight or flight, tending toward flight, flight being the search for what the hell am I doing with my life, when just three months before I was on a bike ride with Mary and told her I felt so good about where my life was going. Okay, so I'm not living in the moment when I feel frantic and anxious, and I'm fighting against the current. Let's acknowledge this. But the current is so damn strong sometimes, and it feels like it's pushing me under and I forget I can swim...
Well, in the midst of this tumultuous period, I held the situation out for another friend to flip through and examine, and he told me that people like me have to take risks. Damnit. Always with the risks.
Lately, I've been hungry for the confidence I see in some of my friends and peers, their surety. They are aware of their valuable unicorn awesomeness. I want more of that, more nonchalant self-belief. More, "I didn't get invited but I know where to go." More "I belong here, doing what I'm doing, and I'm damn good at it".
Part Two
"Practice and all is coming." -Sri Pattabhi Jois
Oh dear, I feel like I'm quoting hashtags, but it just isn't true. It's a quote from the father distiller of Ashtanga yoga, and lets discount his questionable personal history and look at this phrase.
My work is far from perfect. Maybe I'm the next Atwood or Kafka or Vonnegut or Hemingway or Garcia-Marquez, or maybe I'm not, perhaps I'm the next me, but I'm working hard in the gap between where I was and where I can be, pushing on toward that 10,000 hours to adeptness, honing my craft. I can be confident that I am building the house brick-on-brick-on-brick-on-brick, and someday I will be confident that I can add on the roof and windows and doors. Let's throw an English roll arm sofa in front of the fireplace to indulge my obsession. Now I need to stop worrying about the invitation, and follow the path to where I need to go.
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