Month: July 2021

As children, we didn’t care if we were coloring in the lines. We only cared that we were turning that black and white line art into something vibrant and alive as we watched the colors explode across the page; and we loved our pink frogs or our silver leafed trees against orange skies. We imagined other worlds.

We didn’t give a damn how anyone might think we looked when we moved our little bodies to music that touched our soul and made us giggle. That wasn’t even considered. We only wanted to dance to the beat of our little hearts.

And we didn’t have to be the best swimmer, or bike rider, or runner, or roller skater, or tree climber. As kids, we did those things because they were fun! We did them to feel the energy coursing through our bodies—the wind in our hair—the cool water against our skin on a hot day.

Then one day…

Well, I remember telling my little sister that if she wasn’t going to color in the lines she wasn’t allowed to color in my coloring book anymore.

Things change.

Things start becoming about results instead of the experience. They become about “achievement” and “doing it right.” 

They become about “perfection.”

I know, for myself, somewhere along the way I forgot to play. I forgot to give myself permission to experiment, to make mistakes…to learn…to improve. If I felt I couldn’t do something well right off the bat, I began not to even want to try. I began to compare myself to others.

As an adult, instead of enjoying the way the clay felt in my hands during a pottery-throwing class, I noticed myself envying people who were making more beautiful pieces than I. I wanted to be “a natural” at it and was filled with frustration when it wasn’t happening—instead of enjoying the process.

And I don’t think I’m the only one.

“Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.” 

G.K. Chesterton

That little voice of perfectionism kills our creativity. It kills our genius and our childlike wonder. We start spending our time beating ourselves up and second guessing ourselves instead of reveling in our imaginations.

These days I am trying to be gentler with myself. I am trying to remember to give myself some grace. To smile more and give myself up to the waves of possibility again.

I’m hoping you’ll join me. Let yourself play with your dreams. Play with a set of drawing pencils while you listen to your favorite music. Go for a walk in nature. Pull down a recipe book from your kitchen shelf and try something you’ve never tried before. Spend some time at a  funky coffee house with a favorite pen and a notebook to write in. Whatever strikes your fancy and gets your creative juices flowing.

Yesterday, I found a little piece of writing I called “James and Bobo” among my Google Docs. Just something I was playing with…it turned out to be a children’s story.

It begins: 

“A boy loved a toy. 
When he squeezed it, it would murmur and open its eyes. And then it would giggle. It looked like a soft gray pterodactyl with blue wings.”

I wrote it about two years ago and didn’t think much about it again. When I looked at it yesterday, I thought: Maybe, just maybe, I need to do more of that.

I love sharing what I’m learning.

Yesterday I was listening to a half-hour Masterclass with Jamie Smart, author of Clarity and Results. This one was all about “Imposter Syndrome” 

Even if you haven’t heard the term, most people have had a taste of this experience. 

Have you ever heard the voices in your head saying: “Who am I to be doing this? Who cares what I say? Why should people listen to me? What do I know? It’s all a charade. I have no idea what I’m doing and people are certain to find out…” On and on and on it goes…

What Jamie Smart pointed out is that what we usually think of as “ourselves”, (“me”, “I”, “myself”) is a tangle of memories, circular thoughts, judgments, survival techniques, and all those limiting beliefs we’ve grown up and adopted. All that “stuff and baggage.”

We take these murky things that actually have no solid substance at all and paint a picture of “ourselves” with them in our heads.

I heard someone the other day call the voices in her head  “grooming tapes”. In her case, she was referring to the horrible, demeaning things an abuser would say to her to inculcate her into her abuse.

So of course we don’t trust ourselves! Why would we want to trust that? That bundle of anxiety and fear is completely untrustworthy. What Jamie Smart told us is that all that, in reality, is the Impostor. He says that “Impostor Syndrome is the idea that who you are is your ideas about yourself.

So…who can we trust? Or what can we trust?

I once sent a message telling a friend how nervous I was about a step I was about to take. Her quick two-word message back to me was “Trust Self.” (I don’t remember whether she capitalized that second word or not…but that’s how I see it in my head, right now.)

Trust Self. 

There is something beyond our “ideas” about ourselves. It lives in our breath, in our silence, in the simplicity of our being, in the naturalness of our authentic laugh. In our most graceful moments we can feel something resting way out beyond the tangle—something quiet and pure and absolutely not made-up. 

Some call it God or Allah or Jehovah or the Christ. Some call it Life or Nature. Some call it the Self…with that capital “S”, Some call it Awareness or Consciousness. Whatever we call it, we can trust the direct experience of that and our deep connection to that ever-flowing source of Creation. Always. 

Yesterday I was fretting about what I should do—to get ahead, to be productive, to make my life work. Today I am writing and posting this little piece. Why? Because that’s what feels good…and right…and organic…and delightful.

I read something by someone I admire yesterday about “showing our work.” (His name is Cole Schafer and he’s a writer and “ad-man”, as he calls himself.) What he said was that we might not be able to tout experience and credentials, but it can be just as important to “show our work.”–to show our steps and what we’re learning along the way. So, here goes…from my journaling this morning:

Friday 9 July 2021

Breathing in…I am honing my voice.

Breathing out…I am loving my world.

So…what is present this morning? Perhaps an even better question is–what would I like to create this morning?

I find my mind a little scattered with possibilities…it feels as if I am juggling things: ideas…desires…hopes…visions for the future…strategies.

Where do I actually want to go in my life?

I’ve been coaching a young woman lately to find her message–what she would say to the world if she “had the microphone”.

For me–I think I’ve found it: It’s that we…all of us…and for me, women in particular (only because I can understand and relate to them more easily right now)…that we can step out of the loneliness and isolation of shame. That we can come out of hiding and tell our truth. That we’re not alone in having been physically, emotionally and sexually abused. We’re not alone in having given up our power and our dreams…in having hidden ourselves away by making ourselves small.

I have been so envious of others’ creativity…their purpose…their drive…their dedication to something important to them–unwavering dedication.

There is a part of me that has been full of rage and resentment because of all this envy…angry that I still seem to be fumbling and flopping around with finding a direction. At sixty-three. So late. (“I’m late! I’m late! I’m late!”) 

What I realize when I stop to look is this:

My life has unfolded as it has, and it has been (for lack of a better word)–perfect. There has been no “wrongness” in it. There can’t be any wrongness in it.

The question is: What now?

So I breathe into the joy of curiosity and possibility. I breathe into my open heart. I breathe into self-compassion and the sensations of being in this body…and gratitude.

After all, I have broken into some freedom over these last years–well, I have always been free, but now I’m more aware of it–and sometimes freedom looks like this crazy edge.