The woman was radiant. Powerful, empowered, divine, loving, experienced, wise... She preached from the pulpit, and I grasped for each of her lyrical, evocative sentences, trying to cradle them all together at my chest. There were too many; some slipped through my fingers. But I held what I could, letting the words and images warm me from the outside in.
Then, she said it-- and my bundles dropped to the floor, words spilling across the tiles, rolling into corners and under chairs beside people's resting feet.
It was one sentence. She said it so fluidly, no choking or halting or stifled sobs. She said, "Five weeks later, my son was dead."
She kept on talking. Her voice dared me to have pity on her-- she did not want it. She spoke as someone who has felt hurt and processed it, so that she had... not moved on, exactly, but rather reached a space of wisdom and acceptance.
I myself could not reach that space so quickly. I sat alone in the middle of a row of church chairs, and I started crying. Quietly, so that I think no one noticed (far be it from me to intrude on this woman's own articulation of her own grief) but still I cried.
Now, I don't usually cry when other people share past hurts. This is not to say that I don't care-- quite the contrary-- I just usually register my compassion in other ways. I'm not sure what about this moved me so differently. It could simply be that I've allowed my emotions to situate themselves closer to the surface of late, and so they spill over to the outside more easily. But I think it was something more than that: I think it was this beautiful, glowing, radiant woman, who had experienced the greatest pain, they say, that a mother can know-- and here she was: standing beautiful, glowing, radiant. Still.
She had every reason not to be. She could have allowed her grief to hobble her for the rest of her life, and no one would have condemned or even judged her. Not only would this reduction of self, this shrinking into sadness, be accepted, it would arguably be expected of someone in her position.
She defied this expectation. She made her grief her own, and she worked through it. I was (still am) humbled and inspired by her example. That someone could say (without saying), my son died, and my grief will not consume me. I will not let this bring me down. I will instead keep exploring, keep growing my light. I will shine strong-- stronger-- into-- all over!-- the world.
And this, not even because of her grief, not even in spite of it. Instead, her son's death was. She is. Facts of a life-- diverse, rich, well lived.
The woman is an inspiration. That is part of why I cried. But that doesn't feel like the whole of it. I guess, for lack of any other explanation, I also cried because it was sad. Yes, I can see the bigger picture. I can see that life goes on, that her son's life was worth his having lived it, even if only for some eighteen years. I can see that her life is worth living still. I can see that perhaps this event-- which feels so tragic, so cataclysmic to us, with our limited vision-- might have some greater meaning in the larger context of the cosmos. But it is still sad.
And I think another part of it is that this woman was doing what I would have every parent do for her or his child: She was giving her son his freedom. He wanted adventure; she said yes. She allowed for the risk that so many parents refuse to permit their children to take-- and it met with such terrible consequences. Quite literally, the "worst that could happen"-- happened.
But of course, she was right to let him go. A life in a cage-- however lovingly constructed-- is still imprisonment. And maybe this, after all, is why I cried: because boy did that young man live. Eighteen years old, and he was living freer than many people do in a lifetime composed of decades, and decades.
But he did it. He went out there. And yes, we could say: he got torn apart.
But don't you see? To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction. You can't go out with fireworks, unless you lived like one.
And so I cried because this life is terrible and tragic and mesmerizing and magical and my-God-holy-cow-huge and because there are people, hardly eighteen years old, or preaching from a pulpit, in their sixties and gray, who are willing to go out and seize it.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
12. Getting disciplined about being free
Today, after much generalized anxiety followed by an hour-long yoga flow that was a semi-successful attempt to calm myself down, I was lying on the floor in shavasana (final corpse pose) when I felt, so intensely, the need to make music. So I sat down at my old piano, opened the cover, and put my fingers on the keys.
Only trouble is, I haven't seriously played the piano in years. I was decent, when I was a regular practitioner, but at thist point most of my abilities have been relegated to the sub-conscious storage compartment, and even though I think I still have the right key for the lock it didn't do me much good-- as I seem to have forgotten where said compartment is.
But I decided to forge on, regardless. I started out slow: running through chord progressions and warming up my fingers with fast runs over the keys. Then I began (fairly successfully) to play some well-known songs by ear. Gradually I became a bit more daring, and I started composing some simple melodies. As usual, I found my stride in the minor keys, and it was pretty and it was good.
But it was still so... restrained. And this, quite simply, is because I'm not good enough to make music that's really wild and really free.
Now, one could argue that this appraisal isn't entirely accurate. I mean, I did try to get wild. I started pounding keys at random, spastically slamming my fingers at high speeds and irregular intervals all over the board. I waved my arms and I hit hard and fast, like a little wild child.
Arguably, this is in its own right a way of being free. But this is being free in a different medium than the one I'd originally intended: I was letting my body get wild and free (flailing can do that for a person), but it was no longer music that was taking me to that place. And I was really, really wanting, this evening, to find freedom through music-- and music of my own creation, at that.
But this was not a possibility for me, and it's for one simple reason: Because I am no longer a practiced piano player. I'm therefore not good enough to really let go, to let the music and my fingers and my muscle memory carry me away.
Realizing this made me realize further: If you want to free yourself*, you first have to (brace yourself for the paradox) cultivate discipline.
This is true, I would argue, for any medium: art, music, writing, acting, athleticism, dancing, spiritual practice, what have you. It's sort of a "gotta know the rules before you can break 'em" situation: You have to be good enough at something (which requires a whole lot of commitment, practice-- discipline) that your mind no longer has to be in control of everything-- which means that you are therefore able to let go into the current (or what a lot of creativity psychologists refer to as "flow"-- interesting, yes?), and let it carry you away, somewhere above and beyond, somewhere that inspires and moves and transports and, yes, liberates-- you.
-------
*I just realized that the concept of what it is to "free one's self" should probably be broken down at some point. Perhaps this will be the subject of another post.
Only trouble is, I haven't seriously played the piano in years. I was decent, when I was a regular practitioner, but at thist point most of my abilities have been relegated to the sub-conscious storage compartment, and even though I think I still have the right key for the lock it didn't do me much good-- as I seem to have forgotten where said compartment is.
But I decided to forge on, regardless. I started out slow: running through chord progressions and warming up my fingers with fast runs over the keys. Then I began (fairly successfully) to play some well-known songs by ear. Gradually I became a bit more daring, and I started composing some simple melodies. As usual, I found my stride in the minor keys, and it was pretty and it was good.
But it was still so... restrained. And this, quite simply, is because I'm not good enough to make music that's really wild and really free.
Now, one could argue that this appraisal isn't entirely accurate. I mean, I did try to get wild. I started pounding keys at random, spastically slamming my fingers at high speeds and irregular intervals all over the board. I waved my arms and I hit hard and fast, like a little wild child.
Arguably, this is in its own right a way of being free. But this is being free in a different medium than the one I'd originally intended: I was letting my body get wild and free (flailing can do that for a person), but it was no longer music that was taking me to that place. And I was really, really wanting, this evening, to find freedom through music-- and music of my own creation, at that.
But this was not a possibility for me, and it's for one simple reason: Because I am no longer a practiced piano player. I'm therefore not good enough to really let go, to let the music and my fingers and my muscle memory carry me away.
Realizing this made me realize further: If you want to free yourself*, you first have to (brace yourself for the paradox) cultivate discipline.
This is true, I would argue, for any medium: art, music, writing, acting, athleticism, dancing, spiritual practice, what have you. It's sort of a "gotta know the rules before you can break 'em" situation: You have to be good enough at something (which requires a whole lot of commitment, practice-- discipline) that your mind no longer has to be in control of everything-- which means that you are therefore able to let go into the current (or what a lot of creativity psychologists refer to as "flow"-- interesting, yes?), and let it carry you away, somewhere above and beyond, somewhere that inspires and moves and transports and, yes, liberates-- you.
-------
*I just realized that the concept of what it is to "free one's self" should probably be broken down at some point. Perhaps this will be the subject of another post.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
11. Courage to face a crocodile (Part 2)
So I'm standing here, on the rim of this cliff/on the bank of this river/at the forest's mossy green edge. I'm standing here, and I'm seeing all of these sharks swarming, these gorillas lining up, these crocodiles lying in wait. I begin to name them: That one there? That's self-doubt. That cluster right below me, jaws furiously snapping? Those are all of the ways that Ic and society try to keep me "in my place" (whatever that means): "I'm/you're not smart/talented/special/pretty/strong/brave/gifted/independent/experienced/ capable/_________ (fill in the blank) enough." You (these monsters tell me) are not enough. Therefore, little girl, you have no chance of making it across this river. Best to stay right where you are, where you're safe. You're comfortable where you are, aren't you? You have clothes, food, a bed. Best not to risk the journey.
I think one of the greatest challenges set before us human beings is that of living our lives exactly as we envision and are called to do-- that of really living-- in spite of these terrible voices that are constantly firing at our defenses, both from within and without.
It is a grand challenge, to be sure. But the alternative, of not rising to the challenge, of not giving it a shot? No, thank you. That's not good enough-- for me.
So. I have come to an understanding with and within myself: I refuse to dabble at the edge for much longer. The question still remains, though: How to defeat the crocodiles? How can I possibly dive into those shark-infested waters and emerge, intact, on the other side?
For a while, I assumed that it was a question of merely building a strong armor-- I would strengthen all of my defenses, I decided, and then just plunge in and make a run for it. I figured I'd get chewed up pretty bad, and lose some flesh along the way-- a hunk of an arm here, a big gash in leg-- but, hey, I've got a pretty high tolerance for pain.
It was only when I started writing this that I realized that's not the way. In fact, I was envisioning the goal all wrong. Because the point, I think, is not to get to the other side. What is "the other side" but a mirror of where you already are? The reflections are opposite, perhaps, but their content is the same. On the other side I would still be on a bank, on a cliff, at a forest's edge-- just looking at it from another direction. No, we are not meant to fend off the swarms that seek to tear us apart. Think how long one could get bogged down, there, fighting for her/his life! Why, it's quite possible one would never get out.
Here, instead, is what we should do: Slip downstream, a ways. You will hear terrible sounds as the hungry hordes, desperate for flesh, for sustenance-- for anything, because they are not sure of what they want, began to rip into each other. Keep walking. When you've cleared the mass gathering, take off your shoes. Strip off your clothes, too, if you feel like it (this part isn't necessary, but it does mean that your travels will be even less bogged down). Then, step into the water. Walk toward the center of the river, until your feet lose touch with the pebbled bottom and your body is floating free. Duck under, into the current. Let the river carry you, out into the great wide sea.
That sea is life! Seek it. Let yourself go.
I think one of the greatest challenges set before us human beings is that of living our lives exactly as we envision and are called to do-- that of really living-- in spite of these terrible voices that are constantly firing at our defenses, both from within and without.
It is a grand challenge, to be sure. But the alternative, of not rising to the challenge, of not giving it a shot? No, thank you. That's not good enough-- for me.
So. I have come to an understanding with and within myself: I refuse to dabble at the edge for much longer. The question still remains, though: How to defeat the crocodiles? How can I possibly dive into those shark-infested waters and emerge, intact, on the other side?
For a while, I assumed that it was a question of merely building a strong armor-- I would strengthen all of my defenses, I decided, and then just plunge in and make a run for it. I figured I'd get chewed up pretty bad, and lose some flesh along the way-- a hunk of an arm here, a big gash in leg-- but, hey, I've got a pretty high tolerance for pain.
It was only when I started writing this that I realized that's not the way. In fact, I was envisioning the goal all wrong. Because the point, I think, is not to get to the other side. What is "the other side" but a mirror of where you already are? The reflections are opposite, perhaps, but their content is the same. On the other side I would still be on a bank, on a cliff, at a forest's edge-- just looking at it from another direction. No, we are not meant to fend off the swarms that seek to tear us apart. Think how long one could get bogged down, there, fighting for her/his life! Why, it's quite possible one would never get out.
Here, instead, is what we should do: Slip downstream, a ways. You will hear terrible sounds as the hungry hordes, desperate for flesh, for sustenance-- for anything, because they are not sure of what they want, began to rip into each other. Keep walking. When you've cleared the mass gathering, take off your shoes. Strip off your clothes, too, if you feel like it (this part isn't necessary, but it does mean that your travels will be even less bogged down). Then, step into the water. Walk toward the center of the river, until your feet lose touch with the pebbled bottom and your body is floating free. Duck under, into the current. Let the river carry you, out into the great wide sea.
That sea is life! Seek it. Let yourself go.
10. Courage to face a crocodile (Part 1)
I've been having very vivid dreams for the past month or more, many of them involving crocodiles, alligators, sharks, giant gorillas, and other ominous and threatening creatures (perhaps surprisingly, Rush Limbaugh was not among them). In nearly every one of these dreams I find myself at an edge-- most often of a body of water-- which I somehow, intrinsically, *know* that I must cross-- and which I am simultaneously terrified of crossing.
The symbolism here could drive an English major into a delirium from which she might never return. Because really, the timing here is so perfect: I have been a college graduate for more than a year. I have just completed a fixed term of employement, and (until four days ago) was facing a new year with no job, no home to call my own, no academic constraints, no health care payments (thank you, Obamacare!), no children, no exclusive partner, no pets, no car-- hell, not even a concrete dream (at least, not as pertains to careers).
In short, I am, completely and utterly, free of any commitments.
It would be easy, in this situation, to focus on all those "no's" in that second paragraph-- to look at my life and see nothing but lack. NO job? NO home? NO car? Good grief, does the girl have anything to her name?!
That would be easy. But I think it's possible to view this situation in another way: I see the absences left by all these "no's"-- and I see them as creating a whole lot of spaces that can be filled. And what is marvelous and thrilling-- and, yes, scary and unnerving-- is that I get to choose how to fill them. Me. Myself. I.
More than any other time in my life, I am coming to grips with the fact that my life is completely my own responsibility. And so perhaps I was too hasty when I said that I don't have any commitments right now. Because I do still have one infinitely meaningful, infinitely important commitment: the commitment (which we each carry, I think) to myself. For myself, I must make a life.
In the past, to varying degrees, I have shunned this responsibility. I busied myself with fulfilling the commitments that society/other people/my own tendencies made for me: homework, extracurriculars, homework, making my body "beautiful" (read: acceptable), homework, work duties, volunteerism, depression, relationships, more homework. None (or at least, most) of these things are inherently "bad", obviously. But they do become problematic when they are used as a means of avoiding absolute responsibility of Self.
In the past, these were my crocodiles: the "responsibilities" that become excuses for not actually living the life you have imagined for yourself, and/or the life that you are called to live.
Over the years, gradually, and with some missteps and some backsliding, I have fought off these motherfuckers. And now here I stand, having shed most of my excuses and much of my baggage, poised at the edge of a cliff.
The symbolism here could drive an English major into a delirium from which she might never return. Because really, the timing here is so perfect: I have been a college graduate for more than a year. I have just completed a fixed term of employement, and (until four days ago) was facing a new year with no job, no home to call my own, no academic constraints, no health care payments (thank you, Obamacare!), no children, no exclusive partner, no pets, no car-- hell, not even a concrete dream (at least, not as pertains to careers).
In short, I am, completely and utterly, free of any commitments.
It would be easy, in this situation, to focus on all those "no's" in that second paragraph-- to look at my life and see nothing but lack. NO job? NO home? NO car? Good grief, does the girl have anything to her name?!
That would be easy. But I think it's possible to view this situation in another way: I see the absences left by all these "no's"-- and I see them as creating a whole lot of spaces that can be filled. And what is marvelous and thrilling-- and, yes, scary and unnerving-- is that I get to choose how to fill them. Me. Myself. I.
More than any other time in my life, I am coming to grips with the fact that my life is completely my own responsibility. And so perhaps I was too hasty when I said that I don't have any commitments right now. Because I do still have one infinitely meaningful, infinitely important commitment: the commitment (which we each carry, I think) to myself. For myself, I must make a life.
In the past, to varying degrees, I have shunned this responsibility. I busied myself with fulfilling the commitments that society/other people/my own tendencies made for me: homework, extracurriculars, homework, making my body "beautiful" (read: acceptable), homework, work duties, volunteerism, depression, relationships, more homework. None (or at least, most) of these things are inherently "bad", obviously. But they do become problematic when they are used as a means of avoiding absolute responsibility of Self.
In the past, these were my crocodiles: the "responsibilities" that become excuses for not actually living the life you have imagined for yourself, and/or the life that you are called to live.
Over the years, gradually, and with some missteps and some backsliding, I have fought off these motherfuckers. And now here I stand, having shed most of my excuses and much of my baggage, poised at the edge of a cliff.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
9. Thursday link round-up
I'm lying on top of my bed in a sweatshirt and loose cotton pants. It is 10:22pm and I am... not exhausted, but tired. Still, I am staying up reading some things:
1. Other universes, Russian dolls:
http://www.technologyreview.com/blog/arxiv/26132/?ref=rss
2. Music video: a plea for contributions
http://ofclouds.com/lovecop/
3. Writings for writers
http://melodygodfred.com/
http://www.makealivingwriting.com/
Ah, screw it. I've read more tonight, some and not all of it interesting, but really I just wanted to post that first link, to have the whole world read that just maybe, all possible universes are already present within this universe-- and if this is true macrocosmically then isn't it also potentially true that the same principle exists on the microcosmic, individual scale: that each of us already contains everything imaginable within ourselves-- and if this is true then isn't it maybe true that we can manifest any possibility that we choose, that we are limited not by reality (which is unlimited) but merely by our own minds-- and if our minds are powerful enough to constrain our life and our perceived limitations then perhaps our minds are also strong enough to blow the lid right off us
1. Other universes, Russian dolls:
http://www.technologyreview.com/blog/arxiv/26132/?ref=rss
2. Music video: a plea for contributions
http://ofclouds.com/lovecop/
3. Writings for writers
http://melodygodfred.com/
http://www.makealivingwriting.com/
Ah, screw it. I've read more tonight, some and not all of it interesting, but really I just wanted to post that first link, to have the whole world read that just maybe, all possible universes are already present within this universe-- and if this is true macrocosmically then isn't it also potentially true that the same principle exists on the microcosmic, individual scale: that each of us already contains everything imaginable within ourselves-- and if this is true then isn't it maybe true that we can manifest any possibility that we choose, that we are limited not by reality (which is unlimited) but merely by our own minds-- and if our minds are powerful enough to constrain our life and our perceived limitations then perhaps our minds are also strong enough to blow the lid right off us
8. There is a sacredness
There is a sacredness in the curling of an apple's parted skin, the quiet revelation of innocence. There is a sacredness in not waiting, and then in learning to wait.
It is sacred to listen to music. To sing and to dance on the bus as it carries people home, twirling and catching yourself on the bar only moments before falling. It is sacred to smile at a stranger-- to look into their eyes and to see that they are happy because you are happy and you are happy because their eyes are shining.
There is a sacredness to being so fed by the universe that for a little while you forget to eat. There is a sacredness in eating more chocolate than your stomach can process in one sitting because you are hungry and excited and not paying attention to the bag-- and in letting that be fine, in knowing that irregardless you are still even more than okay. There is always space for gratitude.
It is so sacred to sit with a new... someone, a person who is not quite a stranger or a lover or a friend but somewhere in the ridges between all of these things, and to make music, together, sitting side by side. It is sacred to learn something new, to ask questions, to not know and to allow others to witness your not knowing. There is a sacredness to being vulnerable.
At the same time it is sacred to protect yourself from being harmed. It is sacred to see that someone might hurt you and to hold out an arm to defend yourself-- not in combat but in love, love for yourself who is worthy of respect and dignity and of protection of these sacred things. There is a sacredness, too, in getting hurt, and even more so in the learning that comes after feeling pain. But this is a sacredness that can only arise with an attitude: that every thing-- every single thing-- is an opportunity for reflection and growth. And in knowing that, you realize that the universe is always and only conspiring to make you a better person. Then you realize that every bad thing that has ever happened to you-- and every good thing, too-- has been a gift presented to you in the form of a mirror and a guidepost: To show you who you are, to show you where you do not and where you so very much do want to go.
This is all very sacred. And so are you, just as you are-- healthy and wounded and perhaps in the process of being healed. Wearing too much makeup or none at all and maybe still with some pimples even though you are twenty-three years old-- or sixty-eight, even-- and maybe feeling like a kid in a grown-up's body or a wise old soul stuck in this vessel of youth, wanting so badly to just sit and contemplate all the beauty in the universe but instead finding that you are compelled to keep moving, that growth and change happen even if you try to avoid them and really doesn't this just go to show that you're not able to-- nor is it your job to control things, least of all this great big glorious thing called Life, and that perhaps this is the most sacred thing of all: It doesn't stop; it doesn't stop; you cannot make it stop.
It is sacred to listen to music. To sing and to dance on the bus as it carries people home, twirling and catching yourself on the bar only moments before falling. It is sacred to smile at a stranger-- to look into their eyes and to see that they are happy because you are happy and you are happy because their eyes are shining.
There is a sacredness to being so fed by the universe that for a little while you forget to eat. There is a sacredness in eating more chocolate than your stomach can process in one sitting because you are hungry and excited and not paying attention to the bag-- and in letting that be fine, in knowing that irregardless you are still even more than okay. There is always space for gratitude.
It is so sacred to sit with a new... someone, a person who is not quite a stranger or a lover or a friend but somewhere in the ridges between all of these things, and to make music, together, sitting side by side. It is sacred to learn something new, to ask questions, to not know and to allow others to witness your not knowing. There is a sacredness to being vulnerable.
At the same time it is sacred to protect yourself from being harmed. It is sacred to see that someone might hurt you and to hold out an arm to defend yourself-- not in combat but in love, love for yourself who is worthy of respect and dignity and of protection of these sacred things. There is a sacredness, too, in getting hurt, and even more so in the learning that comes after feeling pain. But this is a sacredness that can only arise with an attitude: that every thing-- every single thing-- is an opportunity for reflection and growth. And in knowing that, you realize that the universe is always and only conspiring to make you a better person. Then you realize that every bad thing that has ever happened to you-- and every good thing, too-- has been a gift presented to you in the form of a mirror and a guidepost: To show you who you are, to show you where you do not and where you so very much do want to go.
This is all very sacred. And so are you, just as you are-- healthy and wounded and perhaps in the process of being healed. Wearing too much makeup or none at all and maybe still with some pimples even though you are twenty-three years old-- or sixty-eight, even-- and maybe feeling like a kid in a grown-up's body or a wise old soul stuck in this vessel of youth, wanting so badly to just sit and contemplate all the beauty in the universe but instead finding that you are compelled to keep moving, that growth and change happen even if you try to avoid them and really doesn't this just go to show that you're not able to-- nor is it your job to control things, least of all this great big glorious thing called Life, and that perhaps this is the most sacred thing of all: It doesn't stop; it doesn't stop; you cannot make it stop.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
7. What to do
Two-parted Preface:
1.I don't know why I started using the second person, nor why I start talking to that "second person" as if they were a patient on my couch. But I rolled with it.
2. This post runs the risk of implying that I don't believe in goals or dreams, and also that I don't believe in the power of visualizing said goals/dreams in order to help make them a reality. Neither of these claims are true.
Addendum to part 1 of the two-parted preface:
In my current living situation, I don't actually have access to a couch. If I were to host a "patient" in my home, I suppose they could sit beside me on my bed. The chair, unfortunately, serves as permanent residence to a precariously pile of clothes.
--
I'm going to say something pretty radical here: I think that most of the time, we know what we want to do.
"But Laura," you say, "that can't possibly be true. Entire chunks of our lives are allotted to figuring out what we want to do. We figure out who we are in middle school, supposedly, and then we figure out what we want to do in high school and college*-- and for some people, it takes even longer than that. Hell, the entire self-help industry arguably depends on the fact that a whole lot of people still don't know what they want to do with their lives."
All of that may be true (except for the idea that we figure out "who we are" in three years, especially given that those years are fraught with pimples and hormones and, in most cases, feeling terrible about yourself), but I think a lot of it is also bullshit. Just because that's the way things are in our society doesn't mean that's the way things actually-with-a-capital-A-"Are".
I can't claim to speak for that capital-A-Are, (though, so long as we're on the subject: I think it's different for everybody, if it even exists), and that's not what I'm setting out to do with this blog post, so I'll try to move on as quickly as possible. Rather, what I am proposing is that knowing "what we want to do" is often a lot simpler than the high school guidance counselors and the college advisers and the self-help gurus might have us believe.
I do think that a lot of us (especially those in my age cohort) really and truly believe that we don't know what we want to be when we grow up/what we want to do with our lives/etc. And to each of us (including myself), I would say: Don't worry about it.
I think that we're dedicating a lot of time and effort and (in some cases) money to-- gasp-- the wrong question. Because really, it doesn't so much matter what you want to be when you grow up. What matters is what you're doing right now. If you die tomorrow, or next week, people might mention that you'd always wanted to be a marine biologist or an astronaut, cry a little, and then head to IHOP for the reception. But more than that, we're going to be talking about what you did and what you were doing right up until your death. In terms of the impact that you have on the world, your present actions matter a whole lot more than whatever you're thinking about doing in the future.
This is not to say that dreams don't matter, nor is it meant to ignore the fact that what you do now will influence what you do later-- so arguably a little planning is necessary to create the life you want. What I'm trying to say is that rather than asking ourselves what we want to be once we've entered that nebulously defined world of "grown-upedness", we should be asking ourselves what we want to do right now-- and we should be doing it. My point is that we should be creating the life that we dream of right now-- not waiting around until we've achieved some career goal that we may have defined for ourselves when we were young or that maybe was defined for us by our parents' (or society's) limits of acceptability.
My point is that it doesn't do you much good to say "I want to be a marine biologist someday" unless you back it up with present-day actions-- because that "someday" is almost always riddled with conditional statements. You want to be a marine biologist "later", "when you grow up", but for now you don't live near an ocean or an aquarium or you're too young or you have to stay home for a while to take care of your parents or to save up money or you don't have the schooling or the wherewithal to be a marine biologist just yet.
What we have here, then, is a vision-- and nothing more. And even though these visions aren't... anything, really (think about it: can you see/touch/hear/feel it?), we begin to identify with them. We incorporate them into our identity, we get excited for "that day" when we will be doing just what we've always wanted (and often, I think, we assume that once we've reached "that day" we will also be the person whom we've wanted to be and we will-- if you'll pardon the expression-- shit roses and puppies and incense)... and in the meantime, we're... what?
If you identify solely as a "future marine biologist", then there's no space for identifying as whatever you are right now. The fallacy here, I think, is that we rob ourselves of a whole lot of present-day agency and power and self-discovery and joy, because we're holding off until we "get there" (which may or may not ever happen). In many cases, I think, we are robbing ourselves of a lived experience by waiting for life to happen to, or for, us.
Fine. Okay, fair enough (mostly). So if I take you up on your point, Laura, the next question becomes: If the new question is "what do I want to be doing right now," how the hell do I answer it? I know-- or at least, I sort of know-- what I want to be later, but I have no freaking clue what I should be doing right now."
FINALLY, we've arrived at what I planned for this post to address all along. Here are my suggestions for what to do when you don't know what you want to do:
1. First recognize that you're not alone. You are joined by millions, maybe billions of people the world over. Don't castigate yourself, don't think yourself some kind of freak or failure because you haven't yet been able to "figure this out". You're a human being, and you've been just as twisted around by our social constructs as the rest of us. So have some compassion for yourself. Beating yourself up is merely a waste of time that could otherwise be dedicated to productively pursuing the answers that you seek.
2. Stop telling yourself that you don't know what to do. Your beliefs will create your reality.Self-defeating thoughts are never in your best interests, so try not to listen to them. Remember, Ic is not your friend.
3. Try to replace those self-deprecating thoughts with something victorious.Start telling yourself, "I know what I want to do." It might not feel true for a while, but keep saying it-- because the more you repeat it, the more likely you are to believe it, and the more likely it is to become true
4. (This one can be tough): Get really, really quiet. Inside, I mean. Make space in your day for silence, for deep breathing, for meditation (if you're into it), for whatever activities help you feel calm and centered and like you are completely embodied within yourself. Cultivate a practice of paying attention more. Pay attention all the time to the things that you are drawn to, that interest you, that energize you and make you feel powerful and alive.
5. When you notice a draw toward something, follow it.Let yourself be drawn. Start small. If you feel like eating oatmeal for dinner (or cake, or raw green beans), do it. If you feel like finger-painting, go buy some paints and smear your fingers all over the canvas (or the wall, or the old ugly table that could really use some color). If you feel like hugging a tree, go to the woods/the park/a sidewalk planter and do that. If you feel like punching your boss in the face-- well, maybe don't do that (but you could draw a picture of you punching your boss in the face, or you could start taking a kick-boxing class and imagine with each jab-hook combo that you are punching your boss square in the kisser). If you decide that you want to go to Korea to study Tae Kwon Do, start saving. (See? I'm not totally opposed to planning for future wants-- my point, really, is that you've got to do something now in order to get to the desired future).
There are two tough parts to #5:
1. Fear. I'll talk about this in another post (actually; this was going to be the subject of this post-- but apparently I got sidetracked). "Fear" probably lies at the root of the other key "tough part," but I'm going to separate them out just the same:
2. You have to let go. I think that the key to figuring out what you want is to open yourself up to wanting anything. Maybe you don't "want" to take a walk in the woods, or to scribble with crayons (for Jeebus' sake, you're a grown-up!); maybe you don't "want" to discover that you really would rather be a lawyer than a marine biologist.
But if some part of you is sending a clear message, I think it's our responsibility to ourselves to listen to it. And in my experience, acting on those "callings" (for lack of a less loaded term) opens us up to all kinds of growth and delicious challenge and joy.
So it's tough. But-- really, truly, fingers-not-crossed swear-- I think it can be done. What it requires is practice, and patience, and compassionate listening. And bravery. Because it just may happen that we realize we want something other than what we are "supposed" to want, or what we told ourselves we wanted. But if the alternative is waiting around until the day that I magically become a marine biologist and everything in my life becomes perfect... well, I don't want to wait.
And besides, I never really wanted to be a marine biologist anyway.
---
*It should be noted that this is primarily a western-world construct
1.I don't know why I started using the second person, nor why I start talking to that "second person" as if they were a patient on my couch. But I rolled with it.
2. This post runs the risk of implying that I don't believe in goals or dreams, and also that I don't believe in the power of visualizing said goals/dreams in order to help make them a reality. Neither of these claims are true.
Addendum to part 1 of the two-parted preface:
In my current living situation, I don't actually have access to a couch. If I were to host a "patient" in my home, I suppose they could sit beside me on my bed. The chair, unfortunately, serves as permanent residence to a precariously pile of clothes.
--
I'm going to say something pretty radical here: I think that most of the time, we know what we want to do.
"But Laura," you say, "that can't possibly be true. Entire chunks of our lives are allotted to figuring out what we want to do. We figure out who we are in middle school, supposedly, and then we figure out what we want to do in high school and college*-- and for some people, it takes even longer than that. Hell, the entire self-help industry arguably depends on the fact that a whole lot of people still don't know what they want to do with their lives."
All of that may be true (except for the idea that we figure out "who we are" in three years, especially given that those years are fraught with pimples and hormones and, in most cases, feeling terrible about yourself), but I think a lot of it is also bullshit. Just because that's the way things are in our society doesn't mean that's the way things actually-with-a-capital-A-"Are".
I can't claim to speak for that capital-A-Are, (though, so long as we're on the subject: I think it's different for everybody, if it even exists), and that's not what I'm setting out to do with this blog post, so I'll try to move on as quickly as possible. Rather, what I am proposing is that knowing "what we want to do" is often a lot simpler than the high school guidance counselors and the college advisers and the self-help gurus might have us believe.
I do think that a lot of us (especially those in my age cohort) really and truly believe that we don't know what we want to be when we grow up/what we want to do with our lives/etc. And to each of us (including myself), I would say: Don't worry about it.
I think that we're dedicating a lot of time and effort and (in some cases) money to-- gasp-- the wrong question. Because really, it doesn't so much matter what you want to be when you grow up. What matters is what you're doing right now. If you die tomorrow, or next week, people might mention that you'd always wanted to be a marine biologist or an astronaut, cry a little, and then head to IHOP for the reception. But more than that, we're going to be talking about what you did and what you were doing right up until your death. In terms of the impact that you have on the world, your present actions matter a whole lot more than whatever you're thinking about doing in the future.
This is not to say that dreams don't matter, nor is it meant to ignore the fact that what you do now will influence what you do later-- so arguably a little planning is necessary to create the life you want. What I'm trying to say is that rather than asking ourselves what we want to be once we've entered that nebulously defined world of "grown-upedness", we should be asking ourselves what we want to do right now-- and we should be doing it. My point is that we should be creating the life that we dream of right now-- not waiting around until we've achieved some career goal that we may have defined for ourselves when we were young or that maybe was defined for us by our parents' (or society's) limits of acceptability.
My point is that it doesn't do you much good to say "I want to be a marine biologist someday" unless you back it up with present-day actions-- because that "someday" is almost always riddled with conditional statements. You want to be a marine biologist "later", "when you grow up", but for now you don't live near an ocean or an aquarium or you're too young or you have to stay home for a while to take care of your parents or to save up money or you don't have the schooling or the wherewithal to be a marine biologist just yet.
What we have here, then, is a vision-- and nothing more. And even though these visions aren't... anything, really (think about it: can you see/touch/hear/feel it?), we begin to identify with them. We incorporate them into our identity, we get excited for "that day" when we will be doing just what we've always wanted (and often, I think, we assume that once we've reached "that day" we will also be the person whom we've wanted to be and we will-- if you'll pardon the expression-- shit roses and puppies and incense)... and in the meantime, we're... what?
If you identify solely as a "future marine biologist", then there's no space for identifying as whatever you are right now. The fallacy here, I think, is that we rob ourselves of a whole lot of present-day agency and power and self-discovery and joy, because we're holding off until we "get there" (which may or may not ever happen). In many cases, I think, we are robbing ourselves of a lived experience by waiting for life to happen to, or for, us.
Fine. Okay, fair enough (mostly). So if I take you up on your point, Laura, the next question becomes: If the new question is "what do I want to be doing right now," how the hell do I answer it? I know-- or at least, I sort of know-- what I want to be later, but I have no freaking clue what I should be doing right now."
FINALLY, we've arrived at what I planned for this post to address all along. Here are my suggestions for what to do when you don't know what you want to do:
1. First recognize that you're not alone. You are joined by millions, maybe billions of people the world over. Don't castigate yourself, don't think yourself some kind of freak or failure because you haven't yet been able to "figure this out". You're a human being, and you've been just as twisted around by our social constructs as the rest of us. So have some compassion for yourself. Beating yourself up is merely a waste of time that could otherwise be dedicated to productively pursuing the answers that you seek.
2. Stop telling yourself that you don't know what to do. Your beliefs will create your reality.Self-defeating thoughts are never in your best interests, so try not to listen to them. Remember, Ic is not your friend.
3. Try to replace those self-deprecating thoughts with something victorious.Start telling yourself, "I know what I want to do." It might not feel true for a while, but keep saying it-- because the more you repeat it, the more likely you are to believe it, and the more likely it is to become true
4. (This one can be tough): Get really, really quiet. Inside, I mean. Make space in your day for silence, for deep breathing, for meditation (if you're into it), for whatever activities help you feel calm and centered and like you are completely embodied within yourself. Cultivate a practice of paying attention more. Pay attention all the time to the things that you are drawn to, that interest you, that energize you and make you feel powerful and alive.
5. When you notice a draw toward something, follow it.Let yourself be drawn. Start small. If you feel like eating oatmeal for dinner (or cake, or raw green beans), do it. If you feel like finger-painting, go buy some paints and smear your fingers all over the canvas (or the wall, or the old ugly table that could really use some color). If you feel like hugging a tree, go to the woods/the park/a sidewalk planter and do that. If you feel like punching your boss in the face-- well, maybe don't do that (but you could draw a picture of you punching your boss in the face, or you could start taking a kick-boxing class and imagine with each jab-hook combo that you are punching your boss square in the kisser). If you decide that you want to go to Korea to study Tae Kwon Do, start saving. (See? I'm not totally opposed to planning for future wants-- my point, really, is that you've got to do something now in order to get to the desired future).
There are two tough parts to #5:
1. Fear. I'll talk about this in another post (actually; this was going to be the subject of this post-- but apparently I got sidetracked). "Fear" probably lies at the root of the other key "tough part," but I'm going to separate them out just the same:
2. You have to let go. I think that the key to figuring out what you want is to open yourself up to wanting anything. Maybe you don't "want" to take a walk in the woods, or to scribble with crayons (for Jeebus' sake, you're a grown-up!); maybe you don't "want" to discover that you really would rather be a lawyer than a marine biologist.
But if some part of you is sending a clear message, I think it's our responsibility to ourselves to listen to it. And in my experience, acting on those "callings" (for lack of a less loaded term) opens us up to all kinds of growth and delicious challenge and joy.
So it's tough. But-- really, truly, fingers-not-crossed swear-- I think it can be done. What it requires is practice, and patience, and compassionate listening. And bravery. Because it just may happen that we realize we want something other than what we are "supposed" to want, or what we told ourselves we wanted. But if the alternative is waiting around until the day that I magically become a marine biologist and everything in my life becomes perfect... well, I don't want to wait.
And besides, I never really wanted to be a marine biologist anyway.
---
*It should be noted that this is primarily a western-world construct
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