Even the master yogi took a first class.
To become anything, you have to begin.
Start somewhere, take a tiny step.
Something is better than nothing.
Everyone starts somewhere.
Category: Philosophy
Are You Too In Love With A Dream to Make It Real?
Where does your mind go when you daydream?
That big dream, that thing in your mind–the really big one. Yes, that one.
What’s your big, scary, hairy, crazy, totally unrealistic dream? The one you wish for fervently and find yourself thinking about on and off while wandering?
Have you thought about making it real? Making it actually, seriously, part of your life?
Taking a dream to reality is risky.
It requires the real risk of failure and discovering whether or not you’re capable of what you believe. Whether or not you can actually accomplish all of the steps towards making it real. Whether or not you’re willing to do the work and go through the (sometimes painful) process of getting it to real.
Attempting to make a dream come true is a reality check. The possibility if a different reality is painful. It is quite possible that along the way towards going after your dream, you find out that you won’t get there. It’s too late. The pieces didn’t work. You don’t make it.
Behind the course of taking a dream to life is a possibility of not getting there.
To protect ourselves, we cling to the dream. We stay behind, saying wistfully to ourselves and others the story of the dream, but we don’t chase the dream itself.
Our words start to sound familiar. We tell stories that sound like were going to so that or we could have done that…
To take steps towards your dream requires uncertainty courage, bravery. You might discover that your dream window has expired. You might discover that you’re no longer in love with the fantasy you created. You might discover that the person you were has changed.
Taking the journey will change you. Taking the journey is unpredictable, uncertain, and scary.
You will emerge a different person. Your solace is that the other side of this today is a new place, and we are creatures that require change to grow.
And what if it does work out? What if your wildest dreams actually could come true?
Would you have the courage to go free them?
Or are you enjoying the dream more?
Bravery
Bravery.
Bravery is showing up.
Bravery is saying what you believe in. Out loud. To the people who need to hear it. Even if that person is you.
It’s having honest communication with your self, your teams, your communities.
Bravery is saying no when you know you need to. It’s saying no to the wrong things so that you can say yes to the right things.
Bravery is having the courage to quit when you know you’re on the wrong track, even if hundreds of thousands of people are headed in one direction. It’s knowing when the path you are on isn’t the one for you. It’s taking that scary leap, swimming upstream, or wandering down unfamiliar trails.
Bravery isn’t fun, macho, or full of gusto. It’s not always done in one big sweep.
Bravery is all the heroes in Boston, visible and invisible, local and global.
Bravery is having the courage to stand out on social media and remind people to collect the dots, not connect them too early.
Bravery is saying something different and showing empathy for our peers around the world. It’s not jumping to conclusions too quickly. It’s remembering what we stand for and believing in the best of us.
Sometimes bravery is remarkable, unfathomable courage by the youngest and oldest of human souls who rush forward to help everyone and put their lives on the line to save others. The runners in Boston who kept running to the hospital to donate blood were Remarkable. Beautiful. Stunning. Incredible.
Other times bravery is calm, methodical. Sometimes it looks quite peaceful. Sometimes it’s shaking off the noise and clamor and distraction and realizing with simple focus that your next steps require you to take those steps and walking forward is the best and happiest way forward.
Bravery might not be visible to anyone else at the time that you’re being brave. Bravery might be broadcast on national television (but that’s not the point).
It’s showing up, little by little.
It’s putting yourself out there, even if “out there” is pushing past your own mental barriers.
It’s deciding that now is a better time than later.
Bravery is bravery, even if it doesn’t look that remarkable to anyone else. You are still brave.
It’s continuing to press on, even when your stomach drops in fear, your hands shake in nerves, and you collect sweat in your armpits faster than fog droplets in a San Francisco “summer” day. It’s taking a step forward in the midst of whirlwind gusts of wind and shouting into the windstorm, I’ve got this, dammit! I’m still going to do it! I have to!
My soul tells me I have to do this, and I have to listen.
Start small. (It’s okay to start with a bang, too, but small is still very brave).
Watch for the mental overwhelm, and give yourself kindness and space to freak the heck out (although maybe not publicly just yet).
Be very kind to yourself.
And also, remember,
in your quest for bravery:
In order to do something new, you often have to let go of something old.
The trouble with starting something is that it requires a different behavior than what you did before.
We are creatures of habit, yes, but we are also creatures of continuous change.
Spring is the perfect time for creative bursting, for unfolding, for the skin-shedding, cocoon-bursting metamorphosis that transforms you towards your next self.
The world is waiting for you to grow into the next version of you.
Bravery doesn’t always feel like bravery.
It can feel like whirl-wind, mind-bending, all-changing upset, filled with unpredictable whims and whammies, stomach upset and nervous twitters, body aches, starts and stops, trial and error, and a whole lot of messy.
Sometimes bravery feels nauseating, overwhelming, scary, and downright hard.
It’s still brave.
A little insider’s story–my story:
When I opened the doors and launched my writing class last week, I was terrified. This was my brain:
What if I wasn’t ready? What if no one showed up? What if nothing worked? What if this dream of mine, that I’ve been working and crafting and creating for so many months past, resulting in a big giant internet wall of silence?
Intellectually, I know that I can do this. I’ve been ready to do this for years. I’ve taught workshop after workshop and coached folks for years. I have a chart on my wall of the things I’m leaning towards this year, and the one big thing not lined up for the longest time was creating a course for writers. I can’t confess to understanding all of the reasons that I’ve avoided doing it, but I can speculate.
It means so much to me.
I knew deep down that I would do it even if only one person showed up. I would do it even if no one paid me the first time, and I would keep honing my chops and my offerings until I found the right fit.
That still doesn’t mean I’m not incredibly terrified. I get scared! Scared SHITLESS. My brain, many weeks ago:
What if no one shows up? What if I’m a terrible teacher? What if I can’t get it all done? What if it doesn’t work? WHAT IF NOT ONE PERSON SHOWS UP? What it I can’t do it on top of the work I’m already doing? What if this isn’t what I’m meant to do? WHAT IF, WHAT IF, WHAT IF EVERYTHING???
WHAT IF IT’S ALL JUST WRONG?
So scream the fear-monster voices in my head.
Yes. They are there. I have them.
When you get close to your dreams, fear can rage like a giant monster. Every thing that could go wrong seems to loom large. The website broke. I stayed up all night, nervous about prepping the materials. Funky characters showed up across my website. More things went wrong. Before launching the program, I waited for months. I studied stacks and stacks of books, compressing more knowledge into the course documents in order to make it even better. I stalled. And then stalled some more. I thought about not doing it at all. I almost said to myself, “Nah, one wants this. It’s not worth trying.”
And then someone thanked me. People went out of their way to reach out and tell me how excited they were.
Several more people signed up. The class started filling up before I had all my ducks lined up and my posts ready to go. (I have so much more promotion I’m planning on!)
In the form: “Yes. I’ve been waiting for this. This is exactly the class I want.” and “I’m so excited I cannot WAIT until the 29th!”
Holy shit. I’m so excited. And thankful. This is going to be good.
Today, with the class more than half full already, I could laugh away those fears and pretend with a big shiny smile that everything is all and well, but it’s not the truth. I’m scared, too. The fear monsters hit everyone. I don’t know all the answers. But I do love writing!
I’ve learned, slowly, over and over again, that the scariest part of doing anything is not doing it and wallowing in thought.
And wrapping your thoughts around all those fears? That’s a scary space.
Be brave. Get started.
The best way to do anything is to do it. If you’re afraid of starting, make it smaller and simpler. Want to have a conversation with your boss about something you’re frustrated about? Don’t write a big report or delay on it. Write a quick, simple email that says: “I’ve got a couple of items I’d really like to talk to you about–including a couple of frustrations I’d like to work through. When’s the best time to chat, and is there a format that’s easiest for you?” Do it as soon as you know that you have to have this conversation. Stop by and say what you think. Look for solutions.
And be brave. I know it’s terrifying, I know it’s not easy, and I go through it all the time.
Be brave.
With big love this week,
Are You A Watcher Or A Judger?
A few weeks ago, I was teaching some of Spring’s early-season open water courses down at Aquatic Park near Ghirardelli Square in San Francisco. A group of new swimmers stood, shivering, outside of the water while the coaches and I explained the process of getting acclimated to cold water temperatures and critical things to know about the differences between pool swimming and open water swimming.
With a temperature of 52 degrees in early March, the sting upon entering is brutal and shocking: it takes every swimmer’s breath away, leaving people with the feeling of hyperventilation for a minute or two before you acclimate to the temperatures.
One of the things I notice with both myself and with new swimmers–particularly talented adults who are very competent in other areas of their life, but new to swimming–is how quickly our thought processes jump from an observation to a secondary judgment.
In open water swimming, one of the many difficult things to do is swim in a straight line, and also to sight–to spot off of a land mark in the distance to help guide your course. With your eyes at the water line and waves chopping up around you, it’s easy to get disoriented or confused or not see something the first couple of times you take a peek up at the horizon line. Add a group of swimmers surrounding you, and it’s easy to get lost or confused pretty quickly.
“Be present as the watcher of your mind — of your thoughts and emotions as well as your reactions in various situations.” – Eckhart Tolle (Tweet this)
What happens, however–and this goes beyond swimming–is that people will take a stroke, try to sight off of an object–and for any number of reasons, won’t see the thing they are looking for. A wave, a swimmer, a mis-calculation, some foggy goggles–all of these make the chances that you’ll get that perfect “sighting” on one stroke very small. I often have to sight three or four times before I get any information that’s helpful to me. So, I put my head back down, take a few strokes, and try again. After a couple of tries, I get the information I need, or at least partial information. I can begin to piece together a map of my environment over time with lots of additional clues that I keep looking for.
What happens to new swimmers, however, is that when they miss that first sighting–and they don’t see anything–they start to judge themselves. “What the heck! Why can’t I see anything?” The self-talk pattern happens pretty quickly (and believe me, I know this because it’s true for me, too)–“I’m such an idiot! Why can’t I get this right? Why is this so hard? What am I doing wrong!”
We — capable, smart, talented adults — are very quick to collapse a judgment on top of a behavior almost immediately after something goes wrong.
I encourage and coach my swimmers to adopt an “observational” philosophy and to leave the judgment part, or analysis, until after we get out of the water. “Just watch what goes on, and state it as a fact, and leave it there for a bit. Practice letting your thoughts come, but don’t be hard on yourself about them,” we’ll tell the swimmers before we get in the water. It really is okay if it doesn’t all go perfectly.
When I breathe while swimming out doors, I often don’t get a breath every time I take a stroke. Often the elements–waves, wind, timing–slam water in my face or make it hard for me to get the air I need. I keep going, without skipping a beat, working into the rotation. Head back down, spit out the water, roll over to the next breath cycle, and try again. After years of training, missing a breath doesn’t phase me–I know that a couple seconds down the line, I’ll grab some air and it will all be fine. As a newbie, however, this is both terrifying and also unknown territory. While breathing is perhaps the most extreme of examples, if it’s possible to stay relaxed and calm even amidst very scary things happening, chances are you’ll end up just fine and you’ll get another chance to improve (or breathe) a couple seconds down the line.
“It doesn’t always go right the first time. Remind yourself that that’s okay.” (Tweet this)
In another, non-athletic personal example, the same “observational versus judgmental” tack came into play. A while ago, I was struggling with an overwhelming amount of lethargy and exhaustion, and I wasn’t able to do all of the things I normally do. I found myself arriving at home, exhausted, and falling asleep by 8 or 9 PM at night–and sleeping straight through until 8 or 9 AM. All of the time I usually spent working on side projects, training, or working with clients was gone. There were a couple of months I didn’t get my regular workouts in, and I had to take some time off of work to stay back at home, and I didn’t take on any new clients or projects. In a conversation with my roommate (and dear friend), I sighed and said,
You know, I’m going to have to be okay with just watching this. Observing. I don’t fully know what’s going on, or why, but I don’t have the energy to be mad at myself for not being able to do everything right now. I think I just need to be patient and observe what’s happening. I can’t collapse judgment on this and be so hard on myself about not doing everything I had hoped I’d be doing at the point in the year. Something’s going on, and I’ve got to give it some space and time. All I can do right now is look at my behavior and actions over time, and look for patterns. Before I jump in and get really hard on myself, it’s worth being gentle and asking myself why I think this is happening.
It’s not easy — so often I find myself discouraged on top of my failure, adding judgments on top of my already unexpected performance. For people who work really hard, especially exceptionally talented people (and I know many of you out there are like this), being able to pause and “just watch” yourself and suspend the early judgment can be tremendously difficult. Sometimes I think of it as a moment, or a pause–time to stop, observe, and try to understand. Give yourself a couple of days before you get on the analytical bandwagon.
What about you? When you find yourself trying something new, or doing something differently than you expected, do you jump in and criticize yourself immediately?
As Eckhart Tolle so eloquently writes, “Be present as the watcher of your mind.” When I’m in the open water, I let myself watch my thoughts roll in and out, seeing them as pieces of neural firings and slowing down from collapsing judgment on them. This meditative, gentle attitude can be practiced. Start with watching (and don’t judge yourself if you find yourself judging!). When, over time, you find the ability to separate from your immediate thoughts and see them as streams of information and not actually constructing your reality–it’s a very powerful moment. As Tolle writes:
“Be present as the watcher of your mind — of your thoughts and emotions as well as your reactions in various situations. Be at least as interested in your reactions as in the situation or person that causes you to react. Notice also how often your attention is in the past or future. Don’t judge or analyze what you observe. Watch the thought, feel the emotion, observe the reaction. Don’t make a personal problem out of them. You will then feel something more powerful than any of those things that you observe: the still, observing presence itself behind the content of your mind, the silent watcher.” – Eckhart Tolle
From love or hurt?
An overwhelming number of human reactions come from a place of love or pain.
When someone offers you criticism, look at what they say (no need to internalize it immediately; instead observe it and ask yourself if the critic-giver is an important person or voice in your life, and how valuable it is); then: ask yourself if it’s coming from a place of love or a place of hurt.
If it’s coming from a place of love, they want the best for you and are telling you an honest opinion. It may sting, but it’s good for you.
When someone comments on your work or character from a place of pain in their life, it’s not actually about you. That person is hurting in some way, and lashing out. The issue is not about you. Bless them, wish them well, and realize that the commentary you need comes from a place of love.
Like it? Tweet it: “An overwhelming number of human reactions come from a place of love or pain.”
Losing everything, losing nothing: It’s all there.
A few months ago I was typing notes furiously into the tiny screen of my phone, my go-to source for dumping ideas when a pen and paper isn’t handy. I pushed “new note” as the ideas flooded out of my mind that morning; suddenly, as the program opened up a new screen, it stalled, paused for a long time, and then flashed and wiped clean.
I scrolled with my finger. That’s strange, I mused. Nothing was there. A flash of panic coursed through my mind.
What the…<
I closed the program and opened it again. Nope, All gone. I was standing out in the middle of the marina waterfront in northern San Francisco, in the middle of a long run that takes me out and back to the base of the Golden Gate bridge on one of my regular routes. I had stopped to catch an idea that had popped into my head, and I was standing, writing, by the side of the bay, tapping furiously into my phone. My note was lost. Worse than that–there didn’t seem to be any notes at all.
Oh, shit…
Strangely, however, I also felt an immediate sense of calm. A wave of nerves passed through me, and then continued on. I felt the angst and also let it go. In an instant, it was okay. My ideas–well over 200 notes, written to myself in various moments of inspiration–weren’t physically present, but it was okay. I had created these thoughts. I could create more. The notes in my digital archives were lost to time, but the act of taking the time to write them down in the first place was not lost. You can’t erase showing up every day, even if the product disappears. You can’t erase the knowledge in your head, the mind that’s changed because of the practice, the way you now think because of the work you’ve put in.
My dad says the same thing about jobs—even if you lose a job, or walk away from one, or if you get bought out—they can’t take what you’ve learned away from you. You get to keep what you’ve learned. The ways you’ve changed aren’t erased.
I never recovered my 200 notes. The good news is that in the time it took me to write them down, I’ve cultivated a practice of creating ideas, and I can hold onto the confidence that I’ll keep showing up and keep creating new ideas. Perhaps even revisit old ones, with more sophistication. Even if we lost everything–all of the physical things we use to string our lives together–we would still be fine.
More than fine.
Some other fun + miscellaneous updates:
- Friday, March 22 is World Water Day, so now’s a wonderful time to consider donating your birthday as a way to bring clean water to hundreds of people if you’re looking for a new project or adventure. I did it last year for my 29th birthday and had an absolute blast (and made fun of myself along the way, among other things…).
- I’m in love with Adventure Sandwich, a new project to back on kickstarter that builds an imaginative children’s world out of cardboard. The world needs more of this!
- While I’ve been a bit quieter-than-normal in blog world (I’m actually surprised that so many of people have noticed and reached out to say so; I thought I was doing such a good job of keeping up with posting! Honestly, however, I’m deeply thankful to you for being a part of my internet life and this community of ideas and for all the wonderful spirits and minds I’ve met through these various journeys) — While I’ve been laying low, whoever, in the interim I’ve been enjoying wonderful conversations via the growing Facebook community of wonderful minds + ideas. Come say hello!
Just One
What would just one of something look like?
Not a diversity of items, but a simplicity of things. A specificity, a selection, and a deliberate choice between several?
Not three workout programs, but just one workout program.
Not seven yoga mats or towels, but just one.
Not eight new dresses or blouses, but just one. Your favorite one.
Not two sets of bedding, but just one.
Not four new books, but just one.
Not three bedrooms, but just one bedroom.
Not two cars, but just one car.
Instead of two sets of tablewear, just one set.
Instead of eight dreams, just one dream to work on.
Sometimes I get caught in the trap of needing more. I have a brown pair of boots, but now I need a black one. I have a black pair, but now I need a tan one. And I need a pair of rain boots. Four pairs of boots? Do I need four pairs of boots?
What would just one look like?
[Or none at all?]
Everybody Has Something
I’ve lived long enough–and talked to enough people–to know that everyone has something. Behind the exterior, behind the face, behind the brilliance or seeming-perfection, there are stories. People have lived through loss, hardship, trauma, and fear; they have scars that are visible and invisible; and despite all evidence to the contrary, most–if not all–people are dealing with things far beyond what they’re telling you.
If you don’t know the trials and difficulties, you just might know them well enough yet.
I certainly know the days when I’m having a hard, difficult week, and yet the shiny internet surface–or even my in-person face–doesn’t show the rougher edges. People don’t know all that’s going on.
It helps to remember a key phrase–I believe I heard it first from Jenny Blake, but I’ve heard it elsewhere too:
“Don’t compare your insides to everybody else’s outsides.”
Everyone’s got a whole lot of work on the inside, and more stories than you can tell. Don’t assume that what looks perfect is always so easy.
And if you’re having a bad day, or a hard time: keep going. I believe in you. I’ve spoken to enough of you these past several months to know how incredible you all are. All of it. The good and the bad and all the bits in between.
With love,
What Do You Do When The Thing You Want Doesn’t Exist?
I saw this go by a few days ago and I had to share it: credit and thanks to Michael Ellsberg for posting it originally.
A few updates to the December Giveaway post: all of the slots for Saturday are filled up (they filled up within a couple of hours!) but there are a couple spots left for the rest of December for anyone looking for a booster shot to take you into the New Year. Sign up for a brainstorming session (1 hour) here. And thanks to Ian for the suggestions on what to call the “sale” (I dislike the term Cyber Monday and I also dislike the word “sale.” But I digress…)–keep ’em coming!
Do You Have A Life Philosophy?
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! May your hearts, minds, families and homes be filled with gratitude and blessings. As part of this season’s focus on gratitude and thanks, I’m doing a huge number of THANKSGIVING GIVEAWAYS! I’m giving away lots of good things throughout the entire month of November (and now I’m up until Christmas–I have more things than I can ever use, and there will be LOTS of giveaways). In the last post, I gave away a copy of Shane Mac’s book, “Stop With The BS,” and today I’ll be giving away TWO free seats to Molly Mahar’s “Holiday Council,” a 21-day course that helps you reflect on the year past and plan for the upcoming year, beginning November 26th, with the fabulous Molly (and I may even make a cameo in her interview series!). To win, see the question at the end–the winners will be chosen at the end of the day Friday, November 23rd.
In the coming weeks, I’ll be giving away three copies of a documentary, creating up a “Pay What You Can” day, and opening up new spots for the Start Something Project in December and January. Lots of good things! But now–to the bigger question, and the focus of this essay:
Do You Have A Philosophy Of Life?
Do you have a life philosophy? A great goal so important that you’re willing to sacrifice other goals? Many writers today categorize this as your “passion,” your “purpose,” or your “legend,” often with the intention that you should know what it is soon and figure it out.
Personally, I find this stressful to consider: we don’t always know what we like, and sometimes we have to get really good at something before we find it satisfying; the paradox of passion is that often, in my experience, you have to grow it. Continue reading “Do You Have A Life Philosophy?”