“You’ll learn"
[You - IX]
Alternatives to “You’ll learn” are:
“You haven’t arrived yet”
“Maturity will come with time”
“You haven’t gone through it yet”
“You’re ignorant”
or
“I have more insight than you”
“I’m further along than you are”
"Been there, done that"
I had someone look me dead in the eye once and tell me to listen to their reasoning because they had been through the stage I’m in already and know what’s on the other side. I, they insisted, am blind to it. They were technically correct . . . and unwise.
Wisdom has perspective. But wisdom also knows the radiant truth found in each and every encounter. Sure, people have been where you are before. But you haven’t! And that’s what makes it unlike anything else.
The encounters are never duplicated.
The learning should never stop.
The encounter and the learning are the point.
“Are you kidding me?”
[You - VIII]
The question, "Are you kidding me?" is one of the most condescending things one can be asked. It really has nothing to do with joking, humor, or playfulness. It’s an attack on one’s personhood. Using the word “kidding” is playful language to say something very hurtful, which just makes it sting even more: "You are not worth being taken seriously.”
One response is this: "No, actually. I’m not kidding. I’m serious as a surgeon.” It answers the literal question, but it doesn’t address the infraction, the offense.
To address the infraction, I must first ask myself if I am worth being taken seriously by . . . me. “Are you kidding me?” hurts particularly badly when it is an echo of the same question I ask myself—when I think of myself as unworthy.
An older and wiser friend told me once that you know you are comfortable in your own skin if from this day froward nothing changed about you and you still found delight in who’ve you become.
Perhaps the best response to the offensive question is not a response at all but a quiet delight in who I am. Now. This very moment.
Not who I am trying to become, where I am trying to go, or what I am trying to do. But who I am.
(Oh, and yes, I take myself seriously.)
“Where did you come from?”
[You - VII]
The tongue-in-cheek question Where did you come from? is often a hurtful statement about belonging.
Obviously, you’re from here, Toronto, Tuscan, or anywhere else you may have grown up. But that’s not the message being sent. The message is this: You don’t quite fit in, which means you’re not from here!
This question stings, not because it’s true, but because it’s familiar. And it’s familiar because people like us ask it of ourselves often.
Here’s the bad news: It will always sting. And people will keep asking because exclusion is a powerful tool for the insecure. (And the more subtle the exclusion, the better it hides the insecurity.)
Here’s the good news: There's never been an advancement in society,
growth in culture,
invention in tech,
discovery in science,
fresh idea in art, and
expansion of faith
by anyone (or any team) that totally felt at home here.
Consider the question Where did you come from? a compliment. It’s one of the best indicators you’re thinking creatively and knocking on the door of something new.
“When will you take it seriously?”
[You - VI]
You stay up until 2 am improvising on the piano. Regardless of talent, you have wonder and imagination and inspiration . . . and people take note—more than one family member has asked you to play at their wedding.
You paint politically inspired art. And give them away by the dozens. People begin to notice and make requests.
You tinker for months on end in your garage to figure our how to get 20 extra horsepower out of your 1975 mustang. Coworkers notice and ask for help.
You come alive in the garden and take special interest in crossing-pollinating tomato plants. You develop a blight-resistant hybrid . . . friends and neighbors offer to buy your vegetables.
And then the question comes: When will you take it seriously?
In other words, When will you go to music school, pursue art at the university level, get certified as a mechanic, or sell at the farmers market?
"Taking something seriously” means getting the certification, getting the degree, generating an income, keeping the books, and eventually making a career out of it. It means, “When are your going to submit that thing you love to measurements of legitimacy and success that we are all familiar and comfortable with?”
And underneath the question, lurking in it’s shadow, is this admission: We don’t know what to do with raw, uninhibited, child-like passion.
Maybe it’s the measurements of legitimacy and success that need to adjust. Not your love for painting. Or gardening.
At the very least, you owe it to yourself to answer: “I already am.”
Weekly Roundup: YOU, part 1
November 9-13, 2020
Monday: Some of us grew up getting our best and most expansive self mirrored back to us. Most of us, however, if we were one degree off, one step out of line, or one dream disconnected from “normal”, we were quickly brought back to “reality”. Deflated. Chastised. Mocked..
Tuesday: Living as you really are, challenging the broken-yet-accepted way things are, insisting on a new normal, and enacting change . . . requires we must have a coming out. We cannot stop at “Yeah, that’s me.” We must continue on to, “Hey world, this is who I am!”
Wednesday: A mentor must be secure enough to not be threatened by your audacity. Healthy enough to find pleasure in your absurdities. Grounded enough to play with your ideas. Deep enough to embrace your dreams. Wise enough to affirm your gifts.
Thursday: Where’s the map to become a prophetic farmer that organizes outdoor symphonies (and writes novels on the side)? Allow me to save you time: there isn’t one.
Friday: Certainly there are cases where being blind—literally having no vision, perspective, or insights—and having faith go hand in hand. But more often "blind" is a word that outsiders project onto those that have plenty of vision and a whole lot of faith in following that vision.
Are you interested in the whole reflection? Click on any day, and it will take you there.
Want to help grow the community of people like us that are unwilling to continue in ways like this? Help us spread the word: share on Facebook, Twitter, or with a friend via email. Find the links below.
“How do you act on blind faith?"
[You - V]
Certainly there are cases where being blind—literally having no vision, perspective, or insights—and having faith go hand in hand.
But more often "blind" is a word that outsiders project onto those that have plenty of vision and a whole lot of faith in following that vision.
Don’t accept “blind faith” as your narrative when really what you’ve done is . . .
Acted courageously
Took a risk
Believed in yourself
Followed your dream
Answered a calling
Introspected deeply
Acted in accordance with your values
Stood up for justice
Made a longterm plan
Leaned into creativity
Pursued a vision
Don't reduce what you've done to "blindness".
Often the only thing that’s blind is the view of the one using the term.
“How do you plan to get there?"
[You - IV]
Driving from here to, say, Sandpoint, ID, is simple enough. There are basically two options. Pick one; follow the map.
The same is true for becoming a doctor, a lawyer, or a dentist. There are certain certifications requirements. There are basically a few options to get from here to there. Pick one; follow the map.
But what if I’m not traveling to a place on the map or pursuing a career with a traditional path?
Where’s the map to be a novelist?
A community organizer?
A composer?
A market gardener?
A prophet?
Where’s the map to become a prophetic farmer that organizes outdoor symphonies (and writes novels on the side)?
Allow me to save you time: there isn’t one.
“What the heck are you doing?” and “What’s you plan?” are indirect ways of asking you to fall in line, follow the maps, and don't ask questions.
There is no map from here to the future. You’re charting it.
Welcome to your first job . . . you're a cartographer.
”Do you have a mentor?”
[You - III]
There’s a lot of talk lately about the need for mentors.
Business mentors.
Fitness mentors.
Pastoring mentors.
Parenting mentors.
A mentor, in simple terms, is someone that has gone where you want to go and is willing to help you get there. Less formal than a coach; more intentional than a friend.
I’m beginning to think a mentor is something different. What if no one has gone where you want to go? What if there is no job like the one you’re called to create? What if the field you are dreaming of doesn’t exist yet? Then, by my definition, a mentor doesn’t exist for you.
But a mentor is not necessarily someone that has traveled the road you want to go on. A mentor is someone that ignores “the odds”, dismisses the probabilities, and says “To heck!” with the obstacles.
Every teacher, parent, and colleague warns about odds and probabilities.
A mentor mirrors possibility back to you.
A mentor must be secure enough to not be threatened by your audacity.
Healthy enough to find pleasure in your absurdities.
Grounded enough to play with your ideas.
Deep enough to embrace your dreams.
Wise enough to affirm your gifts.
Do you have a mentor?
[h/t Julia Cameron for this reminder]
“Hey world, this is who I am"
[You - II]
Challenging the status quo is not a job we are hired to do. It doesn’t come with a description and set of tasks that need to be accomplished daily.
We don’t even know we’re in the role all at once. It comes to us in pieces—fragmented experiences of discomfort, dis-ease, and dissatisfaction. Slowly, over time, it coalesces into something that resembles a reflection back to us of our true self. Even then, we’re not sure if it’s us because our true self is unfamiliar when we’ve been told our whole lives we are something else.
Early on we tell ourselves, “I think I feel/see/sense this.”
Then it’s, “I’m pretty sure it’s there.”
Then, “Geez, it is there.”
Finally, “Yeah, that’s me.”
For some this happens as early as 10 or 12 years old. For others, not until middle age.
Living as you really are, challenging the broken-yet-accepted way things are, insisting on a new normal, and enacting change . . . requires we must have a coming out. We cannot stop at “Yeah, that’s me.” We must continue on to, “Hey world, this is who I am.”
Because now we have an answer to the condescending question we often heard: “Who do you think you are?”
"Who do you think you are?”
[YOU - I]
Some of us grew up getting our best and most expansive self mirrored back to us. Most of us, however, if we were one degree off, one step out of line, or one dream disconnected from “normal”, we were quickly brought back to “reality”. Deflated. Chastised. Mocked.
You may have heard criticisms like . . .
“Who do you think you are?”
“Where did you come from?”
“Where do you come up with stuff like that?”
“Why do you act (think, dream, talk, mumble) like that?”
“What on earth do you mean?”
Of course, these are not answer-able questions. They’re rhetorical. They’re critical. They’re intended to ostracize.
I’ve found that the most interesting people—people like us that are unwilling to continue in ways like this—grew up hearing these questions.
You, my friend, are in good company.
Your creativity is what we need now.
Your perseverance,
Dreams,
Passions,
Are the way forward.
(I’d like to spend a couple weeks working through those questions that still echo in my head.)
Weekly Roundup: Don't Dismiss It, Again
November 2 - 6, 2020
Monday: But one child said something that I’ve been holding and learning from, “When someone cares for me, I can tell they care about me, and that means they are willing to listen.”
Tuesday: There’s color all around. There’s color in your dreams. There’s color in the stories we tell. To dismiss it is to concede to black and white. Find color today. Embrace it.
Wednesday: Moving an object standing still requires more force than the same object already in motion. No one’s asking for you to run and jump. There’s no need for a leap. Just one step in the right direction.
Thursday: Don’t dismiss the truthful needs of the soul for the inflated cravings of the ego. Or, don't sacrifice your center for your compulsion to do it all.
Friday: I’m beginning to think workaholism is fundamentally an avoidance of creativity. It “allows” us to not engage, not dream, not be artistic. It “saves” us from addressing our passions and eccentric ideas. It “protects” us from our own imagination.
Are you interested in the whole reflection? Click on any day, and it will take you there.
Want to help grow the community of people like us that are unwilling to continue in ways like this? Help us spread the word: share on Facebook, Twitter, or with a friend via email. Find the links below.
Workaholic? Maybe
[Don’t Dismiss It - X]
Workaholism is not simply working too much or about too many hours spent in the office. It’s more often an exit from something or an avoidance of another something. If we work to avoid (pain, a spouse, other responsibility, our true self) then we may be addicted.
But I’d like to add another piece. Work is an acceptable, even noble, reason for dismissing the creativity within us. Nothing jams the flow of creative ideas as much as 14 hour days at the office. And we do it again and again.
I’m beginning to think workaholism is fundamentally an avoidance of creativity. It “allows” us to not engage, not dream, not be artistic. It “saves” us from addressing our passions and eccentric ideas. It “protects” us from our own imagination.
Our dreams, passions, ideas, and imagination are powerful.
Sometimes fierce.
And scary.
The solution: put our heads down and work.
This is not a solution that leads to addiction—it is the addiction.
Sacrificing Your Center
[Don’t Dismiss It - IX]
Music needs rest.
Or it’s a continuous cacophony.
Professional athletes need rest.
Or they get injured.
High-powered executives need rest.
Or they’re jerks.
Even God needs rest.
That’s why there was a seventh "day”.
The ego, however, hates rest . . .
But our souls need it.
To do beautiful work.
To avoid injury.
To not be a jerk.
To create.
Don’t dismiss the truthful needs of the soul for the inflated cravings of the ego. Or, don't sacrifice your center for your compulsion to do it all.
One Step Forward
[Don’t Dismiss It - VIII]
There seems to be three things we like to do more than the thing we’re suppose to do:
- Consider long and hard whether we should do it,
- Contemplate the odds of failing at doing it, and
- Complain that we’re not doing it.
Don’t dismiss your tendency to do one of the three things above.
Name your denial. Your excuse. Your procrastination.
Moving an object standing still requires more force than the same object already in motion.
No one’s asking for you to run and jump.
There’s no need for a leap.
Just one step in the right direction.
Finding Color
[Don’t Dismiss It - VII]
Pick a color. Any color.
Now, in your head, in first person, “write” a few sentences about that color.
“I am yellow, glowing, illuminating darkness; causing children to smile; giving warmth where there is chill. I am the color of morning, new days, second chances, and grace. I give life.”
There’s color all around.
There’s color in your dreams.
There’s color in the stories we tell.
To dismiss it is to concede to black and white.
Find color today. Embrace it.
Caring and Hearing
[Don’t Dismiss It - VI]
I was in a multi-generational gathering yesterday. Everyone was taking turns responding to this prompt: “What does it feel like when you are cared for?”
Many of the answers were expected.
But one child said something that I’ve been holding and learning from, “When someone cares for me, I can tell they care about me, and that means they are willing to listen.”
For that young person, caring and listening are the right and left side of truly belonging.
Don’t dismiss your deep need to belong.
To be cared for.
To be heard.
Belonging requires participation, which is a choice, but it’s first an acknowledgment of our need for care and listening.
Can we allow ourselves to receive it?
Can we offer it to others?
Today?
How about after the election?
Weekly Roundup: Don't Dismiss It
October 26 - 30, 2020
Monday: Do you struggle with fear? Fear of saying “Yes!” to that thing you often go to bed thinking about. Fear of saying “No!" to that thing you woke up faced with. Fear of staying quiet.
Tuesday: We don’t have to say the words to convey the message. Dismissing or disconnecting from the complex emotional world that is in each of us makes doing it to others “second nature”.
Wednesday: We filter out their flaws, even if they’re obvious. And we do the opposite when we look in the mirror.
Thursday: Maturity is measured in part by doubting, dismissing, even criticizing our creative ideas into the ground.
Friday: Don’t dismiss the intelligence of your body. You have kinetic knowledge and bodily wisdom that is far more advanced than what you might learn in school.
Are you interested in the whole reflection? Click on any day, and it will take you there.
Want to help grow the community of people like us that are unwilling to continue in ways like this? Help us spread the word: share on Facebook, Twitter, or with a friend via email. Find the links below.
Listening to Kinetic Knowledge
[Don’t Dismiss It - V]
Riding a bike is a complex physics problem. Essentially, in my case, a grown man must balance on two aluminum wheels that are as narrow as one inch, peddling just fast enough for the force forward to have more influence than the force to either side. Add to it the variables associated with turning, and it gets even more complex.
But I don’t think twice about it. I haven’t since I got a Diamondback BMX for my fifth birthday. Jump on, peddle, and go.
I know in my body what would take years of physics to understanding in my mind.
Don’t dismiss the intelligence of your body. You have kinetic knowledge and bodily wisdom that is far more advanced than what you might learn in school.
Let’s listen closely to it.
Impulse to Create
[Don’t Dismiss It - IV]
It’s there early on, in the sandbox, building castles. Without a concern, we’re fully invested. We give it a name. We tell anyone that will listen.
Though diluted, it’s there when we are teenagers and young adults. We’re often busy looking elsewhere for affirmation and hide it from our peers.
It’s not so much there as adults—often a faint ring in our ear or hum in the recess of our spirit. It never fully leaves, but it’s easily drowned out by the demands of adulthood.
It’s the impulse we all have to create.
Something important.
Something beautiful.
Something that is us.
We are not encouraged to act on our creative desires. At least not after childhood. We celebrate whatever it is that a child creates out of clay, crayons, or mud. And then we defund the arts in high schools, and encourage young people to pursue “real” jobs in fields that “really” matter and make “real” money.
Maturity is measured in part by doubting, dismissing, even criticizing our creative ideas into the ground.
And we wonder why adults stare blankly at art. Why we hang flatscreens instead of canvases on our walls. Why remake after remake of old movies are so popular. Why we spend hours scrolling through pictures of other adult’s pseudo-creativity.
Your creative desire is a source of life.
Don’t dismiss it.
Heroes on a Tuesday
[Don’t Dismiss It - III]
Make a list of your heroes. A few people you really admire.
Take a look at the list. Quickly. What is it you admire about them?
Entrepreneurial.
Articulate.
Driven.
Wildly successful.
Passionate.
We perceive others, especially those we admire, to be one-dimensional. All good. All respectable. All successful. All the time. We accept their curated public persona as who they are, and disregard what they might be like on Tuesday mornings, with bad breath, sleep-deprived, and short-tempered.
We filter out their flaws, even if they’re obvious. And we do the opposite when we look in the mirror. (All I see in myself, it seems, is the bad breath, the terrible night sleep, and the short temper.)
Our heroes are complex. They're human. They're wounded. They're trying to make it.
So are we.
Your admiration list is true about you, too! Don’t dismiss your strengths, your gifts, your brilliance, your drive, and your passion . . . because you had a bad Tuesday morning.
We all do.