Risking Validation

When I run the vacuum, the dog hides in the corner of the kitchen. When I fire up the leaf blower, she hides in the shop. And when I turn on the miter saw, she disappears behind the shed.

She associates loud sound with danger, danger triggers a flight response, and instantly she’s gone.

So much of our response to perceived danger is the same.
Fight.
Or Flight.
Or Freeze.

My dog has never had her tail sucked up in the vacuum, been torturously blown in the ear with high-pressure air, or been cut with a saw. There's no real threat nor is there former trauma, which makes me thing her flight response could be trained out of her.

How much of our running could be trained out of us?
How many threats that scare us are a matter of perception?

Behind most personal change are these two questions. 

The risk necessary for large-scale change is rarely a risk to our wellbeing but instead a risk to the validations of our perceptions that tell us what’s dangerous.

Camus & Coming Alive

Albert Camus said, “A man’s [sic] work is nothing more than to rediscover . . . those one or two images in the presence of which his heart first opened.”

Our life's work is not first to go-and-do, achieve, make money, and leave a bunch to our kids. Our work is to first listen. 

Listen to your life. 
Listen to your heart. 

What woke you up, brought you to life, lifted your spirit, filled your soul? What  challenged your sense of self, pushed you further than you thought you could go?

What woke you up early, filled your dreams, gave strength to your spine?

There’s an image to one of those questions.
Maybe a story.
Perhaps a color, or a song, or an encounter.

At one point—be it when you were six or twenty-six—something opened your heart.
Your work is there. Your call, your vocation, your fullest expression is there.

Rediscover it.
Reengage it.
And you will come alive again like the first time.

Echoing & Fading

 It’s the criticisms that linger. 100 positive reviews, and it’s the one negative one that echos in our mind as we go to bed at night (and still echoes when we wake up in the morning).

It’s the affirmations we crave. We write them into our journals and put them on our mirrors with a sticky note. But it’s never enough to drown out the criticisms.

It’s our response that causes one to echo and the other to fade.

Instead of retorting the criticism, thank them for new insight, and remind them you’re not a one-hit wonder. They’ll love your next project (which is already underway).

Instead of lapping up the praise, thank them for their kind words, but remind yourself that compliments are not costly. Plus, fans become critics when the wind changes directions.

Amateur vs. Professional

I was asked how many books I sold in the first week after my launch of Consuming Hope.

“I really don’t know,” I replied.

 “Well, just check.”

 “Maybe later,” I conceded, “I have a meeting I need to get to with the designer for my next project.”

 An amateur finishes a project, exhales in delight, and takes a break. A professional finishes a project and gets back to work, knowing there’s infinite new material waiting to be given form.

 An amateur finishes and crosses his fingers, thankful that life allowed him time to do his work. A pro doesn’t feel the pressure for a single project to "make it big”, as he is leaving a trail of projects in the wake of pursuing the very work that gives him life.

 [h/t Steven Pressfield]

Good Advice… In Theory

 “Just dive right in, head first” is decent advise for the reticent.
“Walk up to the edge and jump” is a sound suggestion for the fearful.
“Get a running start and leap” makes sense for those lacking courage.

The problem with this advice, is that life is not a free-fall. It’s not like jumping off a high-dive at the public pool. 

Life comes at us slowly. Daily. Hourly. 

In theory, running and jumping is a good way to bypass fear, but life transpires at a walking pace, the full landscape in front of us.

To run and jump is to distrust your legs.
To dive in, eyes closed, forfeits your power.

Leaping is not a solution but the denial that life requires both feet on the ground, your senses fully present.

Most Courageous Act

Three things I saw today requiring courage:

1. A friend publicly sharing his weight-loss journey.

2. Someone running from the Pacific to the Atlantic to bring awareness to a terminal disease.

3. Police officers pulling a man from a burning car.

Everyday we have access to stories of courage.
Everyday our feeds are full of acts of bravery.
Everyday we see people taking risks.

It all makes great news and catchy 30 second videos.

What rarely gets captured is the most courageous act of all: the mostly private, deeply unsettling step into our purpose.

“Consuming" the courageous feats of others placates our propensity to pursue this one, ultimate act of courage.

Dragon in the Cave

The forest is not an actual place with trees. You don’t whack your way through it with an actual sword, searching for an actual treasure.

The cave is not an actual hole in the side of a mountain. You don’t need to fashion a literal torch to illumine your steps.

The dragon is not an actual beast that literally needs slaying. 

But the forest is the terrain of your inner life. The cave is the darkest crevasses you’ve been avoiding entering most of your adult life. And the dragon is the enemy—albeit, one you’ve likely created—that protects the golden treasure to your freedom.

You don’t need braun. You need willingness.
You don’t need armor. You need grace for yourself.
You don’t need a sword. You need courage.

The dragon is not an actual beast, but it's likely more scary. 

What Did You Want to Be?

I wanted to be a professional fisherman when I was young.

Before you were told college was the only means to a well-paying job (not true), a career in medicine or law was the only way to be rich (not true), and the best way to be financially secure was to find an employer that pays into retirement (again, not true), what did you want to be?

Me? Fisherman.
You?

Our youthful innocence is not merely the absence of “responsibility” or “reality”, it’s also the presence of an untainted sense of self—without fear, insecurity, and material obsession.

Fishing is not necessarily what I should be doing as an adult.

It may have been metaphor. Or symbolic.
It may have been a conceptual suggestion.
It also may have been literal… and only a couple degrees off because the world has evolved.

In it, however, is a kernel of timeless insight.
In it is transcendent substance.
In it is a reflection of your soul.

What is it that you wanted to be?

We Were More Real

As soon as we are able to associate jobs with prestige and work with status, the window closes.

The moment we begin to think of adult work as a career, something shifts.

But there’s a time before that. Maybe it’s kindergarten or first grade, when we can differentiate ourselves from others but we haven’t developed insecurities and don’t feel the grip of envy or the fear of failure.

Believe it or not, there is a time before we know that Johnny’s family is rich, and Sarah’s family is poor. And Jaren’s dad isn’t a doctor or construction worker, he’s just Jaren’s dad, and he painted the cool big picture that hangs in their living room.

During that time, we were not unrealistic.
We were not immature or idealistic.
We were not too young to understand.

Contrarily, it was then that we were not afraid.
Not jealous.
Not concerned with status.
It was then that we were More Real.

Who did you want to be?
What did you want to be?
It’s possible you’ve been running from it ever since.

Soccer Practices

I coach soccer.

I have a specific way that I create and run practices. Every drill is set up before the practice starts, there is a 30 second water break between each drill, no walking allowed, and the tempo stays high from the opening whistle to the close of practice.

I like practice to be an efficient use of time because, as a player, I don’t like standing around.

I don’t like standing around because, knowing my own development, I learn better when I’m constantly moving.

I learn when I’m moving because non-strategic rest is an opportunity for distraction and distractions are the kryptonite to rewiring bad habits.

As it turns out, I make and lead practices in a manner that is consistent with what I’ve learned are the best ways I develop as a player.

All work is self-expression.

Either know yourself well and leverage those insights intentionally for the better, or be ruled by (what seem like) random impulses.

Reawakened Sensitivity

Their call might be to law enforcement. Or to become a concert pianist. Or a commercial fisherman.

But those are the flesh that are put on an “idea” born within them years before they will happen. If we back up—way up!—what we are likely to find is a moment, an encounter, or a spark that set them on the path of meaning-making and purpose.

But that was the moment the skeleton was constructed (or at least sketched) from a “sensitivity” within them years before. If we back up further, we are likely to find a sensitivity, awareness, or subtle mindfulness.

In other words, if we back up far enough, we will find a child that had a divine connection, a supernatural intuition. It likely didn’t last long, as adults do everything they can (it seems) to expunge it from children. But it was there, and their soul was alive.

If we could see in law enforcement officers, pianists, and fishermen a divinely called child that has grown up, we may have just the right insight to help reawaken our own vocational sensitivity again.

You See You

Your best work happens at 10 o’clock at night. Or 4:30am in the morning.

I’m not promoting workaholism or a lack of sleep. I’m not even suggesting staying at the office late or heading in before your morning cup of coffee.

10pm and 4am, however, are when you’re not at work!

In the evening, after dinner or before breakfast, after the Netflix special or before the morning news, and after you’ve called your mom or before you even check your phone for messages . . . It’s at this moment, when the chatter and the demands and the coming-and-going doesn’t own the real estate of your attention, that you do your most important work.

It’s the time you finally look in the mirror and see . . .
. . . not someone else’s blog,
. . . someone else’s banner
. . . newsletter
. . . achievement award or
. . . polished profile picture.

You see you.
In the raw.
No makeup.
No uniform.
No public status update.

It’s here that you can finally ask, Am I being authentic?
Sincere?
True?
Whole?
Faithful?

Your First Canvas

If you’re an artist, your first canvas is not the one your middle school teacher gave you in seventh grade or your first commissioned mural after art school. Your first canvas is the internal medium through which you discover that you are more than impulse and mere appetite. Your first canvas is your inner-self on which the divine paints the possibility of a life of creativity.

If you’re a teacher, your first classroom is not the one the administration assigned you when you were a student teacher. Your first classroom is the one in which you found your seat and paid close attention to a Deeper Teacher. It’s the classroom of your heart, where your inner-self finally slowed down enough to listen to your calling as an educator.

If you’re an architect, your first project was not the office building your firm took on right after you graduated college. Your first project was being sketched out in your imagination by a Reality that predated your life and then captivated your attention in your dad’s workshop when you were but a child.

The good work we do in the world begins long before the current job we hold. The only way to bring our whole selves to the table is to reengage the Reality that is before and under and within us.

Without it we are automatons.
With it we are on a mission.

Dream of Parachuting

The vocational call—to be a teacher, a public servant, an artist, or whatever—is never a destination one parachutes to. We don’t hover above our purpose, take a leap of faith, pull the ripcord, and float comfortably to our target.

It’s a destination we journey toward, navigating turbulent waters, bushwhacking dense jungles, and traversing scorched deserts . . . with few supplies, scant support, and demons of self-doubt.

The terrain is always difficult. There’s no need to carry supplies; the truly valuable ones will be gathered along the way. And the self-doubt can only be attended as you build strength and awareness.

The voyage is yours alone.

The alternative is to stay home and dream of parachuting.

By the way, if you’re curious about my journey, here’s one step I’ve taken recently. (And, yes, self-doubt has joined me thus far.)

Squirrel!

Some “distractions" are not distractions at all.
They are synchronicity at work.
They are calling coming into focus.
They are whispers offering direction.

Some squirrels are just squirrels; we chase after them for the rush. We’re distracted. We waste time. We’re left less satisfied.

But some squirrels are golden squirrels. They mean something. They point to something. They matter to our self-understanding or development. They are not catchable or un-catchable; catching them is not the point. The point is to observe and learn, attend to and listen.

How do we know the difference?

Squirrels that are mere distractions emphasize grandiosity or force self-comparison.

Golden squirrels do neither; they encourage reflection and introspection, wonder and awe. Often times they compel writing down notes, or sketching a picture. They seem more like a vision than a distraction. Because they are. They are momentary mentors.

Ignore the distractions.

Unless they are golden squirrels.

What You Were Born For?

Your unique perspective is what you have gained since you were born.

Sharing it is what you were born for.

Your life has merely given you the lens to see it.

(And that’s the shortest blog post I’ve ever written.)

Only You Have the Recipe

Maybe your heart is heavy for the struggle of single mothers. Perhaps you are awestruck by the vastness of oceans and burdened by disappearing of fish diversity. Or, you might be drawn to sports as a means of community development and a vehicle for education advancement.

Your muse could be anything, really. It’s yours. No one else’s.

And then there are always the “What abouts?”

What about the thousands, if not millions, of people who are concerned for single moms? My concern is not unique.

Yeah, but not everyone grew up in south Brooklyn with an immigrant mom that fled political unrest from her home country. Not everyone felt the pressures of gentrification, racial polarity, broken windows and inefficient space heaters, and bullying every day.

What about all the schools, organizations, governmental agencies, and millions of other individuals that are worried about the fish population? My inspiration is not different.

Yeah, but no one else was raised on he Big Island of Hawaii, experienced firsthand the loss of ancient fishing practices dear to your heart and integral to the livelihood of your people, and lost friends prematurely to chronic, food related diseases.

What about the other thousands just like me that love sports? Who doesn’t like sports?

Yeah, but no one else grew up in a family of 12, struggled with your same physical disability, and started a bowling league at the retirement home in high school.

What makes your calling unique is not that you have a special interest or burden that no one else shares. Rather, at the intersection of your life and that burden, there is a wonderful mix of ingredients that is found nowhere else in the world (or history). Only you can makes sense of those ingredients. Only you have the recipe to make something of it.

Courage & Detoxing

I remember a conversation with a pastor friend of mine. I said I thought an often forgotten role of pastor is to help people find their unique vocation.

“Most people I serve don’t have a concept of vocation,” he said.

“Yeah, vocation is lofty and big. Your role is to reduce it to something familiar, like their passion. Help them identify something they are drawn to, and begin there.”

He quickly said, “But you don’t understand, the majority of my community are simply trying to live, put food on the table, and be on time to soccer practice. They aren’t passionate about anything.”

What I said: “Maybe your role is to encourage the discovery of their passion through reflection, prayer, and community life.”

What I was thinking: “Show me someone that says they're not passionate about anything, and I’ll show you someone that is (passionately) in denial. Either they are hiding from the implications of being drawn to something or they are numb to the sensations associated with passion altogether. The former requires courage—the courage to be honest with themself and then the world. The latter requires detoxing—removing the poisonous inputs that numb us to real, concrete, communal existence. Usually both."

Courage.
Detoxing.
At least one.
Probably both.

What’s your subject?

What I’m not asking: What’s your topic of interest, research, focus, or specialty?

You might study the B cells in the pancreas in a lab in New Jersey. Great. You may teach lower-level sociology courses at the community college. That’s fine. You might even write romance novels for conservative Christians. Fine.

But those aren’t your subjects. Those are the topics your address for work. They are your “subject matter” at your day job. They fill your time, pay the bills, and keep you employed.

Steven Pressfield says, "Subject is deeper than topic.”

What’s the topic behind the topic? What’s the thing behind the thing, the matter behind the matter, the subject behind the subject. Like a tree’s roots system, because it’s singular and deeper, it's actually much father reaching and more intertwined with other subjects.

B cells? No. But maybe it’s the struggles of being alienated from one’s own body. Or dietary influence on autoimmune disease.

Sociology? No. Perhaps, though, it’s the immagrant struggle of assimilation or urban violence and youth identity.

Christian Romance? Nope. But maybe it’s erotic repression or a theology of sensuality.

From the outside, vocation has topics it “addresses”, but from the inside, vocation usually has one, grounding, perennial subject.

What’s your subject?

Won't Be Delivered

A skill . . . honed over years of failure.

A craft . . . polished by passion and fire.

An insight . . . gained through struggle.

Wisdom . . . learned through suffering.

An Idea . . . developed through trial and error.

A dream . . . built through nightmares.

Your gift to the world—the one only you have to give, only you will be able to offer—will not be stumbled upon but fought for, wrestled with, struggled against, and suffered over.

It won’t be delivered to your doorstep. It’s on the other side of that treacherous terrain of life and you (and the rest of us) will both be worse off if you stay put.