Speaking as an ex-church-goer (actually I consider myself post-Christian), Easter no longer has much relevance to me as a holiday. I still value the celebration of rebirth and new life in its manifold expressions, but now I honor those concepts differently than I once did. Musically speaking, the Passion story is tough to ignore. In Western art music, there have been an astounding number of compositions written on the theme of the Passion. Although I haven't done the research, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that it is second only to romantic relationships in terms of the number of musical works the story has inspired, many of them profoundly beautiful.
What has amazed me in recent years, and this week in particular, are the number of churches and religious programs focused on the historical evidence for Biblical events, as if the factual accuracy of a story has a direct relationship to its value. When one needs to solve a mystery or defend a case in court, certainly factual accuracy and verifiable evidence are necessities. But spiritual mysteries are not intended to be solved, and spiritual truths do not need factual defense. Reducing one's faith to a belief in provable data removes a large part of the potential for spiritual growth through self-examination. Why would one be inspired to grow or develop as a human being in response to mere historical fact?
Perhaps my view of the value of spirituality is off-kilter in that regard. It is highly possible that only a small percentage of people now view religion or spiritual practice as a vessel for growth. Factual, historical data does not necessarily compel one to treat other people differently, or to focus one's life in a specifically meaningful way, and that may be what some people prefer about the approach. To me, it always seems that someone is trying to convince me of something when the issue of historical validity enters into a conversation about spirituality. And the evidence they may present to convince me of facts has no bearing on the spiritual value of the story.
Like most other streams of thought, I've been considering how this relates to creative practice as well. I believe that every creative person at some point, even if only for a moment, wrestles with the question of whether what s/he creates has value. There are certainly ways to answer that question based on awards won, commission fees paid, tickets sold, or reviews written. All of that pales in comparison to whether the creative act has value to the creator, and ultimately I believe that is the most important (and least data-driven) answer.
Milton Babbitt, a sly smile from the Princeton professor
In 1958, the composer Milton Babbitt had an essay published in High Fidelity magazine entitled "Who Cares if You Listen?" (not his original title), in which he advocates the continued support for the development of music as an art form without regard for how large an audience it may attract. While this may present some practical complications, the underlying principle is really that the creative must ideally be free to create what is personally inspiring, rather than what is deemed popular. It is through that deep sense of creative freedom that a culture progresses, in art as well as science. Doing what has received the popular stamp of approval is treading water creatively. Trusting a personally inspiring means of expression, whether one is painting, composing, programming, or constructing, builds momentum for the individual creative and ultimately everyone in an outward ripple.
It all depends on trusting the personal meaning that one finds in what one is doing, however. So, on a day when some would convince me of their beliefs with historical data and impersonal facts, however legitimate or skewed they may be to prove a particular point of view, I am turning instead to what is personally meaningful, seeking that inner trust for what I am creating that will best serve what I can contribute in the world without falling back to the illusion that I have something to prove.
An accompanying job in one of my old stomping grounds has stirred up memories of a challenging situation. While I'm not one to wallow in regret or rehash the past over and over again in my mind, I do occasionally consider what I could have done differently in a given situation, so that I might learn something valuable even if an experience didn't play out the way I would have preferred. As I played through this particular sequence of events from my past, I came upon a startling realization. Although I made conscious efforts to "not make the situation worse," there is very little I could have done to change the outcome. It would have been more authentic, and perhaps had a greater positive impact on some of the people involved, for me to simply speak directly and honestly without going overboard on efforts to be diplomatic or polite.
As concise as I can be while still painting a more or less complete picture, here is the story. I fired someone. Actually, I eliminated their position. I did so as gently as I could, and I offered another possibility for the person to be involved and continue to earn an income. This individual was essentially getting paid for doing the same thing that several other people did as volunteers. It was a bit of an ethical disconnect for one person to get paid to do something that other people did for free, and the budget wouldn't allow me to pay everyone I would have liked to pay. However, I needed someone to do a different task, a more unique task that I could practically and ethically justify paying someone to do. It seemed like a perfect fit to me.
Not so for the individual in question. The position for which I wanted to pay someone was not desirable to this person, so when I stopped paying for her participation, she stopped participating. I found someone else to fill the paid position and went on with my job. It was, after all, nothing personal. When I heard about another paying opportunity for which she was quite qualified, I passed it along, but she wasn't interested in that either. Instead, she started a whisper campaign to get me removed from my position.
One person who was sympathetic to her point of view happened to be the board chairperson, and this position held more power than any salaried position in the organization. The chairperson already had some significant differences of opinion with me about the organizational structure. I believed that the paid staff had been hired because of our expertise in our areas of focus, and that the volunteer board existed to guide and support the vision of the organization, spearheaded by staff leadership. The chairperson believed that the staff were hired help who were expected to follow the orders of the board, lack of expertise or leadership notwithstanding. This distinction was never clearly communicated to me, so I continued to operate under my own perceptions.
I knew that there were communication issues. I knew that the board was slow to make decisions, and that many of those decisions were based on fear rather than vision. I knew that there were rumblings going on behind the scenes and in the shadows. In other words, I knew this organization to be like most other organizations. So, I offered leadership from my position to support the stated purpose of the organization, not realizing that leadership was not really what was expected of me.
Eventually, ten months after these events began, it was suggested that I resign. I did so, and they ushered me out as quickly as possible, with a polite reception and a plaque. I received the plaque graciously and told everyone how wonderful it had been to be a part of their "family" during my time there, and I left it at that. In the moment, I thought there was no reason to bring up any of the misguided or dysfunctional actions that led to my departure, since really there were only a couple of angry people with personal agendas that created a toxic environment.
Now, looking back at that situation, I realize that nothing I would have said could have made matters worse. I'm sure there are things that someone could say or do that would have exacerbated things, but there was no reason for me not to be direct and honest with the people involved. My situation would have been no different, and (although I doubt anything coming from me would have been received) they just might have heard something that no one else was willing to tell them. Instead, I gave up and let them have their dysfunction, and in the process I didn't trust myself to be able to confront them with loving honesty.
Sometimes, being adept at self-deception leads us to the illusion that we are also effectively deceiving everyone around us. I want to be the kind of person who will tell someone, "What you are doing doesn't line up with what you claim to believe." Not out of spitefulness or malice, but simply because there is really nothing to be lost on my end and everything to be gained on the other end. If I could go back and observe, "It must be frustrating to constantly be at the center of upheaval and turmoil," I wouldn't have been telling the chairperson anything astounding, but it would have conveyed that I saw the pattern of his involvement in one organization after another.
Of course, I cannot go back and have any impact on that organization. That time has passed, and I have moved on to other endeavors. But I will continue to interact with people for the rest of my life, and I want to take as much as I can from my life's experiences, the ones I absolutely love as well as the ones that are frustrating as hell. From that chapter, I can glean (among other things) that there isn't that much to be gained by me trying to "not make a situation worse." I can trust my own authentic baseline of tactful diplomacy, honest care, and incisive discernment without adding anything to it. It may not change the outcome in the least, but it will change how I am with myself, and that is ultimately worth more than anything.
Earlier this week, when I inquired about purchasing some lily essential oil (for a little "aromachology" exercise), the gentleman behind the counter said, "You won't find that here or anywhere else for that matter... genuine lily essential oil is highly poisonous and is absorbed easily through the skin. You may want some lily fragrance oil instead." Immediately, I felt very ashamed for not having had that knowledge, and I remember being in classroom situations in which I was expected to arrive with built-in knowledge rather than actually learn. I quickly realized, however, that the only way to learn something is to admit that you don't already know it. As someone who values learning, it is something of a gift to realize that there will always be something I don't know. The humility to admit that I don't know something opens the door for me to keep learning.
That little lesson got me looking back at what I have learned over the past year, and so I share with you now just a few of the things that have stuck with me from my journey of the last several months. I'll go ahead and start with: It's alright to admit I don't know something. It bears repeating, for my own sake at least.
Another big one from 2010 is: Money isn't everything. So many of the paths I have started down over the past year have ultimately been about finances. I wanted to be a responsible person, I wanted to monetize my passions, I sought guidance from a variety of sources, and ultimately I have come to realize that, for me, it doesn't work for me to focus on a dollar figure. The things that matter most to me are not things I can purchase, and when I become focused on the financial equation, it's easy to lose focus on the things that matter most to me. I have learned a lot about money this year, and I have crossed some thresholds in how I think about money. I know now that it isn't something that I want to pursue. Money is merely a byproduct.
There are a lot of voices chattering about money, though. And they chatter about success and freedom and all sorts of other topics. Testing what people say and observing the results in their own lives is a great way to confirm who to trust. Sometimes I really want to trust what someone is saying, and sometimes there is something within me that just cringes at a particular idea or individual. Without any actual data, I'm just going on my own intuition, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but data helps cement my trust of a concept. The challenge is that sometimes the data goes against someone or something I had really wanted to trust. As difficult as it may be to admit it, if a hypothesis doesn't hold true in the laboratory of my life, honesty with myself is still the best policy.
I've also come to realize that: Fiefdoms aren't worth the battle. In different roles, in different organizations, I have encountered people who operate as if they are running their own little kingdom. While I may have something of value to add to the organization, and while I may get something out of my participation, when it comes down to it, it's a poor use of my energy to challenge someone behaving like a local lord. It's easy for a person rooted in their beliefs and their pockets of power to develop a closed mind.
This has come up for me in part because I have begun to really understand for the first time that:It's good to play out loud. As a pianist, I have constantly found myself in places where I am asked to back off on the volume. Sometimes, as a thinker I have met with similar resistance. Recently, I have had a few opportunities where I was urged to play out louder as a musician, and it has been a lot of fun. There is a tremendous amount of freedom when I know I can play loud, and it is immensely satisfying to know that people genuinely want to hear what I have to offer.
Which is why: It's important to find a place where loud is accepted. After hearing for so long that I need to be a bit softer, it sometimes bleeds into my own personal evaluation of myself. In my own life at least, I want to encourage my own peak volume. But there are other places, too, where people want to hear me, as a musician, as a composer, as a thinker. Finding those places is more satisfying in the long run than screaming in a library. Especially since, most of all, I believe that what I have to offer has value, and I would prefer to find ways for that value to be what people notice first.
So, that brings me to two last big ones that I have known for a long time, but have only started to really believe. Focusing on what's most important to me is the best way to live a meaningful life. Of course, it can be a challenge to know what's really most important, but for me it includes having creative outlets, making music, the connections that I have with other creative people. It's important for me to respect and tolerate other people's spiritual expression, even as I seek an ideal way to define and live out my own spirituality.
Lastly, as much as I want to be understood, admired, and respected, as much as I want to be able to use my strengths and capabilities in service to others, my first priority is to live in a way that makes sense to me. To live in a way that I understand and admire and respect. To make choices that magnify my strengths and capabilities. I don't have to justify my life or choices to anyone, but I want to be act with integrity in accordance with who I am at my core. When I choose things that don't really make sense to me, why would I expect to be understood, admired, or respected by anyone else? Harmony within hopefully paves the way for harmony without.
It has been a very fruitful and satisfying year, all things considered. If you stick around on the journey, we'll see how many of these lessons I keep learning further up the spiral...
Seeker's Journey will most likely resume its course at some point, but I want to share with you some of the big pieces that are falling into place in this time of transition (more on that in a moment).
Having never been to Fort Worth, I was delighted to find that people there were very connecting and warm. In a conversation with someone on the Texas Christian University campus, I remarked on this and related my experience in a grocery store that morning. I had popped in on that Tuesday morning to grab some juice, and half a dozen other shoppers greeted me over the course of that visit, some with a purposeful nod and smile and others with a verbal Hello or Good morning. One person even complimented my tie. This sort of thing has never happened to me in Houston, and I took it to mean something about me and something about the people of Fort Worth.
The person with whom I was speaking remarked, "The purple in your tie may have had something to do with it."
I glanced down and glibly commented, "Well, I do have some ties that tend to make me stand out in a crowd."
With a patient smile, the individual explained, "Well, purple is the school color. You see a lot of it around TCU. It's kind of a sacred color around here."
Of course, I laughed a bit at my own assumptions. I don't doubt that Fort Worth residents are warm and friendly, and expect to find that they are so even when I am not clad in a sacred color. But there was something at work of which I was not aware during my little grocery store stroll. Although I knew purple was associated with TCU, I hadn't intentionally picked that tie because of its color. Somewhere in the back of my subconscious I may have thought it was a splendid idea, but I certainly wasn't thinking of that connection even when someone directly complimented my tie.
That experience has me thinking about other unseen influences. Not fairies or guardian angels or ghosts, but the conscious and unconscious systems at work within ourselves or within other people (or groups of people) to which we are blind. We operate on a great deal of assumption most of the time. If we always assume the best about people, someone may take advantage of us at some point. But if we assume the worst about people, we will likely see adversaries where there are none.
Certainly other consequences abound from those extremes as well, but at the end of the day we must operate on some amount of assumption. We can never actually know every single factor that will impact a result. The secret as far as I am concerned is to maintain a willingness to evaluate and shift course when new information arises. Which leads me to why I am suddenly moving to Fort Worth when I wasn't even considering doing so a month ago.
My wife, Joy, has accepted a job with Fort Worth Opera, doing something that she does well, connected to an art form she loves. The whole process happened rather quickly, and I am proud of her for paying more attention to her hopes than her fears at the end of the day. What it means for me is relocation to a place where I have no clear and definite plan, but there is some exciting freedom in that. It will mean a rethinking of our finances, a retooling of how I spend my time and energy, and a chance to keep focusing on the things that matter most to me. From what I can see right now, it appears that there will be immediate opportunities for me to be involved in the musical goings-on in Fort Worth, which can lead to new collaborations as a pianist and composer. In a way, I've been preparing for this move for the past year.
Neither of us would have predicted a year ago (or even six weeks ago) that we would be relocating for Joy to take a position working once more in the opera field. We had our perceptions of where various paths were leading, but we couldn't see everything influencing the direction of those paths. The paths I have gone down over the past year have all taught me something valuable, even when I didn't stay on a path for very long. I learned things I would never have truly learned otherwise, and some of those lessons have helped to define me. Or, at least, they have helped me see the value in being honest about who I truly am. I'll say more on this aspect of the journey next week.
What I want to clearly acknowledge right now is the importance of accepting that I do not see everything that goes on in other people's minds, and that I cannot know beyond a shadow of a doubt where a particular path will lead. At a certain point, I have to decide whether or not to step forward on a path, with only partial knowledge of what may lie ahead. But I can keep making that decision at every point along the way, taking in new information to guide my expectations and recognizing what I can do to contribute to the outcome I want. If I want people to be friendly to me in a Forth Worth grocery store, I know now that wearing a purple tie will go a long way toward getting that outcome. It might also work for me to walk into a place with a friendly greeting ready for the people I find there.
Since we can never forecast every unseen influence, I think life becomes a bit of a game in which we win by doing our very best as consistently as we can.
Jung's concept of synchronicity is a featured concept in Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, which I have been working through with a few friends over the past several weeks. Essentially, synchronicity is "the experience of two or more events that are apparently causally unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner." In other words, seemingly connected events that don't have a high probability of happening concurrently. While I am much more prone to labeling such things as coincidences unless they are uncannily pertinent to what I'm doing personally, I have been trying to notice when events seem to be lining up in a significant way. Perhaps this willingness and intentionality on my part has contributed to a feeling of being "in sync" with my life.
Most theories of personal growth and development postulate an even number of phases, cycling through focusing inward and focusing on something external. The first phase is usually something akin to survival, concentrating all of one's energy toward getting the basic necessities. A second phase (if one is able to trust that survival will happen) is often adopting an external set of rules or goals, whether they originate from a church, a political organization, or some other institution with established beliefs. The next phase would be integrating the meaningful beliefs from outside oneself into a period of defining personal identity. And once deeper self-actualization has taken place, the following phase would address how to engage with the broader society, or at least some portion of it. I can see this pattern at work when I look backward at my journey, but I have often been wrestling with whatever phase I've been in.
When I was clearly (looking back) in phases of clarifying personal values, I was also often struggling to engage more purposefully with a larger group. And sometimes when I have accepted a prominent role within a larger group, I have found myself confronted with challenges about what beliefs are most meaningful to me personally. While the internal and external work can be in balance, I have frequently tried to force myself to focus in a particular direction when I wasn't actually in the "right" phase to do so. I have wanted to guard against being focused too narrowly and missing some important piece of personal doctrine. Certain beliefs about what life "ought" to be about have served better at some junctures than others. To put it another way, I haven't always been willing to let myself grow because I was afraid of what beliefs I might grow out of.
Everyone has a doctrine—a system of beliefs they live by. Some piece of a person's doctrine may be incorporated from external sources, and some may come from an internal sense of what's important or how things should be. But at some point, the beliefs have to become personal if they are going to have deep value. Living by a doctrine that someone else created for you doesn't reflect integrity. That's just a sort of irresponsible obedience. Integrity comes from taking a personal stand for one's own life, claiming a personal set of beliefs not to judge right and wrong in others but to identify what has true personal value.
At some points in my life, the beliefs that primarily informed my decisions were actually different from what I thought I should believe. I was in conflict with my own doctrine, but I didn't realize it at the time. Now, I have been taking time to really think about what beliefs are really potent for me. I have been giving myself permission to be honest about what's most important to me, without worrying about what might get left behind if I focus in a direction that has personal importance. Trusting myself, with some confidence in what I have been recognizing as valuable for me, I find a strange appropriate-ness in the opportunities I am creating and discovering.
While I may have told myself so in the past as a reassurance or believed it intellectually, I feel in a very deep way that I am in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment in my life. It's not synchronicity, but I believe that noticing the "rightness" of my experience comes from being conscious of my personal doctrine and aware of how I am able to engage life in a meaningful way. And when I know that what I believe makes sense, fear has a lot less of a foothold.
In some pieces of music (specifically those with a sonata-allegro structure), the themes from the beginning return later on after a time of "development". This return is called the recapitulation, and it marks a very dramatic moment in the music. It's similar to hearing a jazz piece in which the soloist introduces the melody, and then improvises for a while, going as far afield as he dares from that original tune. When he returns to the melody again, it is a striking moment that (hopefully) ties all of his improvisatory development back to the foundation of the piece. The same thing can happen in Indian ragas, and in fact many other musical styles. The moment of return to the familiar is poignant.
But the music is never quite the same the second time around. Even if it held the exact same notes, we would still hear the recapitulation differently than the first iteration of those themes. The development that leads up to the moment of return fills our ears with many different possibilities, regardless of the style. The music at that moment of return could be identical to what we heard before, but we are different. We may be excited or satisfied when the music gets back to that familiar melody, even though we hear it through a filter of information we didn't have before.
The development helps us to appreciate the original melodies more fully by wandering away from the full blown themes of a piece and using bits and pieces of those ideas for musical meandering. The development can be exciting, but almost always has an unstable feeling. To our ears, it's restless, in motion. The return to the integrity of the initial themes of a piece feel like a destination after all of the development's instability. The recapitulation seems stable. Emotionally, it's a clear sense of arrival.
Life does that, too. As I have been looking at applying for a college teaching position after a few years of development, I have a comfortable sense of familiarity, and yet I am different from the person I was the last time I lived this theme. My path has certainly held direction and purpose, but there honestly has been some instability in pushing against my own perceived limitations. Covering new ground is exciting, but it can also be frighteningly uncertain. Returning to the idea of teaching music at a university not only has familiarity, though. I have greater clarity about that theme because of the time in between.
Having taken the time to discern what has greatest value in my life, I can approach the familiar decision differently than I did in the final months of my doctorate degree. I know now how much I love being in the classroom and teaching performers the keys to getting beyond the notes and creating engaging music. I'm aware of how valuable it is to me to nurture my own creativity, and I have a greater appreciation for organizational dynamics. Essentially, I guess I'm more mature than I was the first time I started applying for teaching positions, although I wasn't altogether immature before. I've been through a development section, and sending out letters of application and a revised Curriculum Vitae feels like a recapitulation--an arrival point at someplace familiar I can now see in a new way.
Draco crawled on his belly through the maze. He didn't know how he had come to be there, but he was beginning to discover how to navigate its twists and turns. Before long, he could predictably get food when he was hungry and attention when he was lonely, and yet there always seemed to be new paths to explore. One day, he discovered that he didn't need to slither along the ground, but could actually crawl up the walls of the labyrinth.
With a sense of wonder, Draco climbed on short legs up a wall all the way to the top. When he looked around, the whole labyrinth was laid out before him. It was no longer a mystery, and although it was comfortable and familiar, he began to notice something beyond the labyrinth he knew. It was another place, unfamiliar and yet inviting. He crawled to that place and began to explore.
Soon, Draco realized that he was in a new maze, with wonders and perils he had never known before. The old labyrinth was gone. As he walked along the new passageways, he made new discoveries. Beyond learning how to get his basic needs met in the new place, he also found ways that led to other rewards. Before long, the new labyrinth was as familiar as the one he had left behind. When he scaled the walls, he could see other mazes, but they seemed distant and unreachable.
With a bit of surprise, Draco discovered one day that flaps of skin between his legs would let him glide through the air. As he tried out his new capability, he realized that he could reach the other labyrinths he had seen with great ease. He wandered the mazes, each with its own surprises and rewards. The routes through some of them were so simple that Draco lost interest quickly. Other labyrinths were complicated enough that he became frustrated with them. Over time, he became familiar enough with bits and pieces of many labyrinths that he could find his way to what he wanted. By traveling this or that path, he could reliably get food, shelter, and other rewards.
But Draco eventually became so accustomed to the reliable routes that navigating the labyrinths no longer excited him. He began to think about who had built the labyrinths, and why they had fashioned the corridors as they had. He knew that his parents had created at least one of the mazes he frequented, and he assumed that they had traversed their own twisting paths. Friends, lovers, bosses, distant officials, and others he had never met crafted other labyrinths. When one maze became tiresome or filled with dead ends, Draco could glide over to another labyrinth and walk its paths for awhile. And when that became frustrating, he moved to yet another maze. He began to wonder if there wasn't something more, something that wasn't a labyrinth. A place without twisting corridors and confusing jumbles of paths.
One day, Draco noticed that the skin flaps that he used to glide from one maze to another had developed further. To his amazement, he found that he could fly up into the air. He would soar for awhile, and then return to one of the familiar labyrinths when the sheer freedom became frightening. A strong tether kept him from getting too high, too far away. When he became tired of the convoluted halls, he could fly up and away from them. But when he needed something, he knew how to return and travel the familiar paths. The tether kept him safe and close.
Until one bright day, Draco realized that he could get to anything he needed by simply flying to it. So he shook off the tether, and took to the air. He played on the zephyrs, perfectly content. And he never entered another labyrinth.
Throughout my college and grad school years, I had a real sense of what my long-term, short-term, and immediate goals were. I knew when the semester would be over, and I knew what I expected to learn or accomplish in that time. Now, with no advisor to inform my next steps and no professor with a syllabus to guide my journey through a course, it's really up to me to decide those things. Since I got so much from the structure of college semesters, I decided this fall to create a course listing of 10 courses and developed a semester syllabus for each of them. Essentially, I determined what things I want to spend my time and energy on for the next few months, and I found a way to share those goals with other people.
Five of the courses have tuition fees. One is the Basic Music Composition course I'm teaching at the Rice University Glasscock School of Continuing Studies, and another is essentially advanced composition lessons. I intend to take time for my own compositional endeavors as well, of course. The other three courses with tuition are the workshops I offer through Envision Coaching Solutions. The Power of Connection is on the calendar for October, and I'm in the process of locating a venue and scheduling the other two. I'm looking forward to how these workshops will evolve, and I am excited about being able to share skills and knowledge in a way that empowers other people to claim a meaningful vision for their lives.
The five free courses are a way that I'm basically doing that in my own life. When I was able to quantify what I want to create and learn over the next few months, I was also able to open space for partnership in those efforts. Basically, I advertised my "course offerings" to people I know, letting them see what I'm going to be spending time on and inviting them to join me. I've been thinking about how those courses fit together and why those particular topics are important to me personally.
Flow is a book I've been intending to read for awhile. I put it on the course schedule to invite others to read it at the same time and hopefully benefit from what it has to offer. It's about moment-by-moment creativity, which is something I strive for in my own life and want to encourage in others. I see it potentially informing how I coach coach and compose and connect with others.
The Artist's Way is similar is some ways. I expect to learn and grow as a composer and a coach, and I will have a chance to bear witness to the creativity of others in the group. This book is much more of a workbook than Flow, and its author, Julia Cameron, is an extraordinary creativity coach.
Since I know I'll be viewing and thinking about horror films, I included Morality in Horror Films in the fall semester. This has actually turned into a very compelling project for me. I expect a book to be created in partnership with the other participants, and there will be a lot of exciting lessons in organizing the project, over and above the entertaining subject matter.
Another activity I intended to keep on my calendar is a regular in-person role-playing game. For several months, I have been researching how role-playing games can be a tool for personal and organizational development. Unfortunately, lessons learned in a game typically do not transfer to real life. So, I have been working on developing tools to bridge that gap. Essentially, I believe that the opportunity for people to benefit beyond the fun of playing an imaginative game is too great to ignore. So I am dedicating time this semester to exploring Group Dynamics and Creative Strategy in Role-Playing Games.
Finally, I included in the fall semester Basic Ritual Craft. Much has been written about the importance of ritual, and how ritual can add depth of meaning to life events. We use ritual to celebrate all sorts of special events like birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, and promotions. It's been an interest of mine for some time, and I have created some rituals for use in previous jobs. I've been accumulating resources from many different perspectives, and I want to do something more with them. I don't know where this one will lead, but I am glad I committed to set aside time for it.
So, I am headed forward with a structure that has worked for me in the past. I don't know how it will work out, but it is an exciting venture filled with things that matter to me. And I am able to explore connection with other people in all of it. The biggest shift for me is that I have accepted that I am at the helm of my own life. Kind of a big deal I guess.
I had a conversation I didn't like this week. I've been talking to people I know in non-profit organizations about the launch of my coaching business, primarily because most of my experience is in the non-profit arena. I also believe in the stated vision of many non-profit organizations, and I would love to be a part of creating their visions. Many of these people know me as a musician and composer, but they don't have a full picture of my experience, so the conversations were a sort of re-introduction, as if they were meeting a part of me they hadn't seen before. Most of these connections were incredibly encouraging and rewarding.
One person thought he already knew all there was to know about me. This was the conversation I didn't like. Although I explained what sort of contribution I envisioned making as a coach, he kept mirroring back the label consultant, which has a much different connotation in terms of expertise, credentialing, and price tag. I listened patiently, wanting to really take in the challenges this person saw in what I am creating, recognizing that there are probably plenty of people I don't know who may draw the same conclusions. But at one point, I spoke up a bit more boldly.
It was when he stated very frankly, "I don't know how I could possibly recommend you to anyone. You have no credentials or experience with non-profit management, or a track record aside from a couple of music projects." That got to me. On a certain level, I started defending myself, but I allowed a boldness to be evoked that I often dismiss. There was certainly an edge to my tone of voice when I responded, but instead of brushing off the comment as ill-informed (or worse) and moving on with my life, I addressed the challenge head-on.
I went away from the conversation disheartened and questioning the viability of my vision, even though I had talked with several other people who understood and encouraged what I am creating. The truth is I have personally overseen the production of two CD projects, including writing and performing all of the musical content and forging alliances that would bring the projects to fruition. I have worked in non-profits for 20 years, much of that time in a leadership role, and that included religious, arts-oriented, and educational organizations. I have demonstrated in my personal achievements and my organizational influence that I can successfully create and follow a purpose-based action plan, and it's a skill I am constantly improving.
This is all information that most people will not have about me, unless I am willing to tell them. And something was missing from this individual's perception of me that didn't match up with what he thought I was creating, and he knows me as a creative person. As I mulled that conversation over, I realized that I was dismissing a huge portion of my identity in my new endeavor. My creativity is one of the greatest strengths I bring to the table, and it was barely playing into my action plan for establishing a coaching identity. When I began to think about how I could shift my "brand" and marketing to a creativity focus, I felt energized and confident. It fits.
What seemed at first to be a setback actually became a breakthrough because of what I did with that conversation. I now recognize that I will have greater success connecting with people if I am bold about who I am. And I am now consciously embracing creativity as a strength to be proclaimed. Creativity is a part of everything I do, after all.
When my wife and I visited Florence, we made it a priority to see some of the sculpture of Michelangelo in person. Impressive as every completed work was, the most striking image for me was the hall of unfinished "slave" sculptures that were originally intended for the tomb of Pope Julius II. Nine-foot-tall figures emerging from blocks of stone. Even though they are quite static in reality, I imagine them to be in a continual state of casting off the raw marble and stepping out into full view.
I have been thinking about those sculptures this week as I submit music to a few competitions and opportunities for performance. I am categorically an "emerging" composer. Although there are likely many definitions for that label, my sense is that an emerging composer is one who has received some acknowledgment and achieved some success but has yet to gain broad name-recognition, an international reputation, or prominent creative position. I am working toward becoming a sought-after composer, although that's not an official category, but I have realized this week how much I fit into the "emerging" category as a human being.
Since I began writing this blog a little over a year ago, I have gone from playing it safe to more consistently claiming my strengths. I have been developing skills and behaviors that wind up serving every area of my life, whether it is in teaching communication skills, working with other musicians, or the lessons learned in starting a business and networking. I have stepped more fully into local leadership of an international non-profit organization, and I have stepped away from environments that kept me from engaging my full capability and creativity.
Now I am learning again that everything I do in a day's activities can be things I truly want to do. Especially when I realize that how I am being is more meaningful that what I am doing. My attitude and my willingness to remember why I want to do those things makes the difference between a day of burdensome obligations and a day of playful engagement. So, in the midst of all my other activity this week, when I put aside another piece I was working on to start composing a flute piece that was in my head, I found the entire process to be rather playful.
Not only were some of the musical elements playful, but my way of approaching the piece was light. There is no reason I have to compose this piece, but the ideas seem more of a natural response to how I am wanting to be. And that opens up possibilities for the music that I am not always willing to pursue. I am already thinking of the flautists and flute teachers with whom I can share this piece, and what kinds of audiences I can engage. Recognizing why it is important to me that my music is performed and heard, without being attached to any specific outcome, helps me balance boldness and playfulness at a level I have not often been willing to trust. And I have no idea what will come of it.
So as I become more comfortable with what it means for me to be engaging life 100%, I am recognizing more opportunities to create and to have a positive impact on others' lives. Perhaps someday soon I will see results that place me in a "sought-after" category as a composer. Perhaps not. Either way, as a human being, I plan to keep emerging.
Some people say that everything happens for a reason. My own belief is that whatever happens holds a gift for me, a lesson that can propel me forward, even if only slightly. On the one hand, I understand why someone would be comforted by the idea that their auto collision happened as a part of a greater plan. That concept bothers me, though. Not only is there no way to know whether or not it's true, the idea defers responsibility and credit for the events of my life. If I happen to be in an auto collision, however, I believe that I can find at least one gift in that experience if I look for it. Some verifiable truth about myself, or other people, or life itself.
This afternoon, I spent a few hours at a community celebration of the Persian New Year. I am not Persian (although I was told that I have a Persian nose!), so I was a bit of an outsider in the festivities. As I observed people, I saw a great deal of connection among them. It was a bona fide display of community. And when I mentioned this to someone, he replied in a very matter-of-fact tone, "Many of the people are here because they cannot be in their own country, and yet they do not feel a sense of belonging in America. So it is important to them to be connected with people who share that in common."
Unable to be in community with some of their loved ones who remain behind, they are living in a place where they have greater chance for safety and success. Yet there are frequent reminders that they are cultural outsiders in many ways. And in the midst of that challenging situation, they find a healthy way to "belong" with one another. Many of them even envision a culture in which everyone will truly belong, but for the time being, solidarity among those with a similar cultural experience has greater importance. That connection is a gift. That unity is a strength.
Of course, there are many examples of cultures that have found that gift, even in American history. With minds that love to categorize things and itemize differences, it is a gift when we are able to focus instead on commonalities. What I found as I continued to interact with people at the celebration was an even greater gift. I was only an outsider in my own mind, as long as I was enumerating all of the differences. Despite having a radically different cultural experience, I was welcome. Although I did not share their heritage, I could appreciate it. There was willingness on both sides to find unity.
I'm not sure I believe in artificial inclusiveness, primarily because I don't believe it ultimately addresses the fundamental reason for segregation: how people think. When people are willing to see similarities and create inclusion, however, I believe there is the potential for great strength to result. And I am grateful for the opportunity to bear witness to and participate in that gift today.
Disappointments seem to come more frequently when I am bringing myself forward most fully. When I am trying new ways of doing things and stepping into the unknown, I experience more disappointment than when I play it safe and stay in my comfort zone. Predictability isn't ultimately satisfying, though. The big dreams and the worthwhile visions don't hang out in my comfort zone. So, if I accept that disappointment is part of the journey, what do I do with it?
Ignoring disappointment isn't always easy, even if I intend to do so. When a recent Power of Connection course didn't make enrollment, though, I had so many other irons in the fire that it was easy to get over the disappointment quickly and keep focusing on the endeavors that were in motion. I still would have liked to hold the course, but dwelling on that would have potentially taken energy away from other things that mattered to me. The down side of getting over disappointment quickly is that I don't put a plan in place for what I want to do differently in the future.
Simply dwelling on how things didn't work out the way I wanted would be counterproductive, too. At a previous job, I was disappointed that my insights were not heard or respected, and I will admit to spending some time wallowing in that frustration. When I started to examine possible causes, though, I was able to come up with several possibilities. Perhaps I could have been more descriptive in laying out my vision, since others may not have an easy time seeing the possibilities I saw. It's possible that my expectations of the position simply didn't line up with what others thought it should involve. There could have been some political maneuvering going on that had nothing to do with me. Or a few individuals may have had personal issues that weren't being addressed. Or, or, or...
When I take the time to think about why my expectations may not have lined up with reality, it offers me a chance to plan for how I can potentially come closer to what I want the next time I'm in a similar situation. And it helps me to see that there are some factors that may just be out of my control. But if I am able to recognize how telling a more vivid and compelling story can help others see more clearly what I envision, I can change how I describe the possibilities I see. If it seems most likely that a course I'm teaching would reach its maximum enrollment when others are helping to market it, I can start looking for partnerships plenty of time in advance of the next course.
In starting a new business with a wellness company, I am telling a lot of people what I'm creating and why. Some of them aren't as interested as I would like them to be, but when I return to the purpose behind what I'm doing, it becomes much easier to be invigorated by the possibilities. Many times, I have sent out a piece of music to a competition, only to learn a few months later that another composition was chosen instead of mine. I am understandably disappointed. But when I wrote the piece, winning a competition didn't really enter into my motivation.
When purposefulness slips into desperation, it can seem overwhelming that what I had hoped for didn't come to fruition. But when I remember my intention and I am open to seeing a wealth of possibility, each moment of disappointment is an opportunity to define my next steps and fine-tune my goals. I know a little more about what I want and what I can do to create it. The path is in many ways a game of trials and errors. Inspirations and adjustments. Growth.
Over the last few weeks, I have appreciated the chance for some last-minute accompanying opportunities. I didn't expect to be available for music gigs until the end of the year, so I hadn't really done much advance planning for December. As I was confronted with the question of how much to charge for rehearsals and performances, I realized that it was time to deal with some beliefs about money once and for all.
Money has never been a preoccupation for me. I would prefer not to have to worry about dollar signs at all and just compose, collaborate with other musicians, and spend time connecting with and inspiring other people. There is nothing distinctly economical about the culture of integrity, gratitude, and grace I envision, although people would probably make different choices with their money if they acted more out of gratitude than fear and embraced integrity. But coming to terms with my beliefs about money will be a big part of how I am able to create what I want in the the coming months.
When I had a full-time job in a related field, my bills were getting paid, but I wasn't spending the time and energy I wanted to creating music. Even as I tried over the last year to develop ways to perform the duties of my job in such a way that my creative goals were also being satisfied, I encountered communication hurdles that consumed a lot of the time and energy I freed up. Some of the people who had control over my position had expectations that were different than what I was trying to create, and it ultimately resulted in my vision taking me away from that position.
Looking back at that situation, it was a convenient way for me to avoid addressing the issue of money. Having a salary meant that there was a concrete dollar value already placed on my time and expertise. Anything I was able to create in my "spare time" didn't need to have any financial specifics attached, because the money I needed for survival was coming from another source. Asking for more just seemed greedy.
Now I am recognizing that the money I earn from my music is a byproduct of my music having an opportunity to impact people's lives. I also realize that it doesn't serve any part of my vision to undervalue myself. Having a clear and specific dollar figure in mind for accompanying jobs, music preparation projects, and commissions doesn't mean that I can't be flexible. But it sets the stage for a better financial foundation for what I want to create in the world. Stepping away from fears about survival or an attitude of neediness opens space to actually have all of the ingredients my vision requires. I believe big dreams are best supported by fully acknowledging my capability and value.
Liken it to a hamster wheel, or a merry-go-round, or even a racetrack, my routine has been like a lot of people's. I would make the rounds from one corner of my box to the next to the next, until I arrived back where I started from and began a new week. Of course it was a fairly predictable journey, although I did my best to make sure there were enough things to keep me interested along the way. There were some things I wanted to do and see, someday... but somehow those things didn't fit in the box of the routine I had created.
I decided that I wanted to get out of the box. Do some of those things I had managed to keep out of my schedule. See some of those places that just weren't visible from inside the box. In all honesty, I realize that I also wanted to bring forth qualities in myself that didn't really fit in the box. Determining that those things were important to me was the first step out. At first, I tried to be and do those important things from inside the box, but it became clear to me that "comfortable" and "predictable" were not part of the vision.
Getting out of a box of any kind is an interesting endeavor. For me, there were people who were cheering me on, individuals who were excited about what I wanted to create. And there were people who were doing their best to convince me that getting out of the box was at best a bad idea and at worst downright impossible. The greatest incentive was that I kept seeing more and more possibility as I took a stand for the things that are truly important to me.
My first steps out of the box have been a bit scary. There isn't a clear rut to follow, and I don't have a map to where I want to go. With so many options and so much wide open space, I could head in any direction, wander aimlessly, get completely lost, never really reach any destination at all. But instead of worrying too much about that, I started doing the things that I wanted to do... working on recording a large piece that has been sitting on the shelf for years, getting my second string quartet into the hands of professional musicians, scheduling Power of Connection courses, and putting the pieces in place to do more collaborative work with other artists. And I have the freedom right now to apply to artist colonies and pursue other opportunities that I've been putting off. My journey can hit all of the landmarks that I want it to.
At first I was criticizing myself for not having all of the pieces in place, for not having the whole journey figured out. Now I see that I can tell true north by keeping the destination in mind, and I can know the next steps by maintaining my commitment to the things that are most important to me. I may create a different kind of routine for myself, and I may realize at some point that I am just in a bigger box. But for now, I am willing to create a pathway and keep my eyes open for unexpected opportunities along the way. I know what I want. And I know who I am.
Goldfish supposedly grow to the capacity of their container. Or so I have read on the internet, where everything is true. Raised in captivity in an aquarium, a goldfish probably won't have a chance to grow as large as it would in a more expansive environment. It also probably won't live as long, unless it is a particularly persistent specimen. A restrictive environment actually becomes toxic to a goldfish over time. It doesn't grow as large as it might, simply because it's health is being sabotaged by what surrounds it.
When I look back at my choices over the past few years, I see a bit of incongruity between what I actually want for myself and how I have orchestrated my life. Of course, I am operating with hindsight now, but I wonder to a certain extent if the blinders were sneakily self-imposed. Instead of passionately putting every ounce of my energy into engaging life at 100% capacity, I chose an environment that made it alright for me to operate at a fraction of my capability. In fact, I arranged it so that I was being rewarded for operating at closer to 40% of my true self.
When I was making those choices, I had information about the aquarium from outside sources: Although it had a lot of wonderful and collaborative fish in it, it had a reputation for being rather rigid in how it defined itself and somewhat limited in its vision. And of course, I had heard that along with the abundant caring and friendly fish, there were a few aggressive cichlids that instinctively defended their territory and occasionally made living together challenging for the other fish. When it was alright for me to operate at 40%, these claims didn't matter to me. I could ignore them, place myself above them, even convince myself that I had the power to change them. I could be frustrated without having to take responsibility for my own choice to operate at reduced capacity.
The problem, of course, is that when it became more important to me to operate at my 100%, the environment didn't grow or shift to accommodate that fullness. Like a goldfish, I can influence things in my environment, but I don't have the power to alter an aquarium that resists change. But, unlike a goldfish, I can choose my aquarium. And I can choose to be willing to have an impact with those who are willing to be affected.
I was at the end of a frustrating year of college at a school to which I didn't return. They had invited me to be a part of the inaugural year of their new honors program, and I spent the year growing up in a lot of ways. Musically, I had not grown much in those months, and one of my professors called me into his office one day as the spring semester was wrapping up. I had done well in his class, so I really didn't know what to expect. He started by asking a very direct question: "What are you doing here?"
He had seen some potential in me early in the academic year. In fact, he had considered splitting his large class into two sections with me leading the second section. That was quite a compliment, coming from an established professor, but the year passed without me ever really grasping and owning the potential he saw. This professor concluded that I was not being sufficiently challenged by the institution... that my full capability was not being nurtured. In some ways, it was easy for me not to thrive. Thus his question "What are you doing here?" was eventually followed by some suggestions of other (prestigious) schools that he thought would better sharpen me and call me fully forward.
I didn't take his advice on any of those schools, but his question stuck with me in more ways than one. Several years later, I was working in a church in a small town and a parishioner heard me practicing the piano one afternoon. Her question was identical to my professor's: What are you doing here? She saw something about me that I wasn't willing to see in myself, but the question immediately caught my attention.
I started waking up a bit that day, but I am only beginning to see how I have sold myself short in many ways for years. Perhaps it was because I didn't want to be driven by blind ambition, constantly striving to achieve more. More likely, it was plain fear that I wouldn't measure up to the challenge, that no amount of striving could compensate for my inadequacies. Sticking with what came easily seemed safer, but it wound up being ultimately less satisfying. It became rather like wearing clothes that are too small... I can completely fill them out, but there is more of me than what the clothes can contain. And it's not terribly comfortable.
Now I am being evoked again, and I am looking at myself with more honesty and less fear. Admitting my strengths and capabilities, I want a satisfying, sharpening environment that I have to stretch a little bit to fill out completely. I want to thrive. I can see many possibilities for how this can happen, and I am sure that there are possibilities I don't yet see. But if I remain willing to keep asking myself "What am I doing here?" and answer honestly, I believe those possibilities will become clearer and clearer.
I had occasion last week to go back through this blog and read all of my old entries. In May, I wrote about the power of partnership and how willingly people seem to partner with me when I give them an opportunity. More recently, I wrote about learning in a spiral, getting a new perspective on a particular challenge each time I encounter it. Today, the spiral has brought me back around to partnership because of three important pieces I gained over the past few days.
It has been because of partnership in communication that I have become more keenly aware that I am trying to do something unusual in my life. I am looking at what I want in my life and determining how to create it. Recognizing that the plan I am putting in place is not designed to change everything overnight, I am still seeking the small steps I can take toward a distant goal while getting all that I can from where I am in the moment. I want there to be purpose rather than reactions behind my choices, and I want to develop my sense of personal authenticity while empowering others to do the same.
Sometimes I just assume that this all makes sense to others, but I have also realized how easily people can draw off-the-mark conclusions when they only have bits and pieces to go on. My willingness to communicate has often involved me believing I was doing my best to be approachable and then waiting for someone to ask a question. Now I am seeing how that has led to some frustration and how much personal power that actually gives away. Waiting for other people to open the door for me also gives me constant ammunition to judge and criticize, to deflect attention away from the fact that I haven't been opening those doors myself. My predictions or assumptions about how people will respond can keep me from opportunities for satisfying partnership.
At one point, I thought that the limitation of that was in finding people who are willing to partner. I knew that I can't do everything myself, but I was not entirely convinced that anyone else wanted to be a part of what I am trying to create on any level. Yet even in the last few days I have been elated that individuals have responded favorably when I sought partnership. What it took was making it clearly known what I wanted, and people appeared willing to find out more. When I allowed fear to keep me from opening my mouth and asking for it, partnership was much less possible.
But I have also learned that I can partner with people who are not as intentional about their partnership. When I am willing to stand in my own competence, insight, and vision, without worrying about what other people see and without trying to prove anything, I can partner in some way with anyone. Their own fears, beliefs, and assumptions might limit how high that partnership can soar, just as mine will when I slip out of alignment with myself. But even limited partnership is not without value.
Say what you will about visualization, no matter how vividly or purposefully one sees something happening in the mind's eye, one can't control anything outside of oneself. When I visualize the outcome that I truly want, I do believe that I line up my intention and my awareness; I'm ready for it and I'm watching for opportunities to propel myself toward that outcome. But my expectations are still often in competition with what reality turns out to be.
In my job, I have spent a couple of years working toward a long-range vision. I have been redefining what "leadership" means for myself and for other people around me. I have encouraged other people to embrace their capability and I have become more intentional about my communication and my decisions. I want my choices to reflect that larger vision rather than be made out of fear or a desire to please people. The person I had worked most closely with in developing this vision is now gone, however. I am now reporting to someone whose purpose is to see things through a transition period, so the expressed expectations are relatively short-term in scope. Can we still have partnership with different visions.
With the new Power of Connection mentor courses I have scheduled, I expected that there would be a strong interest in a certain community. At least enough to reach the course limit of 15. My marketing for the course was based on that expectation, but the registrations have not been pouring in. I don't know the reasons, but I am recognizing that reality is not what I expected or even envisioned it to be. I am certainly learning something from the experience, but it's not what I had hoped for.
As a composer, I am exploring ways to spend more time with creative pursuits rather than spending my time sending out pieces to competitions and calls for scores in the hopes of getting performances and recognition. I envision a partnership with someone who has a complementary skill set and sees a way to benefit from truly acting on my behalf. I see a number of possibilities for this kind of partnership. It may even be several different people. But I don't know what reality will give me to work with.
When do persistence and tenacity become stubbornness and inflexibility? I don't know. My decisions for today are to hold to my larger vision and see where it carries me. It's certainly not something I believe I can create overnight, and I fully expect that it will continually fluctuate and coalesce in response to new information. My expectations are not really in competition with reality. It's just part of the dance. A partnership that constantly calls me into growth. And the fuel for the vision is a kind of hope and faith that is as boundless as I am willing for it to be.
In a couple of days, I'm heading off to a one-week residential course entitled Way of a (Spiritual) Warrior. This experience involves a deepening of the tools that I learned in the More To Life weekend last November. In basic terms, it is personal development, leadership training, and creativity ignition over the span of a week. I am hopeful that I will return with greater clarity of focus, improved communication, and purposeful energy.
As I have contributed my time and energy to More To Life events over the past several months, I have gotten to know several people who have experience Way of a (Spiritual) Warrior, and they often ask the question: "Are you excited?" My reaction is "Should I be excited?" I get from the question that they received a big gift from their experience, but if I answer honestly, I wouldn't label what I am feeling "excitement." I don't really know what to expect from the week, truth be told. I don't know what the other people will be like, I don't know what the actual training will involve, and I don't know what things are really going to push me toward new awakenings. The only known things about which I could get excited is the opportunity for a week away and the difference I see in other people.
The week away is actually the source of a little frustration for me, and I recognize that I have been thinking about all of the things I could accomplish with that time were I to just stay here and work on music. And yet, I have a strong belief that taking this week away will allow me to work smarter toward the things that matter most to me. So that frustration gets a little nod of acknowledgment from me and I move on. I'm open to what the week has to offer me, and I am willing to engage the experience fully. The possibility of having more tools in my toolkit to keep me on track with my deepest intentions is very attractive to me, but there is something else limiting my excitement.
It has to do with those people who are asking me if I am excited about going, and others I know who have experienced this course. I realize now that I am holding a bit of judgment against them. I think of some of them, "Well, you haven't exactly rocketed to new levels of purpose and awareness since taking this course." It's a harsh thing to think about people, especially people I care about and value deeply. They are, after all, human beings with all of the garbage and baggage that comes with the territory. One week away might offer tools to deal with the garbage and the baggage, but it won't eliminate it. That is for each of us to do in our own lives. And the pile keeps getting higher every day we live. People could have any number of reasons for not putting their tools to work.
Then it hits me. If I choose to do so, I can allow the shared experience to be another tool. In about week, I will have something (else) in common with others who have taken this course. And it is possible that I can serve some part in re-igniting their powerful visions and catalyzing their deep passions. Just as I am learning that others are willing to partner with me in bringing my vision into reality, I can potentially partner with some of these individuals more effectively by drawing upon a common experience. In fact, that potential directly feeds into my growing vision for my own life. That is worth getting a little bit excited. OK, ask me again.
I played Frisbee golf with a friend of mine the other day. He's been doing this pretty regularly for several weeks now, and I have gone with him maybe three times. As we played, he made suggestions about my technique, offering insight from his recent experience and sharing ideas he had picked up from other players. Specifically, he was working on a three-step approach before releasing the disc, building momentum while maintaining stability, and he wanted me to give it a try.
My throws were pretty inaccurate, some of them wildly off target. My concentration was on what my feet were doing, and my kinetic energy was concentrated in my legs. To be successful at this game, I needed to be focusing the energy up, through my arm, and out into a round piece of plastic. At one point, I decided not to worry about the technique and the legwork and just to throw the thing. My setup was too fast for me to analyze in the moment, but it had an open flow of energy. The disc sailed fairly straight, more or less in the direction I wanted, and it covered an impressive distance. My friend's response was, "I'm just going to stop telling you how to do this," and we had a good laugh.
But I've been thinking about this incident for a couple of days now. The best way for me to sum up the experience is that I was concentrating so much on doing something "properly" that I was limiting my ability to do it well. When I free up my mental and physical energy to act with a little less restraint, I may have a better chance of success. I also think part of the equation was that I had been working on various techniques with this particular set of skills before I cut loose; my muscles and my mind had a chance to become familiar with the results I wanted. It's just that the steps in isolation (and a bit under a microscope) weren't yielding the complete result.
So, my question has become, where else do I do this in my life? Where else do I restrict my abilities by concentrating on doing something "properly?" Preparation is helpful, but at a certain point I am as prepared as I can be. In what areas am I ready to cut loose a bit, stop preparing and over-analyzing, and just see what I can do?
