Abundance and Possibility

I had a conversation with my support partner today, and I wanted to share our conclusion. One problem with "I don't have" and "I don't know" is target fixation. It's the same with riding a motorcycle (or skydiving, I'm told). When you concentrate on what you don't want to hit, that is inevitably the thing with which you collide. It's better to fixate on the open, safe space where you actually want to go.

In reality, there is as much potential for things to go wonderfully, but that's not always where I fix my gaze. In reality I live with abundance, but it doesn't always seem that way when unexpected expenses pop up. But obsessing about what I don't have or all of the things that could go wrong will inevitably get me exactly where I don't want to be. I'm willing to try fixing my gaze on abundance and possibility and see where that gets me.

The Case for Live Accompaniment

I've been accompanying young musicians for some intermediate school competitions over the last few weeks, playing the same piano parts several times in a day. Some students choose to use a CD accompaniment, perhaps for a variety of reasons. The CD is predictable and consistent. They may have practiced many times over with the recording. The CD doesn't cost them anything additional to show up at the competition.

A live accompanist is an asset, though, as many teachers point out in their letters to parents. A live pianist can follow a student who rushes ahead or holds a note too long. A live accompanist can adjust the balance of the instruments more effectively. And a live accompanist can provide feedback in a rehearsal. But I've been thinking today about what I get out of it.

Sure, I get paid. It's not enough to call it a second job, but it is a little extra to help out with infestation recuperation. In truth, it's not enough money to be worth the effort by itself. What I have concluded is that it is a matter of connection.

Music was initially designed to communicate and to connect people. And we still use it for the same purposes. Alan Merriam's list aside, people value music because of its ability to connect us to one another, to our beliefs, to our history, to nature, even to God. Music connects us to distant times and cultures as well as to the world around us right this moment. And although we can get some of that impact from a recording, live music is exponentially more connecting.

I still believe that musicians should get paid, don't get me wrong. But the real payoff is in the opportunity to connect with one another and to communicate through the music. It's what makes the difference between an accurate performance and a truly beautiful one. It's the part of music that can't be as easily taught in a classroom. That what I get to be a part of. No wonder I get such a kick out of it.

The Outer Limits

No, not the predictable "Twilight Zone in outer space" TV show. I'm thinking of my personal limits. For the past few months, I've been striving to stretch and reach beyond the artificial limitations I once put on myself. This is fun, challenging, and rewarding. I keep learning that I can accomplish more and have a greater impact when I am living to my fullest and not sticking to the shadows. But I wasn't entirely prepared for life to bring me an experience that reminds me that I still have limits.

I acknowledge that I hold my own pretty well with people. I am often able to connect with people who are choosing to be a bit aggressive about their opinions, or even belligerent in their demeanor. I recognize that what they are expressing is about them, not me, and it's like water off a duck. I do this often enough that I'm used to being able to do so. When someone comes along that is behaving way beyond what I typically encounter, my instant belief is that I can deal with this person the same way I do everyone else... that I can still connect with this person and hold my own ground without much of an emotional cost.

The problem is that I have real limitations about how much toxicity my emotional kidneys can process. My "I can do this," becomes "I should be able to do this," and I wind up persisting in a conversation longer than what is healthy. My mind tells me that if I disengage then I am admitting failure in some weird way. And yet if I allow myself to be negatively impacted by someone else's words or behavior, I have somehow "lost."

But stretching to the fullest extent of my own personal limits doesn't imply that I have no limitations. I may be in the habit of not reaching for the absolute border of my capabilities, but that doesn't mean that I can do anything. I do have limits. I don't have to engage everyone I encounter completely in order to be an engaging person. And I can accept the reality of who some people are without enjoying my experience of their presence. I can even choose not to be around a person whose behavior is consistently toxic. It's one way of caring for myself.

Then it hits me... This is what being at the edge feels like. When I'm pushing against something in life and it's pushing back at me, I learn something about myself, reality, and Truth. When I hide out in the safe zone, far from approaching the edge my personal reach, there's no challenge. I don't get to learn anything. And the edge is where my passion is.

D&D

Dave Arneson died last week. Although I don't often see references to Dungeons & Dragons in the mainstream media, almost every time I do, there's a phrase like "popular geek pastime" or "marketed primarily to teenage boys." Sure, some of the commentary comes from people who know little about the game, but it is rarely acknowledged that role-playing games can engage the mind in a uniquely beneficial way.

In a social environment focused on design, story-telling, and cooperation, people exercise both strategy and empathy to do something adults typically do too little of: play. When we let it, a role-playing game can clue us in to some of the dramas we play out in reality. But in a game, we can explore the consequences of those dramas without seriously risking jobs, finances, and relationships. And if we are willing to, we can realize some things that aren't working in our lives because of decisions we make for our imaginary characters.

I didn't know Dave Arneson. I never had a conversation with him. And yet I have a great deal of respect for him. He contributed some of the ideas I value most. He saw the potential for role-playing games to be about more than fighting imaginary foes and killing exotic creatures for pretend treasure. People were important to him. He believed that personality is as important as combat in the game. Maybe that's what can seem so threatening about role-playing games: they have the potential to be more about vulnerable people than impervious heroes. If we aren't careful, we might learn something about ourselves.

What Am I Spreading?

So, I'm learning a lot about termites. In some dark recess of my brain, there is a piece being composed reflecting the swarming intruders. On the surface of my consciousness, though, there is a song by Tom Waits called Army Ants, in which insect and human behavior are compared.

The most common treatment for subterranean termites is a slow-acting nicotine-derived poison that can be transferred from one termite to another. As they crawl along their little tunnels and come into contact with fellow termites, the chemical basically rubs off on other bugs. Eventually, the whole colony can be affected (killed) even though some of the little buggers don't crawl through the deadly chemical directly. From my perspective, with a little luck, the queen will wind up dead on our back doorstep.

I'm also serving on team for the May More To Life Weekend in Houston, and the theme for this weekend is Pay It Forward. The hope there is that there will be a willingness on the part of the participants to offer some portion of their resources of time, abilities, and money back into the organization. I see a great breadth to what this can mean, but I have also become aware that we "pay forward" all kinds of things whether or not we mean to do so.

Just like the innocent little termite spreading poison to every colony-mate with which he comes into contact, we spread things too. We can spread joy, peace, understanding, acceptance, tolerance, kindness, and all sorts of healthy things from our own abundance. But often, when we aren't intentional about what we are doing, we can spread our own poisons: anger, violence, fear, distrust, pessimism, hopelessness, and on and on.

I sincerely hope that the whole colony of termites living close enough to dine on my house pulls down the curtain and goes to join the choir invisible. But I also want to be conscious of what I'm moving through and what I'm spreading around. Unlike the termites, I can make a choice about what I spread.