Creator

I have a hard time relaxing.  There is always something that I think I should be doing.  I often feel guilty when I'm not doing something that could be construed as "productive" on some level.  And there is never a time when the list of potentially productive things runs out.  One friend told me that marathon runners don't train for a marathon all the time.  Balanced training involves periods of activity and periods of inactivity.  That made sense, until I started drawing lines of comparison.

Nothing in my life right now really looks like a marathon.  I don't have an event for which I am aiming, I don't have a destination, an endpoint.  I have several ongoing projects that are literally open-ended, on-my-own-schedule kind of affairs.  I am creating various things, and I am in the enviable position of having a great deal of time to indulge those creative processes.  But during the moments when I am not immersed in the creative process, I have a tendency to beat myself up a bit.  I call it laziness, but it really isn't.  I think part of me at some point in time got confused about the difference between busyness and meaningful activity.


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I said to a close friend, "I have a feeling that I was supposed to be more important."

My friend's reply was, "I've always had the impression that you didn't care what other people think, as long as you're happy with what you're doing."

It seemed like a kind of non sequitur, but I followed his meaning.  If I don't care what other people think, then who am I expecting to be important to, aside from myself?  Well, the truth of the matter is that I do care what other people think.  I want to be connected to other people.  I want what I do to have a positive impact.  I just don't want to make decisions for my life based on what other people believe.

Over the course of a couple of days following that conversation, a few people unexpectedly sought my counsel about different issues in their lives.  So, at least in some moments, I am important to some people.  I felt flattered and honored in those moments, and yet it wasn't quite the answer part of me wanted.  Part of me was defining "important" as "broadly impactful" or something along those lines.  And I don't believe that defines my life right now.  It's an issue of identity.

I've tried making meaningful contributions as a part of other organizations, places where I could have a broader impact because of an existing framework.  Somehow, I've wound up not having the sort of impact I wanted.  A lot of times it can be chalked up to personality clashes, but I also think that there is something more.  I may be dead wrong here, but I think that many people have a difficult time visualizing what something new will be like until it's created.  Once it's created, they don't have to visualize it, because it's right there in front of them.  But a lot of energy gets spent trying to defend an idea to people who simply can't envision what it will look like.  It's hard to have a positive impact on people who are afraid of what they can't imagine.


The direct end result for me is that people often do not see what I have to offer the way I would like them to, and I am unable to rely on participation in an organization as a means of identity.  The organization does not provide a meaningful purpose for me.  Honestly, I believe that some of my ideas could have profoundly positive transformative impact, but I don't enjoy the often exhausting battle of defending myself and my ideas to people who clearly are not open to those possibilities.  It isn't worth it to me, no matter how "important" I think an idea could be.  When I think about it in those terms, I don't really want to be "important" badly enough to define my life by the process of proving myself.  But I do want a clearly-defined over-arching identity than what I've been allowing myself in the enviably nebulous existence I currently inhabit.

* * * * * * * * *

I think one of the reasons I find it so easy to flagellate myself about perceived laziness is that I don't currently have an endpoint, a goal, a clear and overarching sense of purpose behind everything that I do.  Individual projects may have goals and purposes, but they are nebulous or far into the future. What I have sought through my involvement in other organizations is something I can provide for myself.


In The Artist's Way, Julia Cameron talks about the Creator, and she encourages placing a lot of spiritual value on being both created and creator.  I don't believe in an actual Creator per se, but the poetic example of the act of creation at the very beginning of the Bible has some very valuable tidbits.  Actually, a lot of creation myths do.  They always involve effort on the part of the creator(s), and there is always a process by which that creation takes shape.

I am a creator.  It's what I do.  I create music.  I create sometimes coherent prose.  I use my imagination well.  On a certain level, I think everyone creates, but it isn't everyone's defining characteristic.  That may not make me important to a lot of people.  I'm alright with that, honestly.  What I was couching as a desire for importance was actually a desire for someone else to provide a meaningful identity, and when I am honest about what matters to me, I can do that for myself.  I have done that for myself.

So how does fully claiming my identity as a creator keep me from beating myself up in the times when I am not actively creating?  That's where the creation myths come in handy.  For example, in the biblical myth, God didn't create everything in one fell swoop.  He just did a bit at a time, and then he stood back and acknowledged his work.  And then, as many people have pointed out, he took time to rest.  There are a lot of similar lessons in creation myths from all over the world, and they amount to four basic principles I'm going to be following:

(1) Know what you're creating.  If you don't know what you're making, take a step back and figure that out first.

(2) Be wildly imaginative.  Don't restrain yourself with imaginary judgments and limitations.

(3) Acknowledge what you've created, even mid-process.  Recognize the value of your creation.

(4) Rest.  Rest is not laziness.  Rest is the time when you allow something within you to start creating the things you don't consciously know about yet. 

So, I have had a tendency to want to have an identity handed to me, and I have wrestled with the idea of being important.  I have justified or criticized my existence based on the amount of money I was making, the amount of things I had gotten accomplished, the number of ideas that actually took root somewhere, the number of performances of my music, and on and on. Even when I've realized how ludicrous some of those conclusions are, I have kept going back to them because they are easy judgments.  Now I have one more bit of truth about me, one more turn around the spiral: I am a creator.  I am defined by the fact that I create.  

I know this was a long one.  Hopefully it kept your interest.  I started this blog because I wanted what I see and learn to be able to have a positive impact on other people's lives.  On some level, I wanted to be important.  I assumed that I was not the only person in the process of learning more and creating more in my life, and I still believe that to be the case.  In spite of the value I have gotten from a weekly commitment to write down my thoughts, this will be my last entry for awhile.  I may come back to this venue at some point, in which case it will be tweeted and Facebooked and whatever else technology makes possible for me.  In the meantime, thank you for being along on this leg of the journey.  I hope you have learned as much about yourself as you have about me, and that we will all continue along that path of learning for as far as it carries us.

Farewell for now,
Randy Partain, creator

Traveling like a Ruby-throated Hummingbird

Hummingbirds have captured human imagination for millennia.  In fact, the hummingbird is one of the figures depicted in the Nazca Lines.  While any species of hummingbird is fascinating, the migration of the Ruby-throated Hummingbird is especially impressive.  They travel from the Canadian prairies to Central America, crossing the Gulf of Mexico in one 500-mile non-stop trip.  For the rest of their migration, they travel about 20 miles each day, although they can fly at speeds approaching 35 miles per hour.  Unlike some migratory birds, Ruby-throated hummingbirds fly solo, each bird having its own internal map.

A one-hour exploration of the fascinating hummingbird.

Dozens of animals migrate.  Even more have adapted to life in one locale.  If a hummingbird suddenly questioned its internal map (something I don't really think a hummingbird can do, but stay with me here)... If a hummingbird questioned its internal map and looked to some other creature to follow, it would surely die.  A hummingbird can't follow the migratory pattern of a goose or a fruit bat or a dogfish shark.  And although there might be a narrowly-defined territory with the perfect consistent temperature and a plentiful food supply, the hummingbird is not wired to stick around in the same quarter-acre for its entire life.  It has an instinctive drive to make an incredible bi-annual journey (well, maybe the hummingbird doesn't see it as incredible, but from the outside it certainly appears so).

When I look back at the last two years (and beyond), I have taken some direction from different sorts of creatures.  Some creatures have found their meaning in a rigid organizational structure, some creatures have found their meaning in dollar figures, and some creatures have found their meaning in a set of ideals which they may or may not actually practice in everyday life.  Some of the creatures I have looked to for direction run in  packs with clearly defined leaders, some of them wander as herds, and some of them are predatory.  To most of these creatures, their existence makes perfect sense.  It's how they are wired.  It's where they are comfortable.  It's what they are willing to accept.  Whatever.  But a perfect environment for one creature is not a perfect environment for every creature.

A broad-billed hummingbird in flight.

Over the past few months (aided by a slight geographic change to a new city), I have started to recognize just how much I have judged my path by other people's standards.  I invent the game of my life, but for some reason I have wanted to use other people's rules.  Maybe I thought that other people knew more than me or knew better than me, and on some topics that would be absolutely accurate.  On the topic of what makes for a fulfilling life, however, no one else has access to my internal map.  I might be driven to bulk up and fly for 500 miles straight in what seems like a mad proposition (to some creatures), or I might jump from one nectar-rich idea to another so fast that other creatures think I'm inconsistent or unreliable.  I know that I can fly pretty fast sometimes, but there are days when I spend 80% of my time digesting.

Hello, my name is Randy Partain.  I am a composer and pianist who loves collaboration with other creative thinkers.  I am a spiritually-minded atheist who still finds value in ideas from many religious traditions.  I can be an incredible strategist and an insightful critic, and I usually listen well when other people speak.  I have an internal map that may seem bizarre to some, but when I trust it I can travel like a Ruby-throated Hummingbird.  It is a genuine pleasure to be able to introduce myself.

Unseen Influence

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.

The Truth About Rejection

My wife picks over bananas each week in the supermarket, carefully selecting a couple that were still green, a couple that were solid bright yellow, and two with peels that are being overtaken with brown spots.  She knows that the bananas will ripen over the week, and she knows from experience what degree of ripeness she prefers.  So with her, bananas have an equal chance of being selected no matter what their degree of ripeness.  Entire piles of bananas still get rejected by her each week, but only because we can't possibly eat every banana in the store.  She doesn't think much about the feelings of the bananas that get left behind (or the ones she buys).

A friend recently purchased a new truck.  It looks a lot like his old truck, except that it's a little bit bigger and it has fewer miles on it.  Before he got to the dealership, he had already rejected many possibilities of cars, minivans, and SUVs.  He had some very good reasons for wanting a truck, and he wasn't concerned about how all those cars would feel when he didn't even give them a glance.  Somebody else will likely prefer a car over a truck and the cars will get their chance.

We make selections every day about things, which means we choose some ideas and reject others.  We absolutely have to reject some ideas, otherwise we would be paralyzed by the number of choices we have.  When it comes to food or cars or other purchased goods, it's easy for us to narrow down our options based on what we want.  When people get involved, rejection becomes a much more loaded issue.  People actually have feelings that we intrinsically care about, and we know from personal experience how many decisions we make every day out of fear of rejection.

Why do we hold acceptance in such high esteem?  Do we really believe that any person can be accepted by everyone?  Or do we care more about what it says about us when someone rejects us?  Something must be wrong with us if we get rejected, right?

But, wait a minute.  Nothing was really wrong with all of the bananas left for other shoppers at the grocery store; it was a simple matter of knowing how many we can eat in a week.  And nothing was really wrong with all of the vehicles my friend passed by to get to the truck he wanted; they just weren't what he wanted.  When we face rejection ourselves, it's really about someone else expressing a preference.  On the one hand, we would like to be "preferred" for a relationship or a job.  On the other hand, we wouldn't necessarily enjoy just any relationship or job.  We have our preferences, too.


I want the music I write to have broad appeal, but everybody isn't going to like it.  The key is for me to find the people that prefer what I compose and focus on partnership with those people.  It doesn't mean that I have been rejected as a human being just because my music wasn't chosen for a particular project, and it also doesn't mean I need to change what I am writing into something universally appealing.

The same is true as I continue to build my coaching practice.  If I try to be all things to all people, I will fall short.  I have areas of strength, and there are honestly some people I would prefer to work with.  By defining a niche, I focus my energy and my attention.  Choosing to focus on a certain group of people means setting myself up for rejection by people who are not part of that group.  When that happens, it will be an indication to me that I have defined a niche well, and hopefully the people who are a part of that focal group will be able to see that as an advantage for them.

Whether it's with the music I compose, the people I choose to coach, or the relationships I nurture, the key is to be honest about what I want in my life.  Some would call this authenticity.  When I am being true to myself, there are some people who love being a part of what I am creating, and there are many others who ... well, reject me.  That's alright.  It means that I have defined myself more clearly for anyone who sees me.  And when I'm being honest about who I am, and when I'm not afraid of rejection, being seen becomes a much easier thing to do.

Crying Wolf

You know the story. The shepherd boy is bored and lonely, so he yells WOLF! and everybody comes running to help defend against the predator. While this is great fun for the shepherd boy, everybody else is understandably angry about the whole affair. But the boy gives it another go and winds up playing the card too many times. By the time an actual wolf arrives on the scene, everyone ignores the boy's cries, and the wolf eats him. A harsh lesson to be sure.

I believe that there is certainly a lesson in that tale for the "everybody else," but today I am wondering how much I am identified with the shepherd boy. Once upon a time, I kept my cards pretty close to my chest. I didn't share with many people that I was going to a particular college until I had the offer and had made a decision. Same thing for grad school. There have been some major projects in my life I didn't really tell anyone about until they were close to completion. But something shifted several years back.

I started to tell more people what I was up to, and I found that there was support and motivation in the telling. Once I told someone that I was working on a particular piece of music, they would often inquire about it, and I would have another person's energy contributed toward its creation. Plus, just saying the commitment out loud made it seem a bit more real. Over the past several years, more and more people have known about the commitments I'm making, and I gain insight, feedback, and support from an ever-growing array of individuals.

Something else shifted for me over the past year. I started setting my sights on goals that are a bit bigger... paths that I can't discern fully from just the first steps. Committing to those targets is important for me, because otherwise they could just be wishes or dreams that never get realized. But the journey also gives me new information. For instance, I sometimes learn that there are things I don't really like about a destination I had in mind -- things I didn't know when I first committed to it. And in that moment, I have the opportunity to make a choice.

I could continue down a path I don't really want to travel simply because I have committed to it. People are depending on me, expecting me to follow through. That seems like a frustrating and dissatisfying choice that (at best) lacks authenticity. Instead, I have been exploring what was most meaningful to me about a particular goal, and I've been looking for more desirable destinations that offer the same benefits. Which is not to say that I would start a journey over from Square One. Rather, I have gained some knowledge along the way that I didn't have before, and I can see things that weren't possible when I started in a particular direction.

I'm actually at peace with this process. My concern is other people's perception. Since I am advertising my goals more widely, there are more people to notice when my commitment shifts. How many times can I veer off onto another unexpected path and retain credibility? There are some commitments I've made that just don't fit as I learn more about them, and yet I wouldn't have learned that information if I had never made the commitment. But when I choose to continue growing from that point toward something else, does it look like growth to other people or does it look like giving up? When do my shifts in targets for my life look enough like "crying wolf" that no one believes me when I stake a claim on another goal?

There is a part of me that retorts, "It doesn't matter what other people think." But it does. Partnership and meaningful support is such an integral part of creating big dreams that I want at least a few others to get the difference between "going back on my word" and shifting targets to something better for me as I gain more information. The real question doesn't have anything to do with how "everyone" will see me. Life sometimes seems as cut-and-dried as the story: there is the shepherd boy, and there is everybody else. In reality, there are probably people who would come running every time, whether there was ever a wolf or not. And my goals aren't just made up for attention, so the connection between the story and my life is flimsy from the start.

So my answer (to whatever the question is) is to trust myself, and to trust that there will be enough support and partnership in each leg of the journey. I know that I have a purpose, and I know that I never have to defend myself. It ultimately boils down to my willingness to keep connecting with others about what I am creating and why that means something to me. Strange how so many questions seem to have the same answer.

Lessons from Karaoke

Maybe karaoke really is Japanese for "You're doing it wrong," but three things I noticed while out with some friends at a karaoke bar seem bigger than karaoke. So this week I'm sharing them with you so that they might have an impact in your non-karaoke activities. And mine, too.

When I looked at the head-spinning array of songs in their catalog, I found myself thinking Ah! I know that one!, only to realize as I thought of the tune that I didn't really know it as well as I believed. I knew the chorus perhaps, but not the verses. Or I knew some words, but couldn't for the life of me remember the actual melody. Disappointed, I kept searching for another song that I actually knew with a little more confidence. My mind sometimes thinks I have knowledge that I don't actually have.

Having experienced getting up on stage and singing, I may actually try one of those almost-familiar songs next time and see what happens. Who knows? The lyrics may all come rushing back. But being on the stage has challenges all its own. For instance, I couldn't actually hear the key of the song I was singing when it began, I just had a general sense that there was accompaniment. So I started in what seemed like the appropriate key and went for it. As the music became more distinct at the chorus, I realized that I was way off. But I couldn't quite make the shift to a new key until I stopped and listened for just a moment. Then, I jumped back in, more in sync with the accompaniment. My mind had been so locked in to what I was doing, that I couldn't comfortably make that shift without a little break in my own inertia. When I realize I am off course, sometimes the best thing to do is stop and get my bearings -- rather than continue to barrel forward.

The greatest phenomenon of karaoke bars is that everyone gets acknowledged. Whether you sing a song like the original artist or your performance lacks any recognizable melody or rhythm, people will acknowledge you. And the applause and cheers are quite sincere, even if someone tanks. Sure, people may really go crazy for a great performance. They also recognize that it takes guts and commitment to even be on stage in the first place. You might not be ready for American Idol, but it is an accomplishment just to get up and do your best. It doesn't cost me anything to acknowledge someone for doing their best, and there will probably be someone in my life to recognize me for stepping forward.

And even if there isn't, the whole point behind the evening was to have fun, and it was obvious that people did just that. People who were natural entertainers and people who were singing on a dare. And it was fun for everybody, whether we were on stage or enjoying someone else's performance. Of course, there is a little anxiety that goes along with any kind of public performance, but the bottom line is: Life is too short not to enjoy what you are doing. When I am willing to have fun with everything I choose to do, my whole life perspective is transformed.

Seeing Through Different Eyes

A few weeks ago, I gave up something pretty significant. I gave up my hair. Not all of it, but more than I have had shorn off all at once in about a decade. People have often told me that my hair is my most distinctive physical feature. For many years, it was fairly long. Actually, since I haven't updated my profile picture yet, you can still see what it looked like. It was definitely a radical change.

My hair said many things about me. I believed it communicated my creativity, my willingness to be an individual, perhaps even a conscious non-conformist attitude. Other people may see things I don't necessarily want to convey, though. First impressions being what they are, long hair may signify to someone that I am unreliable, a slacker, a trouble-maker, or any number of other judgments. Those things aren't true of me, and for a long time my decision was that I didn't care what other people thought.

When I look at my goals, however, other people's perceptions actually do matter to me. Much of what I am creating now is built upon partnerships of some kind, and partnership involves being mindful of how another person thinks and feels. Healthy partnership requires that I be the kind of person with whom other people want to partner. And I am in many ways. But people don't always get complete view of someone's strengths if they stop at their first impression.

Last year, someone I trusted told me that I wasn't going to have an easy time being heard by a group of decision-makers because my hair isn't white enough. I knew that what he meant was that whatever I had to say was going to be filtered through other people's opinions of what it takes to be wise, strategic, insightful, or even valuable. For some people, I am simply not old enough for what I say to have value. I can't do anything about that except be aware of it. But, I also realize that for some people, my long hair was an obstacle between their assumptions and my actual strengths. I want to build partnerships in which my strengths benefit and inspire others in what they are creating, so it's important for me to allow my strengths to be most clearly seen.

In the end, I am already used to a new hairstyle. I haven't noticed any radical changes in the way others treat me, and maybe I won't. What I have noticed is greater willingness on my part to be seen and greater intention behind bringing my strengths forward. I can't control how other people will see me or engage with me. At the same time, I can give others the best chance to see me clearly, and I believe that serves both them and me.

Speaking in the Face of Fear

Edmund Burke claimed, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." Often, this politically charged quote is used to draw attention to flaws in large-scale systems, but it is equally applicable in small-scale communities. In fact, when fear runs rampant in a community, it is often because the fearful voices are the only ones being heard. There may be those who are level-headed, trusting, and full of faith, but if they do not speak up, they diminish their chances to influence a community.

In the past, I have watched as communities divided over petty issues, or as charismatic and vocal individuals spread panic through a group of people in order to gain support for personal agendas. Fear can be very persuasive, and it doesn't take much effort for us to become fearful. And yet, individuals and communities who react to situations out of fear or panic often do things that are in direct conflict with their purposes. Fear gives us an excuse to behave badly, a justification for doing things we would criticize in others.

And when no one points it out to us, fear keeps us blind. Fear puts sheets up over all of the mirrors so we never clearly see who we are being. It takes a certain trust, confidence, and willingness to stand up in the face of that kind of fear and call it what it is. In communities where those kind of trusting and willing people speak up, fear is less likely to take root. It is not always comfortable or easy to speak up in a rising tide of fearfulness or panic, and yet it is vital for the well-being of a community.

When individuals are willing to hold one another to the true purpose of a community, that vision can remain clear and focused. When we see something happening that is out of alignment with the purpose we have claimed for ourselves and our communities, it often only requires us to be willing to open our mouths to defuse the fear. It may seem easier to step back and criticize, to form our own secret collusion committees, or to suggest that "someone" should do something, but those responses only engage our own fears. There is something noble in each of us that calls us into action, and that noble action can be as simple as a calm, gentle, and disarming reminder of purpose and vision.

What are you doing here?

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.

Intention

There was a woodpecker hammering away at the gutter of our house this morning. He was making an awful racket, and I was a little bit afraid that he was damaging something. I knew I had just cleaned out the gutters a week ago, so I was a bit annoyed at the idea that there was anything tasty lurking around for him to eat. I thought about chasing him off, and then I admitted to myself that I had better things to do than guard the gutter all day to keep a woodpecker away from it. As I watched him, he decided it wasn't such a great idea after all and flew off.

I've been doing that in my life, too. There are some things that at one time seemed like really appropriate things for me to believe and do, but I'm realizing that they don't really provide what I'm looking for. I can hammer away at a metal gutter all day long, and it won't ever be as satisfying as getting into a real tree crawling with tasty bugs. For me, the metal gutter has been playing small: not speaking up when I see something I would like to change, not being comfortable talking about my own endeavors, not taking a chance on something unless I could reasonably predict how things would turn out.

This week, I have had several opportunities to try out some new ways of being, and they have actually been much more satisfying than playing small. I can speak up tactfully and with integrity. What I offer to the world is worth me letting people know about it. And I can break free of the limitations I put on myself if I am willing to be surprised by possibilities. In becoming comfortable with some new ways of thinking and expressing myself, I realize that there is a powerful motivation at work. It would be easy and comfortable to keep doing things the way I have been for years. It wasn't satisfying, but it made sense to me. What has truly changed now is an awareness of my intention. Being able to articulate a purpose, both in the macrocosm of my life and in each day's decisions, means I recognize how what I choose is in alignment with who I am.

As I was talking about Mysteries in a radio interview yesterday, I had great clarity about the value and purpose of that project, and it was natural for me to want to share that very personal music with anyone who was interested. I avoided this kind of publicity for a long time, using all manner of excuses. I still don't need for anyone to listen to my music, but I sometimes forget that my intention for composing music is to communicate something meaningful in an expressive and compelling way. In that case, of course I want to tell people about what I've been creating musically! And in other areas of life, it has proven equally true: When I remember to acknowledge my deepest intention, the commitments and the decisions I make just naturally follow.

Integrity

My mind had been running away with me. I had imagined the possibility of such catastrophic proportions that I had managed to scare myself out of hope. That changed today with a simple one-hour conversation.

Last week, I made a commitment to have this conversation, essentially because it was a matter of integrity. I work at a protestant church, and I have for several years. I understand the beliefs of the people there, and I have consistently encouraged the development of their faith during my time there. In fact, one of the stands I have been taking for a long time is to encourage spiritual growth in others, even if their beliefs differ from mine.

Which is actually why my integrity has been in question for me. I don't believe all of the same things about God that the church where I work teaches. In some ways, my beliefs are very clearly aligned with the example of Jesus' life, but in some ways, my beliefs are rather different from mainline Christianity. I haven't actually shared that with anyone where I work, and fear has even led me to claim things that aren't true about my beliefs.

I had an incredible conversation today with the senior pastor, in which I told him my beliefs and commitments. I literally had no idea what he would say. In many ways, this very conversation was a step of faith. His response was that my beliefs sounded very Christ-like to him, and that the semantics of the church don't mean the same things to everyone. He acknowledged how the church benefits from my presence and my support of people's spiritual growth, and he basically told me to just be my authentic self.

I was blown away by the graciousness, acceptance, and connectedness of his response. What I had feared would happen was the farthest thing from the reality I experienced today, and I am grateful not only that I was willing to take a step into the unknown but that I was so incredibly rewarded for claiming my integrity. I'm seeing that my fear was the only thing keeping me from having it to begin with.

Being

There is a philosophical conversation about Doing and Being that has been parodied by popular culture, but I never really thought about it much aside from laughing at somebody's T-shirt. As a person who is often accomplishing things, working toward goals, measuring progress, staying focused, and yes, getting driven at times, there has never really been a reason to consider whether doing or being was of primary importance.

Now as a result of several recent conversations, I find myself in the midst of a rather powerful realization. I have been getting several messages that I am appreciated for who I am, for the attitude I bring into an environment, for my "energy." And although I am tempted to define this as my purposefulness or a drive to get things done, I realize that what is meant by this word is actually closer to "spirit." I am appreciated for my spirit. Huh.

I don't think for a moment that people don't appreciate the things that I do to make a positive contribution. I hear that message, too. But this whole idea that who I am is valuable in and of itself, apart from any achievement... that just having my natural attitude and being in my natural spirit has an impact... that's something that I just haven't listened to before. I get it, and it makes complete sense to me. But I'm not used to it.

Some wise person once said that 90% of life is just showing up, and I am recognizing that I can have an impact when I am willing to show up with my full self. I will still accomplish things, because I have passions that propel me and energize me. I know I'm not defined by what I have achieved, but I guess knowing something and living it are sometimes two different things. So, now I that am really getting the message, I am happy to be. And I am grateful that in that simple willingness I can make a difference.

Arguing with Myself

At the More to Life team meeting last night, I found myself having a bit of an argument inside my head. I would offer up some realization I had gained from my recent conversations with people and the little voice inside my head would say, "You sound like you're bragging." "I'm not bragging, I'm just trying to contribute something I think has value." The back and forth goes on a bit, but the bottom line is that I am not interested in hiding out or only being semi-present. I want to be all in. If I'm spending my time and energy on something, I want it to be a conscious and passionate choice to be fully present and completely myself.

That doesn't appease the little voice inside my head though. When a question arises in the meeting about who is willing to step forward and take a particular responsibility, I want to raise my hand. But I wait because I don't want to "take the opportunity away from" anyone else. I imagine some part of my brain was counting to ten. With what power do I credit myself in thinking I can take away someone else's opportunity to serve? It's a subtle way of playing small, hiding out. It's not that I'm unwilling to do something, it's about how I want (and don't want) people to see me. But deep down inside I want to be seen and appreciated for who I genuinely am, not for how well I can act. So, how do I expect people to see and appreciate someone I won't show them?

I raised my hand.