Redefining the Unknown

Arthur C. Clarke (1917-2008)

I was reminded this week of Arthur C. Clarke's Three Laws, which have been oft quoted in science fiction films and literature.  In case you aren't familiar with these tidbits of wisdom, they are:

1. When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right; when he states that something is impossible, he is probably wrong.

2. The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.

3. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.


Although the Third Law is probably the most familiar, it was the first two that got me thinking this week, especially about the unknowable.

For a couple of years, I was quite intentional about making decisions based on verifiable data, and not making decisions based on things that I didn't actually know (like how someone would react, or what would happen in the future).  Sometimes these predictions seem like absolute fact because they are so believable, especially if one is aware of certain patterns.  If Bob has gotten angry every time I have mentioned his ex-wife in the past, I have every reason to suspect that he will get angry if I mention her again, even though I don't actually know what Bob will do.  Criminals sometimes convince themselves that they will get away with a crime based entirely upon false assumptions about what other people will or will not do.  Making decisions based on information that is created entirely in one's own mind can be dangerous, or at least frustrating.  Most people can't predict the future nearly as well as they think they can.

That being said, there are some things that are probable even if they are technically in the realm of the unknown.  Once I realize that Bob is likely to get angry if I mention his ex-wife, but admit that I don't know for sure what Bob is going to do, I can decide how much value there is in testing my hypothesis.  Dismissing a pattern of behavior entirely, simply because Bob's future behavior is technically unknown, is honestly a rather stupid approach.  Scientists operate all the time in the realm of the unknown, testing hypotheses to see how accurate their predictions are, and correcting things along the way to learn as much as possible and get to a desired result.  Strategists in many fields operate in the realms of the unknown, predicting (with varying degrees of accuracy) what outcomes will result in the future from actions taken right now.  They can't possibly know the future, but they can make predictions.

During the time that I was attempting to base all of my decisions exclusively on verifiable data, I lost a job, threw money away, and spent a lot of time on fruitless efforts, all because I could not claim absolute certainty about future events.  In so doing, I discounted a huge portion of my personal strength.  I am a person who resonates with Clarke's Second Law, willing to push past the knowable into the unknown.  But such endeavors are not usually done haphazardly.  Usually, a scientist conducting an experiment has some data upon which a hypothesis is based, and that hypothesis is fine tuned by a number of intelligent predictions.  It isn't just a matter of throwing a dart without regard to the dartboard.

In all honesty, I think that people who are observant can make a great many reliable predictions.  Sometimes our minds trick us into seeing "patterns" where none actually exist, but the answer is not to discount the unknown and operate completely blind to such predictions.  Instead, it is better to venture into unknown territory with both eyes open, aware that our forecasts may be inaccurate, but willing to test them and see what happens.  Playing it safe and hedging bets are the kinds of things that lead distinguished but elderly experts to claim that something is impossible.  It would perhaps be more accurate to use "unknown" in the place of "impossible".  Personally, attempting the impossible seems foolhardy and unsatisfying, but attempting the unknown can be pretty inspiring.

So while I acknowledge that I cannot accurately predict the future, I can also acknowledge that my strategic and forward-thinking mind is a powerful tool that can guide me in a keenly directed exploration of the unknown.  If all of my decisions are based entirely on what I can know with utmost certainty, they are based on inaccuracy and half-truths.  It is actually much easier to be manipulated when one discounts personal discernment as essentially unknown and unverifiable.  Rather than discount it outright, I now believe that it is better to trust myself and work toward verifying the intelligent hypotheses of my insightful mind, reaching perhaps a bit past what I know to be possible.  I'm not sure how a person can grow otherwise.

The Year in Review

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: Four Travelers

As Seeker traveled on his unmarked trail, he occasionally met fellow travelers who had chosen an uncharted route.  Seeker's journey led him up into mountains, and his conversations with others helped him tremendously when the actual path was difficult to discern.  At times, it seemed that there was no real path at all, just a general heading, or a landmark on which he could fix his gaze.  Other travelers would tell Seeker about places to find clean water, magnificent overlooks, quiet thickets.  A few people Seeker met claimed to have been everywhere in these mountains, but few of them seemed earnest in such claims. 

One man was eager to compare maps with Seeker.  Unlike Seeker, he had struck out on his journey with a specific destination in mind: Unconditional Human Love.  Seeker had met other travelers like him, who could not find a way to take well-known routes and arrive at Inner Peace, or Renewing Solitude, or The Most Inspiring View, or any number of other destinations.  And so, they had taken an unmarked trail in the hopes of finding their own personal El Dorado.  Seeker had not found any of those destinations, but the conversation was pleasant enough.

Seeker asked the man about other nearby destinations before they parted ways.  The most valuable information often came from people who began answers to his queries with, "I don't know, but..."  This man's response especially stuck with Seeker.  "I don't know what's near here, but you'll be more likely to find it if you're looking for it."  Seeker thanked him and they went off on their respective journeys.

Another pair of travelers was headed back to clearly-mapped roadways.  One seemed rather disappointed with her journey off the beaten trail, but the other seemed quite satisfied and ready to resume a previous agenda.  As Seeker talked with them, he discovered that the two women had come from the same destination, and his concept of "desirable destinations" began to shift.  The same end point had left one woman feeling frustrated and empty, while her companion was full of vigor and purpose. 

Comparing maps with each other, the travelers confirmed that they were headed back toward "accepted" routes, and Seeker began to reassess his sense of which destinations on his map were truly desirable.  Then, Seeker was startled to learn that the two women did not even know if they were carrying a third map like his, with only an arrow upon it.  They seemed puzzled by it, and left unconvinced of its usefulness.  Seeker pondered how they had made it along any uncharted trail without such a map, but he shrugged and bade them a good journey.

The more Seeker conversed with fellow travelers, the more he became convinced that no destination was inherently desirable.  Many people who had wandered from well-traveled paths seemed to have a different sense of where they most wanted to go.  They still relied on their map of destinations, but they didn't concern themselves with which sites the mapmakers indicated as more or less desirable.  This got Seeker thinking about what adjustments he could make to his own map, which destinations he would label most desirable if he had made his map.   

As he was still pondering this, Seeker came across another man who seemed so light and carefree that Seeker's face immediately smiled upon seeing him.  When he asked the man about nearby destinations, the man seemed exuberant at the wonders that were nearby, but he could give Seeker no real indication of how to reach them.  So, Seeker suggested they compare maps.  

"A splendid idea!" replied the stranger as he withdrew a single well-worn map.  It was nearly identical to Seeker's map with the arrow and nothing else.  Seeker laughed a bit and looked at the man expectantly.

"What about your other maps?" Seeker prompted.

"This is the only map I use!  Each day I come across new and glorious reasons to appreciate this journey.  I'm not exactly sure where I've been, and I don't know where I'm going, but I know that there will be something to see when I get there."


After an incredulous moment, Seeker mused, "It is as if you are your own destination."

The smiling man looked at his arrow-map, and Seeker looked at his own.  As it happened, when they oriented their maps a bit, they pointed in the same direction.  So Seeker traveled with the man for a bit, hanging on to his other maps and considering what destination he may actually find desirable.  In the meantime, he became more accustomed to using a map to which he had paid very little attention before setting off on the mysterious path.  Although it was true that there was always a new and glorious reason to appreciate the journey, Seeker was convinced that there was a way to combine a meaningful journey with a meaningful destination.

Seeker's Journey: The Village

Seeker greeted the next morning with great excitement and faith, reassured by the messages of those who had traveled the unmarked path he had discovered and confident that it led to a wondrous destination.  Fear and doubt were still present as he traveled, but they were quiet and unobtrusive.  Before long, Seeker came upon a village and was overjoyed to see its activity.

In the village, there seemed to be many small gaggles of people, and in most of the clusters, many people stood enraptured by a nuclear figure, a speaker of some kind or a person engaged in some intriguing activity.  Some of the people looked as though they had been listening for quite some time, and yet they were captivated by what they heard.  Before long, Seeker realized that this place was like many on his map of destinations, and he quickly unfolded and consulted the map.  He had been to some similar destinations, and there were many more indicated as possibilities: MBA, Community College, Law School, State University, Medical School, and on and on.  Some of those destinations were very specific with regard to quality and location, and some were more general, but they were all sites of learning.

Sites of learning had been a distinct pleasure for Seeker, for he loved to gain new knowledge, and so he began to take in what the village had to offer.  One group was listening to a speaker convey the secrets of finding hidden treasures in the nearby mountains.  It was an interesting topic, but Seeker had obviously missed some essential information at the beginning of the discussion, so he wandered a bit and observed some of the other goings-on.  He saw one individual sitting on the ground, grabbing handfuls of mud and slowly smearing it on his face.  An onlooker whispered, “How profound!” 

Although it increasingly became a challenge, Seeker tried to keep an open mind and benefit from the wisdom of the enlightened people in this village.  One woman claimed to have incontrovertible proof of the existence of extraterrestrial visitors as she held up what was quite obviously an empty pie tin.  Several people claimed to have been contacted by spiritual beings bearing messages of truth, but none of them seemed to have received the same messages.   Some people were unable to share their complete knowledge adequately to the gathered crowd, but had written their secrets down in volumes which were available for purchase.  Little by little, Seeker’s bright, wide-eyed smile began to ebb as he became more and more skeptical of the knowledge to be gained in this site of learning.

A bit disheartened and frustrated, Seeker trudged back to the outskirts of the village.  He was comforted when he saw that his uncharted path continued on past the village.  This, at least, was not the end of the road.  There could be something better ahead, something that had more substance, more truth.  Just then, Seeker heard an unexpected voice near the path ask, “Disappointed?”

He looked to see a large, free-standing window overlooking the path and seemingly connected to nothing.  As he approached, he responded, “Quite disappointed, actually.  I had hoped to learn something.”

 

“Didn’t you?” queried the reflection in the glass.

Seeker pondered the question, and was about to respond when the reflection asked, “Wasn’t the hammock and the fire a nice surprise?”

“Yes.  Yes it was.”  Seeker’s face lit up a bit and his shoulders relaxed.  The reflection smiled back, and Seeker was filled with a sense of comfort and peace.  He decided that he was finished with the village, and he continued down the path.  He didn’t consult his map of destinations, but he wondered what such a place as that village might be called.

Recapitulation

 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.

Angry People

Not long ago, I had occasion to hear someone tell a story about how things had unraveled after an angry rant was blown out of proportion. He was able to indicate how everyone else involved had reacted poorly to the situation, but seemed unaware of his own part in things. Being the person that I am, I tried to point out that his way of expressing anger could be something to look at as well. That piece of insight was not very well received.

In fact, when this fellow’s anger was focused on me, I found it easy to get hooked by it. It was a bit of a challenge to maintain my composure, which is a testament to how powerful an impact it has when we turn our anger on another individual. When I realized that I was getting riled up myself, I chose to remove myself from the situation. It’s my practice to handle my anger privately, since I know that I can say some pretty harsh things when I am angry – things I don’t really mean, which are intended only to be hurtful. I want to manage my anger in such a way that I can engage with people in a thoughtful and purposeful way.

There are plenty of ways to defuse angry people, but when I am in the midst of anger myself, I honestly don't feel like it.  I don't always want to get to the heart of what is really bothering or scaring someone who is unleashing their anger on me.  Sometimes, I just want don't care enough to take the verbal assault.

To this particular individual, my withdrawal looked like “running away and not playing anymore.” And that was true, in part. I didn’t actually want to play a game of one-upmanship with angry words. His claim was that I would keep encountering angry people in my life until I learned the lesson they had for me. In that moment, I think he knew what that lesson was supposed to be. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, and I realize that I have learned a thing or two about anger.

Anger is useful. Anger is good. Anger is a legitimate emotion. As Julia Cameron says, “It is meant to be acted upon, not acted out.” Anger can direct us toward meaningful work in our lives. It can also be expressed in a way that separates us from others. Listening to anger can help determine what actions one wants to take in life. This is different from imposing anger on others.  You can listen to your anger, but other people don't necessarily want to.

What I have learned from engaging with angry people is that it often isn't worthwhile to me to spend time and energy supporting someone who doesn't want support. When someone is in the middle of expressing anger, there isn’t a lot of room for another person’s insight or challenge. And I don’t have to engage in another person’s anger any more than I want to. Not only can I choose the partnerships that have meaningful value in my life, I can manage my anger in such a way that I bring my very best to those partnerships.

I know of organizations that have experienced great turmoil because a few people were unable to manage their anger or express it in a meaningful way. So, I don’t mean to suggest that anger should go unacknowledged. If one is unwilling to see the fear that is underneath the anger, however, festering anger can be devastating to many people. Expressing anger publicly is a way to gain power and get one’s way without much of a challenge. Managing one’s anger privately and bringing some practical suggestions forward publicly can be transformational on many levels.

It’s true that I have learned lessons from the angry people I have encountered. Not least of which, I’ve been able to make some choices about how I want to handle my own anger. But I may keep encountering angry people nonetheless, no matter how many lessons I have learned. Maybe they have something to learn from me, too.

Draco and the Labyrinths

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.

Knowing

What I have learned or read doesn't always make a smooth transition into what I do. Even when I understand something intellectually, applying that understanding sometimes takes effort. I'm thinking about this because of a conversation I had a few days ago. The other person was agreeing with me, and then saying something completely different. I got nods and verbal statements like "Right" and "I agree." Then the next thing I heard sounded like the opposite of what I had said. And I honestly believe that this person thought we were in agreement.

I was frustrated. I ended the conversation for the time and resolved to figure out a better way to explain or demonstrate what I was thinking before we talked again. The next day, it struck me. I already know very specific and valuable communication tools that would have been ideal for that exact situation. Why didn't I use them? Was I too bowled over with disbelief that someone would say "I agree" and then disagree? I don't subscribe to the notion that on some level I didn't really want to be heard, and I'm certainly capable. I simply didn't apply what I knew in that situation.

Something very similar happened yesterday when I was introduced to someone. When asked what I do, it didn't even occur to me in that moment to say the well-rehearsed elevator pitch I've been honing. What I said may have been good enough to get the point across, but the bold and succinct elevator pitch was really perfect for that situation. Why didn't it just roll off my tongue? Why did my brain search for something to say instead of just recalling that planned response to a clear, direct question?

My best guess is practice. Knowing what to say really doesn't have a lot of practical value until I open my mouth and say it. Same thing with recognizing the solution to a challenge. It may be nice to have the tools, but what actually makes a difference is using those tools. If that isn't second nature yet, I think that means I get to practice letting what I know inform my behavior. I suppose that's what a creative life is all about... finding effective ways to get ideas from my head into reality. And trusting myself to know how to do it.

Warum?

At a solo trombone recital I recently attended, a particularly convoluted piece (composed by my mentor, Art Gottschalk) was half musicianship and half performance art. It ended with the trombonist asking aloud, Warum? Several days later, that moment is still simmering in my head. Why?

Children are famous for asking the question incessantly, but almost everyone I know is intrigued by this question on some level: Why don't I have any money? Why did I get a promotion? Why is that person famous? Why are those people wealthy? Why did my grandmother die? Why can't I be in a functional relationship? Why did I get sick? Why did they make that decision? Why did that movie get made? Why is gas so expensive? And on and on.

In my life, I have been asking a lot of why questions, too. Why does composing matter to me? Why is it important to me that other people hear what I create? Why do I want to teach? Why do I want to live where I am? I want to know the reasons underneath my decisions and my actions, primarily so I can ensure that what I'm doing is based on something that matters rather than on my fear of what might happen.

The problem is that sometimes people will accept any explanation as an answer. Why don't you have any money? Because you haven't taken the right courses. Or because you work in the wrong industry. Or because you spend it unwisely. Or any other number of reasons. And there are enough answers that one can ignore the unappealing possibilities and focus on the more palatable ones. And justifying which explanations I accept (and act on) has been one way I've kept myself from truly creating what I want.

The truth is that sometimes we don't get to know why. Sometimes people get sick, and it doesn't have anything to do with their behavior or God being angry at them. Some people become famous or wealthy, and it might have more to do with their persistence than anything scandalous or worthy of criticism. Of course, it might seem more satisfying to come up with a convincing explanation that taps into our judgments and beliefs.

I could spend so much time researching or inventing feasible reasons why things are the way they are that I risk forgetting the most important thing: I can create what I want in my life. It requires knowing what I want, and it helps if I have a strong purpose. But there isn't a secret formula out there that is going to create it for me, and there isn't a proper way to do things that I need to learn. I'm not missing anything I need. It's just a matter of living out what I want to be. Why? Because I am who I am. No more and no less.

Becoming Unnecessary

Reading over some of my past entries, I find that I often write about little discoveries (and big ones), but I don't often include much about the victories that follow on the heels of those discoveries. This is therefore a bit of self-acknowledgment.

Already I am realizing that the title I chose is rather inaccurate, but it is as good a starting point as any. I spent a portion of my time at work today doing little more than checking in with people. Some of the people I supervise are volunteers and some are paid employees, and in the past, I have scurried from one room to another in a frenetic attempt to oversee everything at once. This season, I did things a little differently, putting into practice all of the pieces I have been learning about leadership and vision.

I communicated clearly my vision for this particular program, and I facilitated coordinated preparation between different people. I have spent time in conversation about available resources and realistic time management on a small and large scale. Today, I watched as these capable and dedicated individuals went about doing their part and I found that my presence was simply not needed. I'm sure that it made a difference to someone that I was there, but there wasn't anything I had to do.

By holding the vision, empowering the people who were carrying it out, and remaining connected to everyone involved, I have begun to live out a different model for leadership than what I previously practiced. It was rewarding today to watch everything happen smoothly, to sit back and appreciate the commitment and purposefulness of people doing something they believe in, knowing that it was taking place in part because of my efforts.

So it isn't actually true that I am becoming unnecessary in the process. What's true is that I have begun to see my role in the creation process, and the roles of other people as well, in a new light. It was absolutely worth being present today, even though there wasn't anything I needed to do.

The Upward Spiral

There are plenty of people who claim that history repeats itself, in the large scale of societies and in the small scale of individual lives. Of course there is Shaw's claim that "If history repeats itself, and the unexpected always happens, how incapable must Man be of learning from experience." I'm thinking about this today because I am experiencing a bit of it. I make my commitments toward what I want to create in my life, and I somehow find myself facing in the opposite direction overcoming challenges that I thought I had already conquered.

I want to create. It is a passion of mine. Specifically, creating music is something for which I possess strong passion and capability. Creating music requires (among other things) time. It is not how I spend my time, however. I spend my time on the thing which currently brings me a paycheck. And yet, that "thing" is so nebulously defined in some ways that I have a great deal of flexibility in how my time is spent. So my commitment earlier this year was to shift away from spending my paycheck-related time on the mundane tasks that anyone can do and focus that time on the things for which I am more uniquely passionate and skilled.

And yet, those mundane tasks that anyone can conceivably do are still important. Not in an earth-shattering kind of important, but in a meeting basic week-to-week expectations kind of important. So, if I am spending less time on them, it means that someone else must be doing them. Obviously, for my commitment to line up with practical reality, my goals would be best served by finding other people to take on the more mundane but necessary tasks. A short-term expenditure of time to locate and train someone leading to a long-term benefit of gaining more time to create.

But somehow, there always seem to be mundane tasks that need doing. I find myself looking back at my week thinking, "How did I spend so much time and have so little satisfaction from it?" At first I thought, other people aren't willing to do the mundane but necessary tasks, so I'm stuck with them. That's not exactly true, though. I have found willing people, I just keep finding more things to do that don't engage my deepest passions. So I recommit to shifting how I allocate my time, only to find myself doing a different set of mundane (but necessary?) tasks.

Now, I am thinking, how frightened must I be of getting what I truly want? There will always be easy choices about spending my time on more-or-less insignificant tasks, but the most immediately obvious task isn't necessarily the one that will serve my long-range goals. In fact, the most obvious tasks are often the ones that will rob me of the opportunity to get a little closer to what I truly want.

The life I envision for myself is not to make the easiest choices, but to make the most fulfilling ones. I am now looking at this decision again from a slightly different angle. I'm faced with re-learning the lesson, but I have made progress. I recognize the challenge, but I am getting more masterful and more determined. My commitment matters a little more to me now than it did the first time I claimed it. So, here I go again.

Waves

I went to the beach for the first time in a long time today, and I was delighted to be in the presence of my four-year-old nephew. The big attraction was wave jumping, and I noticed a ton of things as I observed and participated in this simple activity.

First off, I couldn't predict much about the waves. I could see them coming in, and I could be fairly confident that more were on their way. But there was not a regular interval between them, and there was no way to predict exactly where they would break. Sometimes they would look immense as they approached, only to break far enough out that their impact was minimal. Sometimes they would crash against us one right after the other. Sometimes I was surprised, and once even knocked over, by their unexpected force. And the waves didn't impact everyone equally, even people standing fairly close together.

My nephew's reaction to them was also very educational. He was primarily concerned with how the waves would impact him, nobody else. It was utter playfulness. He would mostly jump to try to clear them. Sometimes he would hold on to someone, jumping up but staying more or less in one place as a wave passed. Sometimes he would let the wave carry him a little bit. Once or twice he even got a face full of salt water unexpectedly, after which he quickly wiped off his face, smiled at his miscalculation, and got ready for the next one.

As much for myself as for you, I'll just connect the dots here. Life will happen. I don't know what it will throw at me, and even if I notice something approaching, I don't really know that I will accurately predict how hard it will impact me. My experience will be uniquely my own, but I can hold on to others when I want to maintain my stability. I can let life carry me or I can exert my own effort, but I can't control anything beyond myself. In any case, I can be playful with life. I might get an unexpected splash, and I might even get knocked down, but I can stand back up and smile and get ready for what comes next. And there will always be something coming next. Something moving. Something calling me into motion.

Frisbee Golf Lessons

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?

Whose Vision?

I am one of those people who has a clear idea in mind of what I want from life. I don't always know exactly how to get there, and I don't always do the things I believe will get me closer to my vision. Over the past few months, several lights have gone off for me as I observe my behavior and notice the things I do that sabotage my own efforts.

One of those has been the realization that I have a bit of fear regarding success. I don't want to be driven to achieve things; I don't want to be spending all of my time working toward something and not enjoying the result. But when I take a look at the true vision I have for my life, I can see clearly that the drive to accomplish things is actually a distraction from what would really mean success for me. I lose focus on what is vitally important to me at the core of my being, because it's easier to work toward concrete, short-term, easily-defined goals. That these goals often do nothing to propel me forward can escape my notice when I am bouncing from one task to the next.

So where to all of these goals come from if they don't serve my vision for my life? Other people. Sure, my mind can come up with distractions and busywork to keep me treading water so I don't have to confront an irrational fear of getting what I really want, but it doesn't usually have to exert itself. Other people's vision for what I should be doing, for what they need, or for what life should be like can distract me from being aware of how my own vision quest is progressing.

And I want to be a part of other people's vision for lots of reasons: I want to make a difference. I believe in what they want for the world. I want to validate their ideas. I want them to be happy. I want to be valued. But the bottom line is, I often allow what I want most for my life to take a back seat in order to spend my time and energy on someone else's vision. Whether the other person's vision has merit or creates something good in the world is irrelevant at a certain point.

There can be something profoundly healthy about asking "What's in it for me?" In the past, I have thought of that as a selfish question. When people wanted to know what they would get out of something, I have often judged them. Now I am learning that there is nothing selfish in asking how my deepest, most heartfelt intentions will be satisfied by a certain decision or course of action. And when I look at it honestly, there is certainly no reason to fear following that vision.

Photo by Fishtail@Taipei

Seeing Beauty

Well the wall is almost finished, looking better than it did before in some ways. And the little bugs that were crawling around in it have (hopefully) been sent on to a place of never-ending wood-munching bliss. So this morning, I was thinking back to the day of the swarm.

Before they were in the house, my wife looked out at our back patio where thousands of white-winged termites were flying around in a dense, almost graceful swarm. She was filled with appreciation for their delicate beauty, like living dandelion seeds dancing right outside our door. It was a gift to her, a special moment of wonder and delight.

She didn't know what the bugs were, or that they were eating a little bit of our walls, or that their delicate dance would soon be inside our house. That resulted in a bit of a freak out. But before all of that, there was a moment when their beauty was appreciated with untainted eyes. That is how I would like to see the world, too. Thank you for teaching me that, Joy.

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.