Finding the Gift

Some people say that everything happens for a reason. My own belief is that whatever happens holds a gift for me, a lesson that can propel me forward, even if only slightly. On the one hand, I understand why someone would be comforted by the idea that their auto collision happened as a part of a greater plan. That concept bothers me, though. Not only is there no way to know whether or not it's true, the idea defers responsibility and credit for the events of my life. If I happen to be in an auto collision, however, I believe that I can find at least one gift in that experience if I look for it. Some verifiable truth about myself, or other people, or life itself.

This afternoon, I spent a few hours at a community celebration of the Persian New Year. I am not Persian (although I was told that I have a Persian nose!), so I was a bit of an outsider in the festivities. As I observed people, I saw a great deal of connection among them. It was a bona fide display of community. And when I mentioned this to someone, he replied in a very matter-of-fact tone, "Many of the people are here because they cannot be in their own country, and yet they do not feel a sense of belonging in America. So it is important to them to be connected with people who share that in common."

Unable to be in community with some of their loved ones who remain behind, they are living in a place where they have greater chance for safety and success. Yet there are frequent reminders that they are cultural outsiders in many ways. And in the midst of that challenging situation, they find a healthy way to "belong" with one another. Many of them even envision a culture in which everyone will truly belong, but for the time being, solidarity among those with a similar cultural experience has greater importance. That connection is a gift. That unity is a strength.

Of course, there are many examples of cultures that have found that gift, even in American history. With minds that love to categorize things and itemize differences, it is a gift when we are able to focus instead on commonalities. What I found as I continued to interact with people at the celebration was an even greater gift. I was only an outsider in my own mind, as long as I was enumerating all of the differences. Despite having a radically different cultural experience, I was welcome. Although I did not share their heritage, I could appreciate it. There was willingness on both sides to find unity.

I'm not sure I believe in artificial inclusiveness, primarily because I don't believe it ultimately addresses the fundamental reason for segregation: how people think. When people are willing to see similarities and create inclusion, however, I believe there is the potential for great strength to result. And I am grateful for the opportunity to bear witness to and participate in that gift today.

What To Do with Disappointment

Disappointments seem to come more frequently when I am bringing myself forward most fully. When I am trying new ways of doing things and stepping into the unknown, I experience more disappointment than when I play it safe and stay in my comfort zone. Predictability isn't ultimately satisfying, though. The big dreams and the worthwhile visions don't hang out in my comfort zone. So, if I accept that disappointment is part of the journey, what do I do with it?

Ignoring disappointment isn't always easy, even if I intend to do so. When a recent Power of Connection course didn't make enrollment, though, I had so many other irons in the fire that it was easy to get over the disappointment quickly and keep focusing on the endeavors that were in motion. I still would have liked to hold the course, but dwelling on that would have potentially taken energy away from other things that mattered to me. The down side of getting over disappointment quickly is that I don't put a plan in place for what I want to do differently in the future.

Simply dwelling on how things didn't work out the way I wanted would be counterproductive, too. At a previous job, I was disappointed that my insights were not heard or respected, and I will admit to spending some time wallowing in that frustration. When I started to examine possible causes, though, I was able to come up with several possibilities. Perhaps I could have been more descriptive in laying out my vision, since others may not have an easy time seeing the possibilities I saw. It's possible that my expectations of the position simply didn't line up with what others thought it should involve. There could have been some political maneuvering going on that had nothing to do with me. Or a few individuals may have had personal issues that weren't being addressed. Or, or, or...

When I take the time to think about why my expectations may not have lined up with reality, it offers me a chance to plan for how I can potentially come closer to what I want the next time I'm in a similar situation. And it helps me to see that there are some factors that may just be out of my control. But if I am able to recognize how telling a more vivid and compelling story can help others see more clearly what I envision, I can change how I describe the possibilities I see. If it seems most likely that a course I'm teaching would reach its maximum enrollment when others are helping to market it, I can start looking for partnerships plenty of time in advance of the next course.

In starting a new business with a wellness company, I am telling a lot of people what I'm creating and why. Some of them aren't as interested as I would like them to be, but when I return to the purpose behind what I'm doing, it becomes much easier to be invigorated by the possibilities. Many times, I have sent out a piece of music to a competition, only to learn a few months later that another composition was chosen instead of mine. I am understandably disappointed. But when I wrote the piece, winning a competition didn't really enter into my motivation.

When purposefulness slips into desperation, it can seem overwhelming that what I had hoped for didn't come to fruition. But when I remember my intention and I am open to seeing a wealth of possibility, each moment of disappointment is an opportunity to define my next steps and fine-tune my goals. I know a little more about what I want and what I can do to create it. The path is in many ways a game of trials and errors. Inspirations and adjustments. Growth.

Going with the Flow

Photo: AP
Over the last several days, I have taken a little time here and there to sketch out a plan for a new piece. I find that the music I write makes more sense if I know where I am going with it. Deciding on a overarching form, and creating a "schematic" of how the instruments will interact with each other, provides some general boundaries for a composition. It is rather like looking at a map and planning a route to get from the first sound to the last, even before I know what those sounds are exactly.

Today was the first day I actually put notes on a page, using my preparatory work as a loose guide. I like what I wrote, and I have some great ideas for where it can go. But it is obvious to me at this point that some of my initial thoughts about the piece will be discarded. The route I had mapped out didn't take into consideration that a bridge was out. Or that there is a particularly beautiful stretch of road I would be missing.

Some of the music I wrote while I was in school took on a pedantic feel when I was unwilling to give up a carefully planned concept for the sake of aesthetics. I don't enjoy listening to music that is more intellectual than it is expressive, but that is exactly what I wound up creating when I was inflexible about my plans for a piece. I am proudest of my works that are engaging, even when this meant sacrificing a bit of the intellectual design to give the musical ideas their own space. I want to write more music like that.

And I want to be living like that as well. Dancing with what happens and still keeping a general sense of what I want to be about. I may wind up creating something unexpected, and it may be different that what I originally conceptualized. But the alternative is to work against what life brings me, and "lifeless" isn't an adjective I want applied to anything I create.

Putting Yourself in the Story

Once in a while, a scandalous tell-all makes the news because it ruthlessly reveals someone's secrets. The scandal isn't that a person's actions or decisions are published, but rather that their identity is made blatantly clear. If the same story is written with names and circumstances sufficiently altered or obscured, it isn't scandalous at all. It becomes only slightly elevated above fiction in that it is "based on actual events."

Even when I read a work of fiction, I often find myself identifying with a character. The more life-like and realistic the portrayal, the more inclined I am to find commonality with him. It is often clear that an author's inspiration for characters are actual friends and acquaintances, people that have had an impact or made a lasting impression. My sense is that it could be flattering to know that you are an important part of someone else's story.

This venue is where I have been telling my story. My challenges, my learnings, my goals. I have been sharing it because I believe that I am not alone in my experiences, and that others can benefit from what I learn in my journey. It is my hope that a reader will in some way be able to see himself or herself in my story.

Not being an island, there are of course other people connected to my story. Some of them offer support and some offer challenges, but they all offer opportunity. With very few exceptions, I have kept their identities confidential. I trust that anyone reading will recognize that what I share here is much more about me than it is anyone else. This arena is not intended to reprimand or scandalize, but I have learned things from my interactions and connections with others. In fact, these are some of the most important lessons I have learned. They are worth sharing.

For the past year, I have done very little to engage my musical creativity because of my commitment to a group of people I value. When I began articulating my story here, I had hoped that it would be additional incentive to compose and send my music out into the world. What I learned is that my innermost passions include having meaningful connection with others and challenging others in their own growth journey. As I turn the page to a new chapter in my story, I see greater opportunity and desire to make creating music a priority. I am confident that my growth will continue as long as I am willing, and I hope that those readers who see themselves in my story continue to grow as well.

Being On Purpose

Horror movies are in plentiful supply this time of year, and they come in all forms. Sometimes the fright comes watching the machinations of a malicious intelligence, human or supernatural, unfold in some gruesome manner. Zombies are terrifying for an entirely different reason. They relentlessly and thoughtlessly keep pursuing their most basic need without conscience or rational thought. They don't care that they never actually accomplish anything beyond eating because they have no purpose and no ambition.

Being willing to ask the question "What am I doing here?" opens a floodgate of possibility, as it turns out. Without that question, we are not much further along than the zombies, acting to satisfy what we perceive our most basic needs without stopping to think about what we actually want to achieve. Asking the question paves the way for an even more meaningful one: What do I want to be doing? With a meaningful purpose, every decision can be measured. Does what I am doing contribute to what I want to create, or does what I'm doing actually stand in the way?

Waking up to a clear purpose also means that I invite opportunities to live out that intention. If I were comfortable being a zombie, I would never even consider watching for those opportunities. I would just keep doing the most obvious thing without questioning it. Now, I can clearly state that I want the music I create to make a difference in the world, that I want what I create (musically and otherwise) to have a positive impact on other people's lives. I also want to continue seeking out things that inspire and invigorate me, the things that keep me asking questions and finding answers.

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.

Dark Corners and Open Spaces

Dark corners seem seductive sometimes. They are secretive and mysterious. Exciting even. Things that are whispered in dark corners are often titillating... things that wouldn't be spoken out in the open. Plots, schemes, complaints, juicy tidbits of gossip. In dark corners, you can say things without having to take too much responsibility for them. Some people may be suspicious of what hides in the dark corners, but it's an easy place to hide.

It's much safer than what happens out in the open. In open spaces, things cannot be quite so easily hidden. It may not be as exciting, but things spoken out in the open are often more honest. There's a greater likelihood that someone will be held accountable for something done where everyone can see and hear. It certainly seems more risky and vulnerable than the dark corners.

But actually, if we want our complaints and concerns addressed, there is a greater likelihood that we will get what we want when we are willing to be honest and open about them. If we can look someone in the eye and communicate openly about what we want, that individual actually has a chance to respond. Going into dark corners and whispering may be more exciting, but it often doesn't give anyone an opportunity to respond meaningfully. It does allow us the illusion that we don't have to take responsibility for our part in things... that someone else is responsible for dealing with our issues.

Unless what we really want is to complain without consequence, to create dissension or anxiety, to find collusion rather than solution. I find it difficult to believe that anyone truly wants that, deep down in the core of their being. Perhaps I am being naive, but it seems obvious that there is no real power or peace in the dark corners. As I see it, the true power comes from a willingness to connect with another person, even one with whom I have differences, openly and honestly. Then, our creativity can be engaged in finding ways forward in partnership. There isn't really any way forward from a dark corner, except out into the open.

The Power of Partnership, Part 2

I had occasion last week to go back through this blog and read all of my old entries. In May, I wrote about the power of partnership and how willingly people seem to partner with me when I give them an opportunity. More recently, I wrote about learning in a spiral, getting a new perspective on a particular challenge each time I encounter it. Today, the spiral has brought me back around to partnership because of three important pieces I gained over the past few days.

It has been because of partnership in communication that I have become more keenly aware that I am trying to do something unusual in my life. I am looking at what I want in my life and determining how to create it. Recognizing that the plan I am putting in place is not designed to change everything overnight, I am still seeking the small steps I can take toward a distant goal while getting all that I can from where I am in the moment. I want there to be purpose rather than reactions behind my choices, and I want to develop my sense of personal authenticity while empowering others to do the same.

Sometimes I just assume that this all makes sense to others, but I have also realized how easily people can draw off-the-mark conclusions when they only have bits and pieces to go on. My willingness to communicate has often involved me believing I was doing my best to be approachable and then waiting for someone to ask a question. Now I am seeing how that has led to some frustration and how much personal power that actually gives away. Waiting for other people to open the door for me also gives me constant ammunition to judge and criticize, to deflect attention away from the fact that I haven't been opening those doors myself. My predictions or assumptions about how people will respond can keep me from opportunities for satisfying partnership.

At one point, I thought that the limitation of that was in finding people who are willing to partner. I knew that I can't do everything myself, but I was not entirely convinced that anyone else wanted to be a part of what I am trying to create on any level. Yet even in the last few days I have been elated that individuals have responded favorably when I sought partnership. What it took was making it clearly known what I wanted, and people appeared willing to find out more. When I allowed fear to keep me from opening my mouth and asking for it, partnership was much less possible.

But I have also learned that I can partner with people who are not as intentional about their partnership. When I am willing to stand in my own competence, insight, and vision, without worrying about what other people see and without trying to prove anything, I can partner in some way with anyone. Their own fears, beliefs, and assumptions might limit how high that partnership can soar, just as mine will when I slip out of alignment with myself. But even limited partnership is not without value.

Creativity Reigns

We had three bids to repair the wall that the termites had eviscerated. All three of the contractors we called are registered with the Better Business Bureau with no complaints, and we knew people who had used all three of them for one thing or another. We were both pleased and disappointed with their bids. The highest bid was about what we had expected the lowest bid to be, but there was still quite a bit of price differential. We didn't want to go with the lowest bid on price alone. (Well, we did, but we were a little scared to.) At the same time, we didn't want to go with the high bid and assume that the quality of work would be equally high.

Because of the radical price difference, we felt certain that a couple of the contractors were leaving something out, so we started comparing the quotes and asking questions. Two of the companies went into great detail to tell us how much work was actually involved and what problems they expected to encounter along the way. The third seemed to be fairly confident about the whole job. When we brought up the problems the other two had postulated, he proposed a very workable solution for each one that made the problem seem like much less of an ordeal. These issues were not matters of building code or safety, but cosmetics and simplicity.

Two of the contractors were reacting to what they initially saw and what their immediate thoughts were about the situation. They weren't really putting themselves out to find a different way to address the issues; their first impulse about the way to solve the problem was good enough. Maybe that's because they wouldn't be paying for them. The third contractor was a little more savvy. The challenges that would go along with this job had simple solutions, they just required a little creativity and a willingness to think about the possibilities before relegating oneself to a single answer. His attitude assured us that, if unforeseen problems arose, this guy would take a step back and figure out a reasonable way to address them. The other two could spend a lot of time and money trying to make things work the way they thought things had to work.

In the end, we decided to go with the cheapest of the bids we received, but it had little to do with money. We could afford any of the bids, truth be told. The bottom line was that we trusted in a particular contractor's creativity.