The Irrelevance of Evidence

Speaking as an ex-church-goer (actually I consider myself post-Christian), Easter no longer has much relevance to me as a holiday.  I still value the celebration of rebirth and new life in its manifold expressions, but now I honor those concepts differently than I once did.  Musically speaking, the Passion story is tough to ignore.  In Western art music, there have been an astounding number of compositions written on the theme of the Passion.  Although I haven't done the research, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that it is second only to romantic relationships in terms of the number of musical works the story has inspired, many of them profoundly beautiful. 

 What has amazed me in recent years, and this week in particular, are the number of churches and religious programs focused on the historical evidence for Biblical events, as if the factual accuracy of a story has a direct relationship to its value. When one needs to solve a mystery or defend a case in court, certainly factual accuracy and verifiable evidence are necessities. But spiritual mysteries are not intended to be solved, and spiritual truths do not need factual defense.  Reducing one's faith to a belief in provable data removes a large part of the potential for spiritual growth through self-examination.  Why would one be inspired to grow or develop as a human being in response to mere historical fact?

Perhaps my view of the value of spirituality is off-kilter in that regard.  It is highly possible that only a small percentage of people now view religion or spiritual practice as a vessel for growth.  Factual, historical data does not necessarily compel one to treat other people differently, or to focus one's life in a specifically meaningful way, and that may be what some people prefer about the approach.  To me, it always seems that someone is trying to convince me of something when the issue of historical validity enters into a conversation about spirituality.  And the evidence they may present to convince me of facts has no bearing on the spiritual value of the story.

Like most other streams of thought, I've been considering how this relates to creative practice as well.  I believe that every creative person at some point, even if only for a moment, wrestles with the question of whether what s/he creates has value.  There are certainly ways to answer that question based on awards won, commission fees paid, tickets sold, or reviews written.  All of that pales in comparison to whether the creative act has value to the creator, and ultimately I believe that is the most important (and least data-driven) answer.

Milton Babbitt, a sly smile from the Princeton professor

In 1958, the composer Milton Babbitt had an essay published in High Fidelity magazine entitled "Who Cares if You Listen?" (not his original title), in which he advocates the continued support for the development of music as an art form without regard for how large an audience it may attract.  While this may present some practical complications, the underlying principle is really that the creative must ideally be free to create what is personally inspiring, rather than what is deemed popular.  It is through that deep sense of creative freedom that a culture progresses, in art as well as science.  Doing what has received the popular stamp of approval is treading water creatively.  Trusting a personally inspiring means of expression, whether one is painting, composing, programming, or constructing, builds momentum for the individual creative and ultimately everyone in an outward ripple.


It all depends on trusting the personal meaning that one finds in what one is doing, however.  So, on a day when some would convince me of their beliefs with historical data and impersonal facts, however legitimate or skewed they may be to prove a particular point of view, I am turning instead to what is personally meaningful, seeking that inner trust for what I am creating that will best serve what I can contribute in the world without falling back to the illusion that I have something to prove.

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: The Fourth Map

                                                                                                                                                                        

As they sat and rested, Seeker said to the Smiling Man, "I understand that you are quite content to journey with no destination in mind, but I want to choose a destination for myself."

The Smiling Man asked, "Well, did you have something specific in mind?"

"Actually, I think the destination that matters most to me is True Happiness."

The Smiling Man laughed heartily.  "My friend, I frequent that locale daily."

"But you simply wander where your Arrow Map points and make the most of whatever you find there."

"Fair enough," the Smiling Man nodded.  "But it seems that True Happiness is a destination one may easily reach if one is willing to do so.  Does it seem strange to be in two places at once?  It is more common than you may think."

Seeker pondered this and eventually replied, "Yes, I believe I see your point.  True Happiness is not a destination I need to seek.  If I am honest with myself, I know how to get there when I want to.  But still, I believe I would like to determine a focal point for my journey, even if I spend time in True Happiness as well."

The Smiling Man once more asked, "Did you have something specific in mind?"

As Seeker looked around at the mountains and their splendor, he realized that what mattered most to him was having a direction, a purpose that he valued.  He didn't necessarily want to determine a destination where he would live out the rest of his days, but he wanted someplace to serve as a target.  Once he arrived, he could decide on a new destination if he desired.  It perhaps wasn't all that different from the way the Smiling Man journeyed, except that it held a bit more intentionality.  Seeker knew for perhaps the first time how important that intentionality was to him.

His eyes settled on a distant ridge.  Its contour was striking, and its rock formations seemed fascinating at least from this distance.  Seeker imagined that the view from that ridge would really be something worth seeing, and he was confident that he could also arrive in True Happiness as often and for as long as he wished.  So he indicated the ridge and said with some determination, "There.  That's the destination I have in mind."

The Smiling Man said, "Hmmm, that seems like a bit of a trek, but probably well worth it.  I don't believe I'll be pointing myself in that direction, but you can most likely find your way there on your own."  And then his eyes lit up as inspiration struck, "What you need is a map!"

With a bit of resigned amusement, Seeker stated, "I have maps enough as it is."  Once more, he withdrew his Map of Known Routes, the Map of Destinations, and the Arrow Map.  He looked at the ridge at back at the maps in a half-hearted attempt to find a recognizable connection.

"Oh, no, no, no," quipped the Smiling Man.  "That's far too much information.  You would never choose some of those routes and you have no interest in most of those destinations.  You need a map that is more useful and a bit less exhaustive."

"But exhaustive is useful," argued Seeker.  "Until recently, I often checked my Map of Known Routes to insure that I hadn't strayed onto a dangerous or slippery path.  And as recently as today I consulted the Map of Destinations to eliminate all of the places I don't care to go in order to clarify the choices a bit.  Surely you don't suggest I reach that distant ridge by using only the Arrow Map."

"That may actually work.  But I was thinking more of having a map that indicated what you actually want in way of routes and destinations, instead of confusing the matter by looking at every possibility every time you want to go somewhere.  If your map shows you where you want to go and how you want to get there, isn't that enough?"

"What if I'm wrong?  What if I wind up on the wrong path, one that doesn't actually lead where I want to go?  What if a path doesn't go where I expect it to?"

"Then you make adjustments as necessary.  It's not actually all that difficult."

Seeker was still a bit skeptical.  "Why should I trust cartographic advice from a man who exclusively follows an arrow that points him in whichever direction he wishes to go in any given moment?  I mean, it is a fine way to appreciate the journey, but I seriously doubt your method is a reliable way to travel with purpose."

The man's smile didn't fade as he turned his Arrow Map over and showed Seeker the other side.  It was a simple affair, but it had some important destinations and reliable routes to them.  "I know how to get to the places that really matter to me when I want to."

Suddenly, Seeker found his opinion of this traveling companion sharply adjusted.  He spent the next few hours learning from the Smiling Man how to create a map with only valuable information on the back of his own Arrow Map.  The Smiling Man wouldn't tell him if it was accurate, and he didn't express any approval or disapproval of what Seeker thought was valuable information.  When it seemed complete enough for Seeker to resume his journey, the Smiling Man slowly nodded with satisfaction.

"I wish you the most enjoyable travels, Seeker.  You will encounter others along the way who can help you correct and clarify your map as you go, but don't blindly trust anyone who tells you that you've got something wrong.  Test it and see for yourself, and you'll always know you're on the right track."

Seeker thanked the Smiling Man, and he folded his old maps and kept them tucked away, just in case.  He felt very happy with his new map, however, and he set off for the distant ridge with a spring in his step.

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.

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.

Blinded By Anger

I felt angry. My immediate response was to discount the feeling and list the myriad reasons why I shouldn't be angry. Anger doesn't solve anything. I had no right to be angry about the situation. Anger isn't attractive or inspiring. Anger is irrational. Anger isn't productive. In fact, it's destructive. So I denied myself the opportunity to fully feel angry for all of those reasons, and I told myself that I needed to just "let go" of my anger in order to create what I want. In essence, I needed to let go of what I was feeling in order to be acceptable to myself.

Refusing to fully acknowledge the emotion didn't change the fact that I was feeling angry. And one of the things I was angry about was not being able to clearly see my next step in developing my business. I was angry at myself for being so busy doing that I wasn't leaving much time for enjoying what I was doing. Sure, I was doing lots of things I expect to contribute positively to what I'm creating, but I wasn't seeing results from some of those activities. And I didn't know why. Was I not being patient enough? Were my expectations off base? Would those particular activities actually benefit me? I couldn't answer the questions, and I felt angry about it.

I was actually angry about a lot of things. Little things that I told myself I really shouldn't be angry about. But whether I wanted to be or not, I was angry. Thanks to a good friend, I was able to see that I had trapped myself by wrestling with the emotion instead of just feeling it and expressing it (in a safe and non-destructive way). It made sense that I couldn't see a way forward from where I was standing. My energy was focused on denying myself a legitimate emotion.

Once I accepted that I felt angry and expressed it, I realized one of the issues that had me frozen in my journey. I was doing things without a means to measure them, and it is impossible for one to evaluate something that isn't being measured. I also realized that part of my anger was stemming from the fear that if I stop engaging in one of those potentially valuable activities, I could sabotage my efforts. So I was caught in a snare of not allowing myself to stop doing something that may be effective, and not giving myself a way to determine its effectiveness. No wonder I was angry about that.

With my anger expressed, I started to see that I can create a way to measure what I'm doing, to evaluate whether it's really having the result I expect. And I started to see that there are plenty of things that I enjoy doing that will support what I am creating. If I stop putting my effort into one ineffective activity, I'm not hogtying myself or limiting my potential for success. There are other ways to create what I want. I don't have to lock myself into one particular irrevocable path.

In the midst of my anger, I was the victim of everything, including my own decisions. As long as I wrestled with whether or not I should be angry, I would remain a blind victim. On the other side of that anger being expressed, my vision is much clearer. And I can laugh at my perceived victimhood as I step through the chains of my self-imposed limitations.

Big Dreams, Small Steps

Although there isn't what I would call an abundance of wildlife in our neighborhood, I do see and hear a few birds from time to time. Usually, they are distant enough that they just sound like a natural part of the background. Except that one day, I heard a chirping that sounded like it was in the hall near our front door. It was very much a part of the foreground, distinct and difficult to ignore. I was certain that a bird had somehow gotten into the coat closet.

When I looked out the front window, however, I saw a little bird perched on the mailbox by our front door. I'm no ornithologist, but this was probably a sparrow or maybe a finch. It was about that size. The mailbox is one of those upright deals attached to the house next to the front door. The top of the mailbox was open, and as I watched, this little bird took a sprig of pollen and dropped it into the box. Then he flew off, only to return a moment or two later with another contribution. And he was so proud of himself that he wanted somebody to know about his accomplishment. He made so much noise in that little echoing alcove that he sounded like a whole flock.

Well, it didn't take me long to figure out that he was building a nest in the mailbox, and although I was greatly amused watching him, I knew that his residence of choice wasn't going to work for me. Before anybody got too comfortable, I put on my heartless villain persona and cleared out the mailbox. The thing was over halfway filled with pollen and twigs and leaves, so I know he had been at this for awhile. I wondered how long I had left the mailbox lid open in that tempting and inviting position. Not only was this little fellow angry, but I heard at least two other noisy little birds chastising me from the bushes as I callously tossed aside their future home and blocked any hope of reconstruction by closing the mailbox lid.

Since then, I have been very aware of whether I have closed that mailbox. I have great confidence that he found another, even more impressive nesting location, but I didn't relish dashing his hopes of raising a family in a cozy little nest by my front door. I thought about that little guy this week, though. I considered how much he had accumulated by taking just one little sprig or leaf at a time and adding to his construction. And I'm imagining that he took some care with just which perfect spring of pollen to place next in his lush abode. He created something pretty impressive by taking it one piece at a time.

That was an important lesson for me this week, even though it's one I've learned many times before. As I looked at my calendar, I saw time blocked out for big projects on various days, and yet I felt like I was spinning my wheels on some things. I was not celebrating each day, I was bemoaning how little forward motion I had created. So, I changed how I was scheduling my time. I took each big project and I decided what the next few steps were. Then I scheduled the sprig-sized tasks instead of just blocking out time to work on the nest. I can imagine that building a nest could be daunting, but going out and getting the next twig or leaf seems simple enough.

I have written before about eating the elephant one bite at a time, and I have learned time and again about strategic planning. But still I get caught sometimes in the temptation to beat myself up over not accomplishing "enough." Like that upward spiral I have described, I am encountering the same lesson from a slightly different vantage point, and hopefully I am learning it a little bit deeper this time. The result for me this time was not only a sense that I am actively creating the big dreams I have set before myself, but also that I have something to celebrate each day as I take that one next step or add that one next little sprig.

Shaking Off the Dust

When something doesn't make logical sense to me, it's tough for my mind to just let it go. I want to figure it out, put all of the pieces in place until I can understand at least one rational explanation, even if it isn't reality. When I really become preoccupied with this process, it can weigh me down. A couple of days ago, I was hanging on to something that not only seemed irrational, but pondering it just sent me deeper into anger about the situation.

Before I left a previous job, I had agreed to help with an event as an independent contractor. All of the pieces were in place as far as I was concerned, and I had taken care to remain in contact with the person organizing the event, just in case there were any changes. I received a phone call from the organizer a few days ago, saying that they were going to get someone closer to the venue instead of keeping me on the project.

I was a bit puzzled, to say the least. I haven't moved, so I am not any further away than I had been. I commented that I believed all of the arrangements were made, and that I was willing to travel if there were additional decisions or changes I needed to be a part of. But this person had it that my involvement was inconvenient, and someone closer would just be easier. My response was to graciously accept the decision and wish them the best.

The more I thought about it, though, the less it made logical sense. After turning it around in my head for awhile, I couldn't conceive of any reason for this person to have developed this idea that it would be better for the event to replace me with someone closer. Unless it wasn't this person's idea. I began to concoct a picture in my head of this planner being influenced by people who disagreed with some of the leadership decisions I had made when I worked there. I began to get angry as I conceived of how my livelihood was being negatively impacted by petty people. Even though I had endeavored remain professional and maintain connections, other people were sabotaging my efforts.

At least in my head. But then, I remembered something I have heard many times about focusing on my strengths rather than perceived weakness. When people concentrate time and energy on weaknesses, they are always catching up. But focusing on strengths leads to forward momentum. It's strange how seemingly insignificant things can add up and weigh a person down, as if the dust on my shoes can actually make my feet work harder. Focusing on my strengths is like shaking off the dust and realizing how much lighter I can actually be. I began to see how this applies to some relationships, too.

What I am trying to create in my life right now actually doesn't depend on my attachment with this old work site. I am not dependent on the people there for my livelihood, and they don't actually have any direct impact on my success. That relationship is primarily part of my past, not my future. While it would be nice to remain connected on a professional level, I can't carry that intention alone. My current goals involve becoming reconnected with people with whom I haven't been in regular contact for awhile and fostering new partnerships of vision and purpose. At a certain point, focusing on maintaining a conflict-ridden relationship detracts from the energy I would like to be putting into developing and nurturing stronger relationships.

So my anger was not for nothing, and I am grateful that I was able to dig into it enough to find the valuable piece and move forward. Hanging on to the anger would have been less productive. But I have more clarity now than I did a few days ago, and in a sense I have given myself permission to move on with dustless shoes.

Parable

Three men set out on a journey, each determined to take their own route. The first set off without clearly defining his destination, and within the first hour he threw away his map. Along the way, he asked the people he encountered, or looked at signs along the road, to find out where he was. When he learned something about his current locale, he would think, "Ah, exactly where I wanted to go next." He knew that no one could criticize him for where he had arrived, because he had no clear destination in mind and could therefore never be off course. And he was only mildly perturbed when he learned that he traveled in circles, because at least he was in motion.

The second man was more clear about where he wanted to go, and he told many people of his intended destination. With great purpose, he set off in the direction he thought best and with great confidence he followed his own internal compass. He kept his map close and he spoke to many people along the journey, but they were of little value. When he consulted the map and learned that it indicated a different route than he had chosen, he assumed that the map was outdated. And when the people he encountered suggested a better way to reach his destination than the route he was taking, he assumed that they were mistaken or even malicious in their intent. Without regard for reality or the counsel of others, he stuck to his own sense of how to get to his destination. He has yet to draw close to it, and it is more and more difficult for him to hide his frustration each day.

The third man had a clear destination in mind, and he shared it with others. He consulted many guidebooks and maps, and when he was satisfied that the accumulated knowledge was sufficient, he began the journey. As he encountered people along the way, he shared with them about his path and his destination. If any had advice or suggestions, he weighed it carefully, considering whether it had merit and adjusting his plan accordingly. Along the way, he planned future destinations and thought about where later journeys might take him, while still holding to the purpose of the path he was on. Although he took time to enjoy the journey, he was also intentional about making at least a little forward progress each day.

A balance of confidence and humility makes any destination more attainable and any journey more enjoyable.

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.

The View From Here

Photo by Ceiniog

My journey in many ways has involved me choosing a path and then looking at my feet as I take every step. I've known exactly where my feet were landing, I've recognized the path, and I've had some idea of my destination, but I've also missed a lot of enjoyment along the way. Now, in relishing my view from this spot where I am right now and letting my feet sink into one step at a time, I recognize just how poised I am for the things that are about to happen in my life.

In a couple of days, I have an interview with a local radio station about my piano CD, Mysteries. A few days after that, I'll be completing my training to teach a course called The Power of Connection, which is a brand new six-week curriculum focused on communication and developing the myriad relationships we have in our lives. I'm composing an experiential piece with a different creative perspective than I have taken in the past, and I'm on the leadership team for creating the August More To Life Weekend in Houston. At the same time, I am able to devote time to many rich relationships, and I have a job that continues to challenge me in ways I don't always expect.

I recognize that I am indeed moving forward, in many directions, even when I'm not consciously watching where my feet are landing. I can trust that they will land on solid ground and enjoy the scenery a bit more. What I see gives me evidence toward the things that are true about me: Rather than being lazy, I am purposeful and I can set realistic goals for myself. Rather than being selfish, I actually care a great deal about people, and I am dedicating time to guiding other people in more effective and intentional communication and relationship with one another. Looking up and enjoying each step as I journey not only lets me see other people more clearly, but it gives me a chance to really see myself.

All in the Timing

When I am working on a piece of music, I am very conscious of the temporal elements. How do different sections relate to one another in length? How much time am I spending on a particular theme? Am I giving the listener enough time to take it in, or am I surpassing a typical listener's attention span? Sometimes, I find myself writing more music to extend a portion of a piece that flits by too quickly, and on other occasions I cast aside something that just doesn't work in the pacing of a piece. Ideally, I want each portion of a work to take just the right amount of time to be appreciated and to relate well to the grand scheme of the piece. Of course, I don't know what any listener's actual experience is going to be, so I rely on what works for my own ears and trust the music.

This week, I have had a series of days in which I didn't do everything I had intended with my day. There are goals I have in several different areas of my life, and when I am not pushing forward toward all of them, I have had a tendency to beat myself up. It is as if I have to cover new ground each day or else I will be doomed to failure.

This isn't reality, though. Far from it. There is something in each step to appreciate, and moving on too quickly would be like cutting short a section in a piece of music. When I take the time to truly recognize what I am gaining from being where I am in this moment, I am better prepared for what comes next. If I go careening forward in a mad attempt to accomplish more and get where I'm headed faster, I can easily slip into panic mode. Today, I am listening to myself a little better. I have plenty of things I want to do today, but I also realize that I have tomorrow. And the day after that. And I am where I am supposed to be right now.

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?

Jumping With No Guarantees

From time to time, I play computer games in which I can save my progress at a particular point and attempt a challenge without any consequences for failure. If something goes wrong, or if I am unsatisfied with my attempt, I can just try again from the point at which I saved my progress. I can do this as much as a like until I overcome the challenge to my satisfaction.

I often think that it would be wonderful to be able to save my progress in real life. Then I can try something out, see what happens, and decide if that's really the course of action I want to take. Taking a step forward seems so much easier when I think I know exactly what will happen. When I don't have any guarantee of success, I have a little more hesitation. Is my forward momentum actually going to carry me in the direction I want? Have I prepared for every possible pitfall? Should I just wait until I have it all figured out?

That's quite a temptation. If I wait until I have it all figured out before I take action, I will always be poised to leap forward and I'll never actually have to take the risk. Of course, the down side is that I will never achieve what I really want either. The truth is that I will never have an absolute guarantee of success. There's not a way to hit "Save" in my life and go back to the beginning of the day if I don't like the way things turn out.

If I want to create a life that expresses the most authentic me possible, a life that is defined by my passions, a life that opens space for transformation in myself and others around me, part of that life involves trusting myself and others. I can prepare to the best of my ability, and I can craft well-designed plans to carry me forward, but my journey will eventually take me to a places where I have to jump without knowing exactly where I will land. The more I think about that, the more it seems like that's one of the most incredible parts of the adventure.

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

The First Step

Breaking down a long-term or daunting task into several smaller, attainable goals is a widely accepted bit of advice. One step at a time, you'll eventually achieve what you want. It often works pretty well for me with things about which I am passionate or deeply committed. But in my moments of laziness or fear, the same practice can work against me.

I sometimes allow a goal to seem so convoluted and complex that I never actually make progress. And it can be anything. The less I think I want to do it, or the more fearful I allow myself to be about the outcome, the more steps I create. My mind can make things seem absurdly complicated. "I don't know if I really want to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. First, I have to open the cabinet and get a plate. Then I have to get the bread package, open it up, pull out a couple of slices of bread, and put them on the plate. I'm going to have to open the silverware drawer and find a knife. I have to go into the pantry and look for the peanut butter, then I have to open the jar of peanut butter, take the knife and dip it into the peanut butter jar..." and on and on.

Not that I do this when I just want a sandwich, but it really can be anything. I'll even write down a list of the steps I want to take to accomplish a long-term or daunting task, and then I'll conclude that I have accomplished something. I have a list of smaller targets, so getting to the larger goal should be a walk in the park. That's worth a pat on the back. But then every time I look at that lengthy list of smaller, short-term tasks, I get exhausted just thinking about starting in on them.

Sometimes it serves me better to just dive in once I have a destination in mind. Constantly planning out a course might be a great organizational exercise, but if I never start following the plan, it doesn't amount to much. I can figure out the intermediate benchmarks and course correct along the way, but the most important thing is getting that first actual step behind me. Once I am committed to heading in a particular direction, every step along the way becomes easier.