Creator

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

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


* * * * * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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


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

* * * * * * * * *

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Farewell for now,
Randy Partain, creator

Wozzeck: Alban Berg Teaches about Creating Deep Understanding

Some people are intimidated by foreign films because they don't understand the language.  Some just say they don't want to read their way through a movie.  I usually read the subtitles, but I also find that the most essential content is conveyed pretty clearly even though I don't understand the actual words.  If I miss a line here or there, I don't find it necessary to rewind the movie in order to read what I missed.  I often think that some people just like what's familiar, and they don't care to risk investing time and energy into an unknown quantity.  There's nothing wrong with that, I suppose.

People are not all that different about music.  We turn up our noses at music that isn't our preference, and we settle into listening patterns that are comfortable to us.  A new song in a familiar style is only slightly intimidating, if at all.  Throw an entirely unfamiliar style of music at someone and I think most people would be quick to judge it unappealing.  I think this becomes more true if that unfamiliar style of music is somehow challenging to start with.

Which brings me to Wozzeck.  I had the great pleasure of seeing the Santa Fe Opera production of Alban Berg's first opera this week.  The work met with great success during Berg's lifetime, even though it presents some challenges to the audience.  Musically, the opera does not follow a traditional understanding of tonality.  No major or minor keys, and no melodies that sound like ornamented folk songs.  The story itself focuses on poor people and those who take advantage of them.  The main characters of the story are not really likeable, and at the same time there is something captivating about them.

Santa Fe Opera/photo by Ken Howard

If someone knew absolutely nothing about opera, Wozzeck might not be the first performance you'd think of suggesting, but I believe that Berg might be just right for a 21st century opera neophyte.  The composer knew what he was creating held some challenges, and he made some decisions that actually help the listener follow the dramatic and emotional flow of the opera.  For one thing, the music still sounds like the mood of the characters, even if it isn't overtly predictable.  A lullaby still sounds like a lullaby, and someone descending into madness in a tavern sounds like someone descending into madness in a tavern.  Berg also uses recurring melodic patterns (leitmotifs) that become recognizable even though they may not sound "tonal".  Within each scene, there is also a focus to the music that fits the scene, whether it is an ominous focus on a single pitch in the orchestra or a rhythm that defines the scene.  In other words, the music makes sense. 

Santa Fe Opera/photo by Ken Howard

While another composer deciding to create an "atonal" opera might write a frustrating and illogical barrage of unrelated pitches, Berg allows the external and internal drama of the characters' lives to dictate the music.  He introduces musical conventions that are now familiar to anyone who has heard a movie soundtrack in the past 30 years, because they are so incredibly and effectively evocative.  Even though these elements may not sound like Mozart, they are easy to hear, and they help the music create the appropriate mood for what is happening dramatically.  The music creates a depth of understanding instead of merely being an accompaniment or backdrop for the story.

Berg was doing something new, and he did it in such a way that his audience would have some access points.  Yes, he challenged some well-established expectations, but he led listeners into understanding what he was doing rather than daring them to sit through an entire performance.  I have sometimes done the latter, and not just musically.  In expressing new ideas or challenging old ones, I have sometimes thrown down a gauntlet instead of leading people into understanding what I see.  Sometimes I have even convinced myself that blatant opposition is the only way to get someone's attention.  It's more dramatic to spit venom and dare people to oppose us, but that approach rarely actually gets us where we want to go.  Berg managed to create connection, even when what he was doing was bound to challenge some people's way of seeing (or hearing) the world.  So, it's possible.  Perhaps as the visionaries and thought-leaders that we are or can be, we can do the same thing: create connection and lead people into understanding what we see. 

When the Glass Is Only Half Full

When people talk about the power of positive thinking, sometimes they slip over the rails into "blind optimism with no regard for reality."  While I do think it's important to see the possibilities in a situation, I also think it's important to line up one's expectations and actions with practical reality.  Glass-half-empty thinking is problematic because it always reveals the shortcomings of a situation, but glass-half-full thinking runs the risk of ignoring pitfalls, or at least pretending that they don't exist in the hopes that luck will claim victory over logic.  Someone who sees the glass half empty is more likely to see that there is an issue crying out for a solution, but if you believe in the detrimental impact of negative thinking, accomplishing that solution can be a struggle for the pessimist who sees every glass as somewhere between half-empty and bone dry.

Which is why I have endeavored to formulate a new take on the glass: it's only half full.  It is on the road to being full, but it isn't there yet.  It isn't half empty, but it's only half full.  There is still work to be done, and that work can have a positive impact.  There's no reason to lament that the glass isn't full, but if a full glass is what you want, you can't ignore the fact that the glass simply isn't full yet.  It's half full, though, which is better than being less than half full.  To me, it amounts to recognizing whatever goal the full glass represents and acknowledging that I have covered some ground and still have a bit more to do.  When there is room for improvement, I can take action.  That's what the glass being only half full symbolizes to me.

All of this has come into play this week because of a job opening accompanying a program that involves playing the same music twice a day, five days a week.  If I go for the position, I could be working with some great people, and I would be facing the challenge of mental and artistic tedium.  The scarcity-theorist within me urges me to jump at it because it's the only accompanying offer on the table at the moment, but strategically, the timing of this position would eliminate any possibility of teaching a university course in the next year or accompanying college recitals or high-school solo and ensemble events.  As I spoke with a couple of people in the know about the opportunity, it dawned on me that I was selling myself a bit short.

It's true that I don't have a ton of opportunities for musical collaboration on the table at this moment, but that doesn't mean that I have to accept a position that is (by all reports) less than what I want.  Just because I want a full glass doesn't mean that I have to throw in anything that will raise the water line.  It matters what I want the glass to be full of.  (Horrible grammar, but still...)  My first step is to define what would equate to a full glass.  Then I can recognize that, at this moment, my glass is only half full.  That leads to identifying what I can do to get the glass a little closer to full.

When I start thinking that the glass is half empty, it can spark a bit of panic.  I have to do something about filling up the glass.  Anything.  That's often not a terribly helpful line of thinking.  I prefer what happens when I think that the glass is only half full right now.  Sometimes, when I take a step back, I realize that it's actually a little more than half full.  Sometimes I think that the glass will never be completely full.  And that's OK. 

Musical Safety

Thinking of me only as a pianist and not realizing that I am a composer, another musician told me of his first experience with a professional orchestra.  He was filling in for a member of the orchestra who was away, and he was very anxious about doing well.  A wave of relief came over him when he learned that they were performing a piece by Tan Dun rather than a well-known piece from Mozart or Beethoven.  Why?  Because, according to him, "it didn't matter what I played."  He perceived a certain vulnerability with the standard, familiar works from what is known as the Common Practice Period (roughly from 1600-1900), but there was room to hide in the unfamiliarity of a contemporary piece. 

European music from that three-hundred-year span has become predictable to our ears, we can tell when it sounds "right" and when something sounds a bit off because we have heard enough of it to form clear expectations.  Even when that music takes a surprising turn, it stays within expected parameters.  There is some comfort in that from the perspective of a listener.  Some musicians apparently find it a bit nerve wracking, though. 
Any mistake is much more exposed in music that has such familiar characteristics.  A more contemporary piece that doesn't follow the same expectations can seem safer because most audience members won't detect any missed notes or rhythms.  So a musician's pride is a bit more protected behind unfamiliar music.  Or even music that an audience expects to be dissonant or difficult to appreciate.

As a composer, of course this is all a bit frustrating.  I don't write music with a 17th- or 18th-century mindset, and at the same time, I don't intentionally create music that is challenging to understand.  I want an audience to be able to find value in every moment of a piece, even if different moments evoke different emotions or ideas.  Fortunately, most of the musicians that have programmed my compositions have accurately represented my intentions for the music.  I am grateful for that.  But in that recent conversation I couldn't help but wonder how much public opinion of "modern" art music is influenced by how musicians treat it.

One need not be an advocate of the avant-garde in order to appreciate music, however.  Technology has made it possible for us to have access to an immense diversity of styles, whenever we care to listen.  For many people, there is no need to attend a live musical performance because an mp3 will suffice.  In fact, musicians are gradually becoming obsolete as technology improves as well.  A composer could conceivably record an entire symphony with virtual instruments and never interact with another living musician.  Hatsune Miku, a popular Japanese singer, is actually a hologram whose voice is created by a computer program called Vocaloid, developed by Yamaha.

So where does this leave me as a composer living in a time when some musicians consider new music to demand less accuracy than more familiar works, when audiences are able to get their fill of music without ever attending a live performance (or listening to anything composed past 1920 if they choose), and when computers are beginning to replace flesh and blood musicians?  I start from the purpose(s) behind what I do in the first place:

1. I create because I am creative, and
2. I compose music to share that creativity with other people.

At the end of the day, I hope to have a positive impact on other people, and music is one powerful way I can do that.  Everything beyond that is just details.  There are certainly some things that a computer can do more efficiently than a person.  Embracing that fact offers me a wealth of possibilities.  I believe that live performances can still have great value as well, so I want to distinguish between pieces that lend themselves to meaningful audience experiences and pieces that can be highly satisfying as a downloaded recording.  In other words, I have a purpose for doing what I do generally, and I have a purpose for each individual project.  Beyond that, it comes down to a matter of trust for the musicians and listeners that take over where my part in the process ends.

Dancing with Reality

I was encouraged to share this recent article I wrote in the newsletter for Envision Coaching Solutions, LLC.  With all of the hectic activity around the move this week, it seems like great timing for it.

 

http://www.oddee.com/item_94046.aspx

Sometimes I have been frustrated when plans go awry, especially when I have spent a great deal of time and energy formulating how things can ideally play out. Unexpected elements can emerge and change things suddenly and radically. There are times when it is tempting to delay action until all the unknown factors come to light. But even though chances for success may be greater with increased information, you might never have all of the information pertinent to a decision.

I wrote a few issues back about "paralysis by analysis". Now I am experiencing the other side of that conundrum, dancing with reality. Without knowing what the future would hold (and without expecting to be able to have such knowledge!), I created a plan for the next several months, and now I am faced with making some pretty big changes to that plan. The reasons for those changes is on the whole very positive: My wife is taking a job doing something at which she excels in a field she absolutely loves. There is some payoff for me in that as well. But it still means making changes to some pretty exciting plans.

Rather than see the situation as a loss, though, I am able to see how I can still be creatively engaging my passions for one simple reason. I knew from the start that there was more than one way to get the outcome I most want in my life. Had I believed that the first possibility I determined was the only way, this would be a very frustrating time indeed. Some people call that single-mindedness attachment to a particular result.

Attachment is not your friend. Determination is valuable to a point, and commitment and resolve and all of those admirable qualities that keep us focused on a goal. But danger arises when we focus on that goal to the exclusion of all other possibilities or when we ignore reality. Every plan of action is really just a proposal, a hypothesis to be tested. You test it by taking action, with full commitment and resolve and determination toward your goal. Then you get feedback, from other people, from circumstances, from your own gut.

The key is to take that feedback and adjust your plan accordingly. You can still focus on the same goal, but you may have to take a different route than you were expecting. It may even be a better route than you had considered. If you are unwilling to alter your plan, you are essentially saying that you know everything that you could possibly need to know to get where you want to go. No one can honestly say that. That is at the very heart of attachment. You must be willing to be wrong in order to create anything of value. That doesn't mean that you will be wrong, but a person who is willing to consider the possibility that he doesn't have every possible piece of useful information will be much more receptive to feedback than someone who can't bear to be wrong.

So, determine your goal, make your plan, take full throttle action on your plan, and then pay attention to what happens next. Whatever feedback you receive is incredibly valuable, and what you do with it is the key to having a plan that will truly carry you where you want to go.

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.

In Sync with Me

Jung's concept of synchronicity is a featured concept in Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way, which I have been working through with a few friends over the past several weeks.  Essentially, synchronicity is "the experience of two or more events that are apparently causally unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner."  In other words, seemingly connected events that don't have a high probability of happening concurrently.  While I am much more prone to labeling such things as coincidences unless they are uncannily pertinent to what I'm doing personally, I have been trying to notice when events seem to be lining up in a significant way.  Perhaps this willingness and intentionality on my part has contributed to a feeling of being "in sync" with my life.

Most theories of personal growth and development postulate an even number of phases, cycling through focusing inward and focusing on something external.  The first phase is usually something akin to survival, concentrating all of one's energy toward getting the basic necessities.  A second phase (if one is able to trust that survival will happen) is often adopting an external set of rules or goals, whether they originate from a church, a political organization, or some other institution with established beliefs.  The next phase would be integrating the meaningful beliefs from outside oneself into a period of defining personal identity.  And once deeper self-actualization has taken place, the following phase would address how to engage with the broader society, or at least some portion of it.  I can see this pattern at work when I look backward at my journey, but I have often been wrestling with whatever phase I've been in.

When I was clearly (looking back) in phases of clarifying personal values, I was also often struggling to engage more purposefully with a larger group.  And sometimes when I have accepted a prominent role within a larger group, I have found myself confronted with challenges about what beliefs are most meaningful to me personally.  While the internal and external work can be in balance, I have frequently tried to force myself to focus in a particular direction when I wasn't actually in the "right" phase to do so.  I have wanted to guard against being focused too narrowly and missing some important piece of personal doctrine.  Certain beliefs about what life "ought" to be about have served better at some junctures than others.  To put it another way, I haven't always been willing to let myself grow because I was afraid of what beliefs I might grow out of.

Everyone has a doctrine—a system of beliefs they live by.  Some piece of a person's doctrine may be incorporated from external sources, and some may come from an internal sense of what's important or how things should be.  But at some point, the beliefs have to become personal if they are going to have deep value.  Living by a doctrine that someone else created for you doesn't reflect integrity.  That's just a sort of irresponsible obedience.  Integrity comes from taking a personal stand for one's own life, claiming a personal set of beliefs not to judge right and wrong in others but to identify what has true personal value.

At some points in my life, the beliefs that primarily informed my decisions were actually different from what I thought I should believe.  I was in conflict with my own doctrine, but I didn't realize it at the time.  Now, I have been taking time to really think about what beliefs are really potent for me.  I have been giving myself permission to be honest about what's most important to me, without worrying about what might get left behind if I focus in a direction that has personal importance.  Trusting myself, with some confidence in what I have been recognizing as valuable for me, I find a strange appropriate-ness in the opportunities I am creating and discovering.

While I may have told myself so in the past as a reassurance or believed it intellectually, I feel in a very deep way that I am in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment in my life.  It's not synchronicity, but I believe that noticing the "rightness" of my experience comes from being conscious of my personal doctrine and aware of how I am able to engage life in a meaningful way.  And when I know that what I believe makes sense, fear has a lot less of a foothold.

How Selfish

When the flight attendants do the bit about putting on your own oxygen mask before helping those around you, it has always been clear why they would need to tell me that so directly.  It's natural for me to put aside my own wants or needs for other people.  So if a situation demands that I take care of myself first, it seems like the exception.  I'm realizing how much more that could represent the norm, how satisfying it can be to focus my attention on my own personal vision.

In the past, I've written about my fear that, underneath it all, I'm a selfish person.  This fear has been with me for awhile, but over the last couple of years, I have focused more purposefully on ridding myself of it.  The problem has been that so much of what I am truly passionate about was taking a backseat to other noble endeavors, and to concentrate more fully on my own dreams and personal vision seemed selfish.  It's hard to get rid of a belief when one is regularly creating new evidence for it.  At the same time, I frequently allow my own goals to be less important than the goals of others, probably because I don't want to appear selfish to myself or anybody else.   

Not being selfish has been the underlying cause of many issues for me.  Most of the situations that I found dissatisfying as an adult have resulted from me working to improve the processes or culture of a place when my ideas were not universally valued.  Instead of focusing my efforts on what mattered most to me, I sublimated what I saw as selfish goals for the sake of a greater good.  I turned my creative abilities and strategic skill toward external organizations rather than using them for my own selfish endeavors, and in so doing, I created a no-win situation for myself.

Now, I believe that there is a difference between being selfish and being self-absorbed.  I believe that one can be both selfish and compassionate.  In fact, I believe that one must be selfish in order to see a personal vision through to fruition.  Creating a life with deep personal meaning often requires guarding time against distractions and choosing relationships that are supportive over those that are toxic.  One may call it self-awareness to soften the blow, but it has certainly felt like selfishness to me.  The truth is, there has never been anything wrong with being selfish, aside from my own personal judgment against myself.

The big lie was not that I am a selfish person.  The big lie is that it is wrong to be selfish.  If I focus on the things I most want in my life, I'll still be creating something that has a broader impact, but it won't be at the expense of my own satisfaction.  Giving myself permission to be selfish without imposing anything on anyone else is one of the most freeing things I have ever done.  I am still interested in being of service to other people, and I know that I will be.  But it makes sense to secure my own oxygen mask and breathe for myself before I help the people around me.

(Not) Accepting Defeat

Last week, my top priority was to complete a new video course for Envision Coaching Solutions, upload the file, and get everything set for people to purchase the course from the website. One of my goals with Envision is to reach more people than I can help through one-to-one interaction, so this video course on building purpose is an important facet of that objective. Since it's the first paid product I've put online, there were a few unexpected challenges in the process.

I had the actual course completed on Saturday, so I expected to finish uploading it and making it available to people by Saturday evening. But the file would not upload to the shopping cart program I am using. I tried using different web browsers and formatting the video into different file types. Eventually, I asked for help from technical support (feeling grateful that they were on call 24/7!). I learned that the file was too large to work with their software and that I needed to compress the file before uploading it.

So I went back to the original video and began a trial-and-error process of finding the right level of compression that would still preserve the quality of my work. This took some time, and in the course of my exploration I discovered .zipx compression that helped a great deal. It also solved the challenge of including a printable workbook with the video. Finally, I had a satisfying blend of quality and compression, so I tried once more to upload the end product. And once more there were issues. I wound up calling tech support again, and was told that .zipx files aren't compatible with their software.

Frustrated and feeling defeated, I resolved to find a way to make the course available. I made several calls and checked out several alternatives. On a lark, I even tried one more time to upload the .zipx file... and it worked! I called tech support again, concerned that if the file type was incompatible with their software that customers may have trouble downloading it. I learned that if I was able to upload it, others should be able to download it with no problem.

I also learned that there was no reason why .zipx files shouldn't work with their software. That's right, someone had just invented that because there was no other reason why my upload shouldn't have worked. And I spent the better part of a day hunting down other options. But I was happy that the process was complete, and I was able to celebrate that success. It was four days later than I had originally hoped, but I had prevailed.

When I told this story to a friend of mine, her response was shocking. "You really let people give you run around sometimes." What? I had overcome the obstacles! I prevailed! The project was online and available for people! True enough. But some of my time had been spent trying to find solutions to problems that didn't exist, just because someone told me that what I wanted wasn't possible. It was easy to believe that. I'm getting better at believing that I can have what I want in my life when I'm the only one responsible. But when someone else is involved, it's still almost automatic to accept that I can't have what I want. That life isn't easy or simple. That things won't go the way I plan.

I'm still celebrating that I got the course online, and I am proud of the end result. I'm also looking at how much I still expect defeat, or at least a struggle. There's really no reason why someone else being involved should limit my success. In fact, some facets of my success are all about partnership. It's worth it to me to start expecting that there is a way for me to have what I want, even if it isn't immediately obvious in every circumstance. In fact, that can help me to inspire creativity in the people with whom I partner, rather than expecting people to disappoint me or make my life more challenging. I'd much rather live in the truth that others can be inspiring, creative, and supportive, too.

Hedging My Bets

Not long ago I wrote about finding focus. The multitude of things I have been building and developing in my life are all meaningful and valuable in some way, and yet I made a startling realization this week: I have been hedging my bets on my own success! Instead of going full throttle toward my passions, I have had other plans waiting in the wings just in case. In many ways, I have been putting out my terms of surrender to the universe, even as I strove for forward momentum.

This week, I received inspiration from a number of sources, and I started trimming the hedges from my plan. What I actually want to surrender to is my inevitable success at being authentically me. Keeping a Plan B in my back pocket is only necessary if I believe that I'm going to fail. In truth, I know that I will always have the opportunity to make new discoveries, course correct, and find a way forward. My journey may not look like what I expect it to, but building a Plan B or C only robs me of my commitment toward what I most want.

My friend, James Towell, wrote this week: "You might know that I do a fair bit of running. After a while, I had to look for a deeper purpose that just getting back in shape. I got that 'I have a body, and I'm going to use it, and enhance its capacity to help me have a full life'.

"Well, I had my first ever singing lesson on Wednesday. I sensed that I'd get more out of it than just an understanding of the voice. Apart from it being tremendous fun, I noticed a similar theme. 'I have a voice. I'm going to see what it can do, and enhance its capacity to see how it can support me in living life to the full'.

"...My running and singing helped me connect with a deep purpose for my [personal] work. I want to see what I can do with my heart and my mind. I want to enhance their capacity for no other reason that to help me live a full life. I'm going to see what I can do. I didn't settle for 'I wonder what it would be like to sing', and I'm not settling for 'I wonder what it would be like to live life without resentments, and with love for myself and others'."

I'm with you, James. There's really no point in betting on my failure or spending time figuring out my eventual terms of surrender. I'm going to see what I can do.

Finding Focus

At a recent recital, I was playing piano for several high school musicians. We had rehearsed together a few times, and I felt confident going into the performance. Then little details started whittling away at that confidence. The piano was arranged in such a way that I could not see the performers well, so I missed some opportunities to coordinate. The room was cold, and the resulting stiffness in my fingers reduced my dexterity. I hadn’t had a chance to practice in that space, so my ears were not accustomed to the reverb…

It looks like a list of excuses from where I am sitting, and perhaps that what it ultimately is. But my performance that day was not what I would have liked it to be. I am convinced that the real reason is simply that I don’t practice as much as I used to. Without frequent practice, the muscles and the mind lose a bit of capability, and I no longer spend the 4–6 hours practicing every day that I once did. If I were to focus my career on being a pianist, I would need to make some adjustments.

Instead, I have concluded that having money is the result of helping other people. I want to find ways to engage my passions in helping other people, and I want to create ways for that to be an income stream, so I am not sacrificing my own well being for the sake of my passions. In fact, that kind of sacrifice is the stuff of martyrs, and I’m not submitting any more applications for that position. But not every opportunity to help others is equally satisfying or equally compensated. As much as I have enjoyed playing the piano and the connections with young musicians, accompanying middle- and high-school musicians frankly doesn’t pay well enough for a person to make that their entire source of revenue.

So I am faced with a challenge of focus. As I began exploring what I wanted my life to be, I realized that I had been playing small for a long time. My first goal was to spend more time creating music and seeking opportunities for it to be heard. Pursuing that goal initially resulted in some short term jobs to meet immediate financial needs, and in less than six months, I now have an exclusive publishing contract for one of my pieces, which can be a stepping stone toward long-range success as a composer.

There have been other things occupying my attention, however. I became an independent contractor in a wellness business in order to develop residual income which would allow me to take full advantage of the freedom of time and location I had gained. As a result, I have been learning and honing some entrepreneurial skills I never saw a use for in previous positions. It has definitely ramped up my personal development, and the skills I am learning are transferable to every other area of my life. Although I haven't yet replaced my old salary, if I were to truly focus on developing this business, I can see the potential to do so in a short period of time from where I stand.

And yet, I still have a passion to help others deepen their purpose and build a strategic vision for their own goals. Although my wellness business can offer this in a very focused way, some people aren't looking for an entrepreneurial opportunity. They want to engage their passions differently, create something bigger than what they thought possible, or just find greater meaning in what they are currently doing. Helping people find purpose and create a vision energizes me and fuels my own creativity. So I am creating Envisionability, a newsletter about purpose, vision, and creative solutions. I see how this can help other people, serve my own personal growth, and ultimately serve as another revenue stream so that I can keep spending my time helping people, composing, and simply enjoying life.

My challenge now is focus. Do I focus on the thing that I most want to do, or the thing that can bring the most financial freedom? Do I split my focus on three different endeavors, recognizing that they all provide some transferable skills and learning? How will that impact my ability to accomplish my goals in each of those arenas? Will other people see how the different elements of my path are linked, or will they judge me as lacking credibility or clarity? Or is my focus actually on something other than the activities of my journey?

Best Worst Accompanying Job

When I first got the call, my instinct was to say "No." A high school band director had gotten my information from another local instructor as an accompanist who could collaborate well with students playing challenging pieces, and I was grateful for the word-of-mouth advertising. But he was calling with one week's notice to ask if I could play for an event which conflicted with another commitment. And during the conversation he said, "We run into this problem every year." That told me that he hadn't adjusted his preparation model to get an accompanist further in advance, even though it had caused him difficulty to wait until the eleventh hour in the past. Given my schedule, I just didn't know how I could possibly rehearse with his students twice before the event (which is my standard practice), so I politely declined.

I hate to turn down work, especially work that I enjoy doing, but there were so many reasons that this offer seemed like a bad idea, I felt relieved when I ended the call without adding something to my calendar. Then, he called back. It had been a couple of hours, and I was certainly caught off guard. He told me that they had changed the times of the event and asked if I was able to fit it in more easily. After talking for a few minutes, I agreed to take the job, and he said he would email all the info I needed to pick up the music and schedule rehearsals.

There was so much about the offer that I didn't like. He didn't seem organized. The event was only a week away, and his description of some of the pieces suggested that I would prefer a few weeks to work on them rather than a few days. My schedule was already packed with other accompanying jobs, and I honestly didn't believe that I would be able to provide the quality and quantity of time I typically give students. And to top it off I simply didn't find it easy to trust the director, even though I had only spoken with him for a total of 15-20 minutes. Somehow, I expected that the circumstances would be different from other schools with which I was working.

That same week, I had agreed to almost exactly the same time frame at another school. I was already playing piano for about a dozen advanced students at the high school. The director called me early on a Monday morning, exactly one week before their event, and told me that one of their accompanists was ill and they needed to find a replacement. She told me that I was the first person she called because she recognized that I was one of the most skilled accompanists on their roster, and she asked if I would be willing to take on another ten students. When I arrived at the school later that day, she had all of the additional music together, she had the schedules of all of the students, she introduced me to them and told them about the change of plan, and she reassured them that everything would be fine with their original accompanist. As I worked with the students, she was constantly on hand to help coordinate the rehearsal schedule. What could have been a chaotic and stressful arrangement was instead smooth and enjoyable because she was so on top of things. I was very happy that I had agreed to take on a little more, even with only one week to put it all together.

For some reason, I wasn't expecting the same treatment from the director on the phone. I watched for his email, trusting that I would be able to make everything work with my time and it would be another opportunity to build my reputation. But over the next few days, the email didn't arrive, and it was late in the evening on Sunday when I received his call. His event was now four days away, and he was calling to let me know that he would have music gathered together for me by Tuesday morning. I explained to him my concerns about how little time remained before the event, and I told him that I would likely not be able to rehearse twice with each student at that point. That seemed fine, and we worked out a schedule of when I would be on hand during school hours for the students to rehearse, and when I hung up, I had a bit of a sinking feeling about the whole affair.

On Thursday, I was angry. This was hands down the worst accompanying job I had ever accepted. They didn't actually have all of the piano music, so they had to rush order it. Some of the students had never even played through their entire solo before I met with them, and others were playing pieces that required considerable coordination between pianist and soloist that simply wasn't likely to develop in a single rehearsal. The manner in which the director spoke to the students conveyed a lack of respect, and he had certainly not set them up for success. He referred to me as "Mr. Parfait," even after I had corrected him, and he brought a challenging piece of music to me as the event was starting to ask if I could play it for another student I had not even met ahead of time. I heard from everyone involved that it was the same story every year, waiting until the last minute and scrambling to get accompanists and music together. To top it off, I had never been told with certainty what I would be paid for my efforts.

And then, when I sat down to play for the first student, I realized that I wasn't there to do the director a favor. As disorganized and disrespectful as the director had been, I was grateful for the opportunity to be a part of the students' journeys as musicians. I was reminded of what was true about me, my compassion, my skill, my passion for music and connection with other people, my ability to encourage and inspire. I would have loved to have more rehearsals with the students, and I could have played those piano parts more skillfully with a little more time. But I did my very best under the circumstances, and the students represented themselves well.

It wasn't difficult to let go of my anger about the situation when I got back to the real reason that I was there. Out of a desire for them to have the best program possible, I suggested some planning guidelines to the director and provided the names of a couple of area directors that held similar events so he could compare notes and they could learn from one another. I will probably think twice before I agree to another event with that particular director, and I have learned once again that I don't enjoy playing music as much when I have too little time to prepare it well. And yet, when I clearly recognize the real purpose behind my choices, I can be satisfied with how I handle circumstances and impact lives.

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.

The Illusion of Safety

I barely acknowledge some of the fears that drive my behavior. I am afraid of being perceived as "pushy," so I don't express the potential I see in some people's lives. I am afraid of being the focus of someone's anger, so I don't always support people on the commitments they make. I am afraid of not being accepted, so I keep to myself insights and ideas that could actually pave the way for someone's dreams becoming reality. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it most likely boils down to a desire to be safe.

Every day, I pass by many apartment complexes with "security gates," to provide an illusion of safety to the residents. I've lived in those kinds of communities. The gates, when they actually function properly, may make it a little tougher for someone, but anybody that really wants to be on the other side of the gate can find a way to do it. My mind sometimes has me convinced that by not sharing what I see, I am keeping myself safe from other people's judgment. When I take an honest look, I can acknowledge how silly that mental security gate is.

My hairstyle isn't "safe." I write music that could be called challenging on a few different levels. But I am not always willing to directly challenge other people's perceptions of reality. Even when their perceptions keep them from creating the lives they claim to want. It seems safer just to let people believe what they believe and behave how they behave.

My mind gets hung up on the idea of accepting other people. I want to accept people for who they are, and I want to respect the beliefs that they choose. But accepting people doesn't mean refusing to challenge them. Especially on the beliefs that they are acting on subconsciously. Like my belief that sharing what I see will result in rejection. What I actually want is to let my strengths be of benefit in other people's lives, and some of those strengths involve seeing potential that others simply don't see.

So the question becomes, how do I dismantle that silly security gate and the illusion of safety? Well, for one thing, communication is a skill that can bridge the gap between what I fear and what I want. When I am careless in how I communicate what I see, then it's more likely that I will say things in a less hearable way. When I communicate clearly and in detail the possibilities I see, and I am clear about my motivation for doing so, I create a space that allows for easier partnership. Or even space for others to springboard from my vision into a purpose of their own.

My willingness to be vulnerable leads me to recognize that I can be passionate about something without being attached to what someone else does with it. I am only responsible for me, and I am also the only one who can share what I see. It's not necessarily "safe," but really... what is?

Evoking Passion

As I have been playing piano for a large number of high school musicians over the past week, it has struck me that so many of the beliefs and habits people carry around for the rest of their lives are already in place for these students. Many of them are talented, but the level of dedication and artistry displayed by a few of them is reflected in the music they play. They have tapped into a true passion for what they are doing... something not everyone discovers. A few students are on the other end of the spectrum as well. After every few measures, they take a pause to offer excuses and justifications for why they don't know a piece or aren't playing very well.

Of course, some of this latter group's behavior could be the result of nerves, but there is something more underneath. After accompanying so many other musicians over so many years, it's evident to me that some of them call forth a level of passion and intention that others never reach. And the same goes for other walks of life as well. There are some people who turn being laid off from a job into an opportunity to create something about which they are truly passionate. I have heard of people writing books, starting companies, or taking their lives in unexpected and satisfying directions, all because they "lost" a job. Others interpret the same circumstances as a sort of paid vacation, or use the situation as an excuse to indulge in self-defeating thoughts and behaviors. They don't tap into the same level of passion and purpose.

In my own life, I have taken the time created by stepping away from a predictable work schedule to compose music and seek more opportunities for my music to be heard. And I have been working to fit all of the things that ignite my passion into one big picture of my life. Seeing how excuses and assumptions work against other people, though, I have realized that I can be doing the things that are truly important to me, regardless of my circumstances. Many years ago, I was working full time as a courier and wrote a ten-minute wind ensemble piece over lunch breaks and in the evenings. And back then, the full score and all of the parts were written out by hand; I didn't have a computer program to assist with notating the music the way I do now. But it mattered to me, and so I made it happen.

Believing that I have to create a special set of circumstances in order to have what I want is a self-imposed limitation. It means that I have an excuse for not doing the things that matter to me, which could have the payoff of letting me play the martyr. In any case, recognizing that I have the freedom to do what what's important to me regardless of my circumstances is liberating. I am grateful that I know what I'm passionate about, and I strive to stay awake to how I can inspire others to discover what those things are in their own lives.

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.

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.

Getting It Right

"Do you and your wife go to bed at the same time?" I thought it was an odd question, but a friend of mine had heard somewhere that couples who go to bed at the same time have better marriages. That someone even did the statistical research into that off-the-wall fact reflects a trend that I am now seeing from a new perspective. A lot of people want to do things the "right" way. They don't trust in their own capability enough to just enjoy the journey of their lives, they want to check with the experts to make sure they are doing everything in a way that will ensure success.

Until recently, I wanted to see every step of the journey before I committed to the destination. And I wanted to make sure that I could tackle every obstacle along the way without risking failure. Of course there were still surprises along the way, but it ultimately meant that I wasn't taking the path that would be most fulfilling. I didn't trust myself enough to take the journey I really wanted to take. Now I have a strong belief that the next step is all I really need to see, and I don't necessarily need to see it right now. When I trust in my capability as a human being, I can enjoy myself a little more along the way, too.

For the record, my wife and I usually don't go to bed at the same time. We have different sleep patterns and different schedules. And the time we spend awake with each other is largely what defines our relationship. That doesn't mean I think it's wrong for couples to go to bed at the same time, but it seems entirely a matter of personal preference. Just because something works well in one person's life doesn't mean that everyone else should be doing it the same way. And yet, I will admit that I want that comfort sometimes. I want to know how things are supposed to be done so I can at least have a basis of comparison.

The real kicker is: No one actually knows how it's supposed to be. Someone may have made a decision, and other people may have followed along. A whole group of people may have gotten together and agreed on a way to do something. But it all amounts to preference. I believe that people have the capability to choose the best way for them to carry out their life's purpose, and with the exception of a few basic moral principles, it doesn't have to be the same way anyone else would do it. Consulting the experts is fine, but there isn't really any external measure of success that matters. I ultimately define for myself the "right" way to get where I want to be. It starts with trusting myself and taking a step.

For me, it also means trusting others to be a part of my journey. But more on that later.

Leading from Within

In so many movies, there is a scene that I rarely see played out in real life: an individual spontaneously stands up in front of a group of people and delivers and impromptu rallying speech that inspires the crowd to significant, purposeful action. Whether they are going out and winning the competition or burning down the evil scientist's laboratory, their decisions are inspired by an individual voice. I'm sure that this kind of thing happens in reality in more subtle ways, whether for good or ill, but this kind of influence seems short-lived to me. It isn't what I think of as "leadership."

Even the word leadership has conjured for me certain mental images of a person who is at the front of a group of people. The leader marches purposefully forward, and the rest of the parade follows. The leader holds the torch high and people flock to him. Or even, the leader unveils the blueprint and a throng of people dash off to do their part. These are rather comical images to me right now, but they are caricatures of what I have been expecting of myself and others.

Various sources have been contributing to an evolving definition of leadership recently. What I have been reading and hearing from some other people reveals a definition of leadership that is slightly different from what mine had been. They suggest that a leader is the one who breaks from the crowd and heads off in a new direction with purpose, creating a path rather than traversing one that can be clearly seen. Sometimes, these definitions of a leader don't even make mention of who is following or where they come from, because ultimately it is about a path of personal meaning.

In many ways, I have gotten good at waiting. I have waited for the right opportunities, the right environment, the right number of supporters, or even the right quality of support. I have held back engaging 100% of my capability in the world, because I want to make sure that others are with me. I spend time and energy trying to figure out how to convince others about the value of what I am doing, when I could just be doing it. The waiting and holding back doesn't actually move me forward. And as valuable as it is to me to have other people's support, the primary motivation has to emerge from within my own being.

So I am looking at clear ways to redefine my sense of leadership in my decisions as I begin a new year. I am forging my own trail, and I'm trusting that the people who see value in what I am doing will be there with me. I want to engage others about what I am creating, and I want to connect with them about their journey as well. But I also acknowledge that doing it is more compelling than talking about it. And if I am committed to carrying out the personal journey that is most satisfying to me, I believe I already have all that I need to be on that path.