The Warrior's Bus

I just spent a tremendous week at Way of a (Spiritual) Warrior, a deepening of the tools I learned at the More To Life weekend in Houston last November. While much of the week's actual material is covered under a confidentiality clause, and it would be lacking in integrity to reveal what other people shared about their lives and discoveries, my breakthroughs alone could give me material to write on for weeks.

My first challenge turned out to be bigger than I expected. When I arrived at the airport, I had a few hours before the charter bus to the conference center was set to depart. I had a leisurely lunch, enjoyed people watching, and eventually made my way to the place where the bus would be waiting. I had printed out the instructions, which included the location to meet the bus, the name of the bus company, and a detailed description of how the bus would look. I was calm, confident, and eager to meet my fellow warriors.

Imagine my surprise when the location described on my printed page didn't actually exist. I went to the closest place I could find, and noticed that some construction was going on, so I followed some other people around to rows of buses for hotels and rental car agencies. That didn't seem like the right place, so I went back and started asking airport personnel. I learned about a new likely location for the charter bus, set off in that direction, and I was fine. A little frustrated, but willing to let it go.

Until I was unable to locate the bus at the new spot. Then, my frustration returned with a vengeance. I asked no less than six people with official looking uniforms and name badges and received the same three potential places, and at none of those places was there a bus that looked like the description I had. At one point I looked at my cell phone for the time and realized that the bus had been scheduled to depart 15 minutes ago. I thought: There's very little chance it's even still here for me to find. I decided to rent a car and drive there myself, even though this was an expense for which I really hadn't planned.

I was angry, frustrated, driven, and tense. I was believing that I should have been able to find the bus, that the directions were wrong, that the person who had written them was incompetent, and that I would have done a better job. I was believing not only that they were stupid, but that I was stupid and incompetent as well. I felt very disconnected from the enthusiasm I had been feeling less than an hour prior to that moment. I tried to hide all of that from the car rental agent. After all, it wasn't her fault. I told her what I needed, and she asked if I had my return flight information, documentation she needed to rent a car to me. I hadn't printed that out, so she suggested I go to the airline desk and get a copy of that.

Although I was polite to her, I was seething on the inside. One more obstacle in my path, I thought. And then I received a call on my cell phone. Another passenger from the bus had made a sign and was waiting for me by the information desk. They hadn't left. I found her and, still angry and frustrated, I followed her to the location of the bus, which I had passed at least twice. The bus didn't look anything like the description, there was no company name painted on the side, and there was no sign or indication that it was going where I wanted to go. But the driver had been there with the door open both times I walked past.

I held on to my anger, frustration, and judgment about the bus for at least a day, disengaging and remaining less than fully connected as the week began. But eventually I came to terms with the truth. The bus wasn't where I expected it to be. The bus didn't look like what I expected. I had inaccurate information. I was worth enough to them that they not only waited for me, but even sought me out. My anger and drivenness had focused my perception to such an impractical point that I was unwilling to explore possibilities outside my expectations. I could have asked the driver where he was going either of the times I had passed the bus, but I was convinced that it would have been a waste of time.

I don't know what would have happened if I had remained calm, open to alternatives, and connected with what was around me. It's possible that it would have played out in exactly the same way. But I know that I am more the person I want to be when I don't give my frustration and anger and drivenness the upper hand.

Are You Excited?

In a couple of days, I'm heading off to a one-week residential course entitled Way of a (Spiritual) Warrior. This experience involves a deepening of the tools that I learned in the More To Life weekend last November. In basic terms, it is personal development, leadership training, and creativity ignition over the span of a week. I am hopeful that I will return with greater clarity of focus, improved communication, and purposeful energy.


As I have contributed my time and energy to More To Life events over the past several months, I have gotten to know several people who have experience Way of a (Spiritual) Warrior, and they often ask the question: "Are you excited?" My reaction is "Should I be excited?" I get from the question that they received a big gift from their experience, but if I answer honestly, I wouldn't label what I am feeling "excitement." I don't really know what to expect from the week, truth be told. I don't know what the other people will be like, I don't know what the actual training will involve, and I don't know what things are really going to push me toward new awakenings. The only known things about which I could get excited is the opportunity for a week away and the difference I see in other people.

The week away is actually the source of a little frustration for me, and I recognize that I have been thinking about all of the things I could accomplish with that time were I to just stay here and work on music. And yet, I have a strong belief that taking this week away will allow me to work smarter toward the things that matter most to me. So that frustration gets a little nod of acknowledgment from me and I move on. I'm open to what the week has to offer me, and I am willing to engage the experience fully. The possibility of having more tools in my toolkit to keep me on track with my deepest intentions is very attractive to me, but there is something else limiting my excitement.

It has to do with those people who are asking me if I am excited about going, and others I know who have experienced this course. I realize now that I am holding a bit of judgment against them. I think of some of them, "Well, you haven't exactly rocketed to new levels of purpose and awareness since taking this course." It's a harsh thing to think about people, especially people I care about and value deeply. They are, after all, human beings with all of the garbage and baggage that comes with the territory. One week away might offer tools to deal with the garbage and the baggage, but it won't eliminate it. That is for each of us to do in our own lives. And the pile keeps getting higher every day we live. People could have any number of reasons for not putting their tools to work.

Then it hits me. If I choose to do so, I can allow the shared experience to be another tool. In about week, I will have something (else) in common with others who have taken this course. And it is possible that I can serve some part in re-igniting their powerful visions and catalyzing their deep passions. Just as I am learning that others are willing to partner with me in bringing my vision into reality, I can potentially partner with some of these individuals more effectively by drawing upon a common experience. In fact, that potential directly feeds into my growing vision for my own life. That is worth getting a little bit excited. OK, ask me again.

Composing the Music I Want To

I can be highly critical of my own artistic endeavors. I think this comes with the territory, and to a certain extent I think it plays a necessary role in achieving true satisfaction with the end result. When I was in grad school, I found myself adopting an interesting measuring stick to critique my compositions. It wasn't about the sound of a piece so much as how intelligently written it was, how sophisticated its construction, or how innovative its techniques.

I still like some of those pieces a great deal, but the truth of the matter is that most listeners won't be evaluating how marvelously intelligent I am to have written that piece of music. And they probably aren't going to spend a great deal of time considering how intricately woven all of its musical elements are. Most of them are honestly listening more than anything else for whether or not they like it. Does it hold their attention? Does it please them on some level? Do they remember anything about it once the last note has been played?

I find myself in an interesting process now of conceptualizing music for potential use in television and film productions. Although the time I allow in my life for composing is at this point a fraction of what I would like to spend, when I do have the time, there are a few ideas already taking on flesh in my mind. I'm not worried so much about how intelligently written, sophisticated, or innovative they will seem; on some level, I am just assuming that they will be all of those things because of who I am. My primary goal, though, is to create effective and evocative music. It's something that requires much less intellectual critique and allows for much more rampant creativity. And it's actually quite a bit of fun.

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?

Attachment

Earlier this week, I submitted a report to a committee where I work. The bulk of the report was intended to outline some of my concerns with a particular project I'm overseeing. I was not at the meeting where this report was passed around and read, so I was expecting some phone calls or emails the next day. I anticipated that people on the committee would want to discuss things further, or express their anger or frustration, or offer suggestions that I haven't yet considered.

I got nothing. No phone calls, no emails, no rocks through the window, and no lavish gifts of appreciation. I was frustrated by the lack of response. Even a little angry. But that triggered a fear in me. What if I had really stepped out of line with this report? I had worded it carefully, and I had three individuals whose opinions I trust read over it before I submitted it. But what if something was easily misconstrued? What if my tone came across differently than I intended? Suddenly I was calling into question the whole of my ability to communicate through the written word, and I went back to a familiar reaction of "I should have just kept my mouth shut."

When I dug a little underneath it, I realized that I was not just submitting a report for the sake of dispersing information. I was somewhat insistent about the result of that communication. And my attachment to the result literally drove me crazy when reality didn't line up with my expectations. I was even willing to doubt myself rather quickly with no information whatsoever on which to base that doubt. Apart from all of the things I believed "should" happen, there were a lot of things I just didn't know. I have no idea what the members of the committee were (or are) thinking, and I don't really know what they plan to do as a group or as individuals.

There have been plenty of times when I was afraid of what I didn't know. How refreshing to recognize the freedom in not needing to know what I simply can't. When I can concentrate on what I actually do know, my decisions and my beliefs become so much clearer.