Tag Archives: Art

For What Are You Willing To Risk Rejection?

“Everybody said, ‘Follow your heart.’  I did, it got broken.” –Agatha Christie, The Mysterious Affair at Styles 

“I really wish I was less of a thinking man and more of a fool not afraid of rejection.” –Billy Joel

Hello friend,

When I was in my early twenties, I had the biggest crush on Miss California.  Well, to clarify, she was not the reigning Miss California at the time, but she had been a few years earlier.  We were in acting class together, and after a few weeks of class and getting to know her a bit, I came to the conclusion that she was perfect in every way.  I was crushing hard!  I REALLY wanted her to be my girlfriend.  I kind of let a mutual acquaintance know I was interested, and we even went out in a small group once, sat by each other and had a great time.  Her friend nudged me to ask her out for real.  And I wanted to SO BADLY.  But I just couldn’t do it.  I justified it by telling myself I didn’t want to make our class awkward for her if she said no.  But basically I didn’t do it because she wasn’t hunting me down and making glaringly obvious gestures—like messages on billboards or banners behind airplanes—begging me to ask her out.  Never mind the logical thinking that would scream, “She is a global fashion model and, oh yeah, Miss Freaking California!!!  Of course she has not ever needed to ask anyone out in her entire life!  She is not starting now!”  Nope, not even the obvious could make me pull the trigger on something I wanted so much and that seemed to be quite promising.  I simply couldn’t risk rejection.  I just didn’t dare.  I could not stand the prospect of being told I was not good enough.  And so, I let the opportunity slip away.

Here I am almost 30 years later, and you can bet I haven’t forgotten my cowardice.  I’m ashamed of it.  Not because she and I were going to live happily ever after or anything like that.  No, I’m ashamed because I lacked the courage to go after something that could change my life for the better just because my ego might take a beating.

Miss California wasn’t the first crush I ever had that I failed to act upon.  I have been a coward more times than I care to admit when it comes to asking people out on dates.  I grew up in the place and time when, generally speaking, it was the boy who asked the girl to go out.  I hated that rule!  I would like to say that was because I was ahead of my time when it came to female empowerment.  Really, I was just scared of getting my feelings hurt.  If a girl—and later a woman—wanted me to ask her out, she basically had to hit me over the head with her eagerness about it before I was willing to take the risk.  If she didn’t, well, it just wasn’t going to happen.  I wasn’t going to pursue.

I am embarrassed now not only about how hard I made people work and how vulnerable I made them feel just to get my affirmation, but also how much less Life I lived by being so scared to put myself out there.  I could have had so many more deep, rich experiences with so many fascinating, wonderful people.  I could have gotten closer to the marrow of Life, could have had a bigger ride.  It’s a real shame.  If only I had been willing to be rejected.

Rejection has been heavy on my heart and mind these last few months.  I am swimming in it!  And I can see why I was so scared of it, too, because it is no fun at all.  It hurts!  Down deep in the soul and all over the body.  It hurts.

After I finally finished writing my first novel late last year, I started researching exactly how one goes about getting a novel sold to a real publisher who can get it into real bookstores and put real dollars in my pocket.  Even though I started writing it just to see if I could do it and then continued writing it because I was having so much fun trying to create a real story, I realized partway through that I actually wanted an audience for it.  I wanted readers.  Of course, I also would really like to make a living putting words together.  So, I had to admit the truth: even though I would have written the book for the pure joy of it alone, in the end I wanted someone to pay me for it, too.  That meant I had to learn about a whole new world: the bookselling world.  It is full of people and things like queries, synopses, pitches, agents, editors, publishers, and so much more.

As it turns out, there are tons of other fools like me at this very moment trying desperately to find someone to buy their novels, too.  For that to happen, they have to pass through a few gatekeepers.  The first is the agent.  Literary agents get flooded with thousands of query letters every year from authors pitching their stories.  If the agent thinks it sounds interesting, they get a sample and then maybe the entire manuscript.  If they still like it, they agree to represent the book.  But for every one they accept, they reject hundreds of others.  And there are boatloads of these agents rejecting oceans of books.

Of course, to the authors of these books—their labors of love that they probably spent years of blood, sweat, and tears creating—it is not the book that is getting rejected but them personally.  Many of the agents don’t even bother to respond if they aren’t interested.  Others just send a form email to all of the rejects: “it’s not right for my list at this time” or “it’s not a good fit for me” and other such impersonal replies.  To the authors, no matter what the wording, the rejections all land like this: “You are a really bad writer.  Your idea is terrible.  Give up.  Find a new dream.  You are worthless.”  Imagine receiving that message dozens and dozens—maybe even hundreds for some writers—of times.  It’s rough.  Well, “rough” may be too vague.  It’s horrible.  It’s staggering.  It’s humiliating.  Yes, that’s it: humiliating.

While I am pleased to report that I have made it through this first wave of gatekeepers and am onto the second wave–the powerful people who might actually buy the book from the agent—there will undoubtedly be much more added to the pile of rejections.   The, “It’s not right for us,” will continue to land like, “You just suck, William.”

On the rare occasions that I can pull myself out from under the dark cloud of all this humiliation, I find myself laughing about this whole game and what kind of crazy masochist I must be to subject myself to this level of repeated rejection.  I guess the potential prize—saying someone bought my novel, a few bucks in my pocket, the feeling of living my dream–means that much to me.  Because otherwise it really is insane.  I mean, who in their right mind volunteers to get shot down so directly and so often?

It has me trying to think of people who live like this all the time.  When I think of rejection, I think of telemarketers or old-school door-to-door salesmen getting hung up on, insulted, yelled at, or doors slammed in their faces.  I could never do those jobs.  I wouldn’t last a day.  The only other people that come to mind immediately are other kinds of artists.  I think of the actor going in for auditions and not getting the roles.  Dancers and models, too.  They go to the audition, show off their talents (or appearance) and skills that they may have worked a lifetime to perfect, and essentially ask, “Am I good enough for you?”  And the answer is pretty often, “No, you are not.”  It’s brutal.

When I put it in those terms, though, I am reminded of another group of people who subject themselves to that kind of vulnerability, just not for their jobs: daters.  You know: people who are actively in search of romantic and/or sexual partners.  The more open and assertive one is about their intentions, the more obvious and frequent the rejections, I would imagine.  I am not exactly sure how dating and hook-ups work with modern apps—like, is it always clear you have been rejected, or is there some ambiguity about it?—but I imagine that even if the interaction doesn’t happen in public and even if you haven’t even met the person “in real life,” the pain of rejection is still there.  And with these apps—I know I sound like I’m 100 years old when I talk about them like this, so I am laughing at myself and my ignorance as I write this—I imagine that the number of potential rejections is quite high.  That has to be difficult.

Still, I think for most people in their ordinary work lives, they are not really facing true rejection on a frequent basis, if at all.  When I go to work, I am never putting my ego and my feelings on the line.  I don’t come home shattered from rejection or relieved and overjoyed that someone accepted me.  My friends and family don’t really either.  Oh sure, they may put in a bid for a project and get outbid, or ask for a donation and not get it.  They may be told they are not doing well enough and need to do better to keep their job.  They may get in an argument with a coworker or even have a customer complaint lodged against them.  Criticism is a possibility for almost everyone on some level.  But basically, most of us are wholly spared from true rejection in our day-to-day.

I’m not saying it’s a picnic to go to work for anyone and that we can’t all get our egos bruised from time to time by something someone says.  But that is different than putting yourself and the work of your soul out there for to be judged on a plain YES-or-NO basis, with the odds of a NO being pretty darn high.  That kind of raw vulnerability and defenselessness is not a scenario I wish upon anyone.

And yet, here I am also claiming it is worth it.  I want my novel sold!  I want that badly.  I hope it not only sells into a hardcover book and then many reprints in paperback, I also hope it turns into a series of books and that the rights for those get sold to some Hollywood studio for a movie or television series.  It is my baby, and I have big dreams for it.  And if all of this rejection is the price I have to pay for a real shot at that, well, I have decided it is worth each one of these many gut-punches and blows to my ego.  Maybe it’s because I feel like I am meant to do it.  Like a calling.  It seems like the thing I have to do in order to feel I am giving this life of mine a true go, like I am not being a coward and hiding from it just because it is difficult and ego-destroying.  The potential regret of not putting it out there seems more agonizing than this heartache from all of the rejection.  I guess you could say it’s worth it because my very soul is at stake.

So, would I summon this courage and conviction to subject myself to such a volume of withering and unrelenting rejection for anything else?  That question stretches my imagination.  I can’t think of any “regular” jobs I would do it for.  Like I said, I have always hated anything “sales-y” where people are constantly telling you NO.  I can’t imagine ever wanting to date again, even if were not married, so that doesn’t qualify for me.  I would risk anything for my kids, but they are getting to the ages where I am trying to empower them to lobby on their own behalf.  So none of the regular stuff seems to move me.

I guess the only thing that I can think of that I would be willing to risk this kind of baked-into-the-process rejection for is something else artistic. I mean, if I was so moved to create something from the depths of my soul—a painting, a photographic collection, some form of music, an acting performance—and felt that it would be more fulfilling with an audience involved, I could see subjecting myself to wholesale public rejection for that creation.  It’s true that I almost certainly don’t have the talent for any of those things, but hey, a year ago I didn’t think I had it in me to write a novel either.  I would love it if some other bit of magic sneaked up on me.  Outside of some true soul creation, though—some “art”—I think I will skip this kind of rejection.  It’s just not much fun.

How about you?  For what in your life (or dream life) are you willing to risk consistent rejection?  Open up your journal and find yourself in the moments that could leave you most vulnerable.  Are there times in your ordinary schedule where you really put yourself out there in a way that your ego feels unprotected?  How accepted do you feel at work both in the relationships you have there and in the actual work you do?  Do you hear “NO” there very often?  If you do, is it in a way that makes you feel rejected?  How often is your work performance judged by your bosses?  Does that process leave you feeling vulnerable?  How about your non-work life?  Do you have hobbies or interests that involve you leaving yourself open to judgment and rejection?  Do you create anything or perform anything and enter it into contests?  Do you try to sell your creations (arts, crafts, etc.) anywhere?  When was the last time you applied for a job?  Did it leave you feeling exposed in this way?  If you didn’t get the job, did it feel like they rejected you?  How about dating?  Are you now, or have you been in your dating history, the one who sticks their neck out and does the asking?  How do you take the NOs?  As a personal affront?  Are you able to let them roll off your back and keep going, or are you staggered by the rejections?  Do you imagine the modern, app-based dating makes the rejection part easier or harder?  If it has been a long time since you started a new relationship, how confident would you be in putting yourself out there in today’s world?  Of all the ways you might leave yourself vulnerable to strong rejection—for a date, a work requirement, a passion project like my book—which ones, if any, do you feel are most worth the risk?  Does it really just come down to whether the pain of potential regret for not having given your best effort to have what you truly want is bigger than the potential pain of rejection?  If that is the calculus, what is your answer?  Leave me a reply and let me know: For what are you willing to risk rejection?

May you summon the courage that Life demands,

William

P.S. If this topic resonated with you today, please share it with your community.  Let’s support each other in living our most courageous, authentic selves.

P.P.S. If this way of examining your life appeals to you, consider buying my book, Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers.  Namaste.

What Is Your Next Great Challenge?

“Do one thing every day that scares you.” –Eleanor Roosevelt

“You never change your life until you step out of your comfort zone; change begins at the end of your comfort zone.” –Roy T. Bennett

Although on the surface my life has looked pretty boring for the last several months, inside I have been completely on fire.  Circuits have been popping, fireworks have been exploding, and something magical has been coursing through my veins.  I have felt thoroughly ALIVE.  It’s why I haven’t written to you in so long, despite my best intentions to do so.  I just couldn’t take a chance on letting that electric feeling in my soul fade away.  I couldn’t risk it.  So I just kept at it until at last I was sure I had a hold of it.  And now here I am, dying for you to get some of what I got.  It is the best drug I know of.  The best part: it starts and ends inside of you.

I wrote a book.  And not just any kind of book.  I wrote a novel.  A work of fiction.

Never in my life have I ever believed I could write a novel.  Never.  Oh sure, I fancied the idea of being a famous novelist in the same way I fancied being a singer-songwriter-guitarist touring successfully or a renowned painter or sculptor.  These are skills I have never trained for and talent that I fantasize about but simply do not possess.  It is a sturdy characteristic of my long existence that I wish I was so much more artistic than I actually am.  I truly adore the Arts and the artists that create them.  I just don’t have the gifts.

The closest I have ever come is writing these letters to you.  I like to think there is some element of the artistic in finding the right combination of words to convey my ideas.  It is not purely robotic.  So I flatter myself and motivate myself by regularly reminding myself, “I am a writer.”  It appears over and over again in the pages of my daily journal entries.  “I am a writer.”  I use these letters as proof and the repetition of the mantra to convince myself of its truth.

But I know the deal: a writer of true words and opinions, even if anguished over and painstakingly executed, is no novelist and no poet.  Those are the true artists under the writing umbrella.  I suppose I have always felt like more of a journalist or a columnist for a magazine or newspaper, occupying the rungs on the writing ladder that are “of this world.”  A regular person who writes, not an artist (like a house painter compared to a Renoir or Monet).  The artists are the storytellers and the poets, the songwriters.  You know them.  Stephen King.  Amanda Gorman.  Bob Dylan.  All touched by The Muse in a way regular schmucks with a keyboard like me have never been.  I have known my limitations and been humble enough to stay on my side of the line.

But then I got an idea.

It came to me this Spring.  It wasn’t a story so much as it was a character: a confused kid who needed to sort out his life.  I could see him, but that’s about it.  The protagonist, if you will.  The narrator.  I thought he was worthy of a story, even if I didn’t know what that story was.  Mostly I thought, “Too bad you landed in my brain instead of a real writer’s.”  I figured he would languish there and die, fading away like other moments of inspiration that I have felt along the way.  I’m guessing we all have them: little signs from the Universe that we choose to either notice or ignore.  I bet the real artists notice them better and latch on for dear life, fully aware that how they handle inspiration is the only true currency of their oh-so-short lives.  Well guess what?  All of our lives are oh-so-short.

Maybe I realized that when this narrator kid showed up in my brain.  Maybe I knew deep down that I had been coasting too long, enjoying my life but knowing it lacked the thrill of a genuine challenge.  I admit that I had become aware that I had been taking it easy in the prior months, that I had uneasily given myself permission to be less ambitious.  My tolerance for ease has never been great.   Maybe my soul couldn’t stand it anymore.  Whatever it was, something about this kid in my head struck me differently.  He wasn’t leaving.  He needed a voice, an outlet.  He had something to say.  Though I felt bad for him for landing in my unimaginative brain, I offered him my best attempt.  He accepted.

Not long after, I wrote his first words.  I just thought of it as a writing exercise.  Like, “Okay, here’s this kid.  What would he say?  Go!”  So I went, awkwardly but excitedly.  I wrote this in my journal the next day:

“Big news: I started the middle grade novel last night….it was so fun…It is so exciting—a rush is an accurate term—to create again, and especially in this fiction way.  It is new and thrilling.  I feel the hormones popping.  No matter what comes of this, I am glad I started.”

And that’s how it went.  Early on, I had so little time that every chance I got to work on it, my journal the next day was bubbling with the joy and inspiration I was feeling alongside the tension of venturing into the unknown and feeling unequipped.

“This is going to be hard and fun.”

“I am eager to get back into the story tonight, as last night I felt the story begin to take shape.  I am in the middle of introducing the villain, and that makes me feel like my teeth are finally getting into it.  It’s exhilarating.  I am a writer!  For that, I am grateful and so happy.”

“I have lots to flesh out.  I wish I had a couple of months obligation-free so I could grind it all out.  I am so curious to see what The Muse will draw out of me.  It is exciting.  I am so glad I dared to start.”

“It really is fun to work on it.  It opens something in me.  I love being a writer.”

I just love looking back and seeing those words over and over: FUN, EAGER, EXHILARATING, CURIOUS, EXCITING.  And that was only the beginning.  About a month into it, I hit the 5,000-word mark, which felt like a ton to me (it would eventually get close to 50,000).  The next day’s journal entry kind of summed up what it had become for me:

“I am in the midst of the biggest ‘story chapter’ yet, with some relationship development and scene-setting and other things that seem like a real novel.  That is a bit surreal, but it is fun and invigorating.  This project has really ignited something in my soul.  It is a huge challenge, but it stirs a part of my brain that has been dormant for far too long.  It reminds me of Jay Shetty talking about ‘flow state’ being when your challenge perfectly matches your abilities.  It is totally a challenge for me—and honestly, I am not 100% sure I can pull it off—but for now I am pretending that I am plucky enough to give it a whirl.  When I work on it, I am fully engrossed.  I can feel my hormones being stimulated like crazy.  I can’t wait to get back into it.  I am incredibly grateful for its arrival in my world.”

As exciting as it was, though, I still felt way past my comfort zone and wildly anxious about it.  It was a constant dance with my self-esteem to keep soldiering the project forward.  My joy would push forward, and my insecurity about my talent and competence would pull back.  There was a real element of torture to it.  A couple of weeks after that last entry, I wrote this:

“I am up to 8,400 words, which is pretty decent.  Another 1,600 and I will feel fully entrenched in it.  I am fully engaged now, but I think that numerical milepost will give me permission to be like, ‘Yeah, I’m writing a novel,’ maybe even out loud.  I have to keep convincing myself to trust that I have a real story to tell, that I have enough words to fill the pages, that I can land it in the appropriate length range.  I get a little panicked about all that sometimes, I fully admit.  I just have to keep showing up and putting down the next word, knowing that there are many rounds of editing to go.  I have to believe in myself, or at least suspend my disbelief so I can keep working.  I press on.  It is so engaging, though.  I love how I can feel all of these neurons firing all over my brain.  It’s like fireworks in there.  It’s fantastic.”

I inched forward, battling with my fears and insecurities every step of the way.

“I just love what comes out each time I sit down to the keyboard.  When I try to plot it out ahead of time, I only seem to get disheartened.  But when I sit down to work, something always comes out.  I have to remember that so I can keep the faith in the inevitably challenging times ahead.  It is in me.  The Alpha and the Omega.  I love being a writer.”

“I am getting good exercise squashing down all these fears and anxieties about it.  The best antidote is just to keep sitting down to write.”

As I worked through that first half of the book and came to accept that it was going to always be difficult and always a test of my self-belief, I began to appreciate both the process and the greater significance of this undertaking in my life.  I could feel the supreme importance of facing my fear and embracing the challenge with both hands.  I started to see little nuggets like these more often in my daily entries:

“Oh, how I love this the deeper I dive.”

“I am so, so grateful that I took the chance to begin.”

When I reached the last page of that volume of my journal (that is sixty-something now, I believe), I was close to the halfway point in the novel and wrote this to myself:

“This book, in the long run, is going to be remembered for the start of the novel.  That is going to be a big thing in my history, or at least I hope so.  I don’t know if it will lead to more books or just more courage, but either would be a win.  I am proud of myself.”

Even now reading back those words, it feels a bit surreal and pretty darn awesome.  For one, I love that I recognized that what I was doing was going to make me more courageous going forward in my life.  That is absolutely one of the things I am always wishing I was more of: brave.  So, hooray for that.  And second, I am finding it so cool that I wrote that I was proud of myself.  That is not something I think about or claim very often as I pass through this world, so I am glad I had that moment at least once in my lifetime.  I with that upon everyone.

That is way more of my journal entries than you probably ever wanted to see, so I will spare you the many things I said as I pushed through the second half of the novel.  I will just say that there was undoubtedly a lot of glowing about how much fun it was to create mixed with a lot of anxiety about whether I was up to the task.

The brilliant relief is that I was up to it.  That is not to say the draft that I produced is any good.  Chances are good that it is quite awful, in fact.  Of course, I hope it isn’t.  I hope some publisher wants to pay me a million dollars for it and then some movie producer wants to pay me another million to adapt it for the big screen.  I hope it becomes a sensation with readers and that they demand a sequel.  I want all that.  But let’s be real: it is probably terrible.  I will probably find no interested publishers when I get to looking.  It will likely never be read by more than a few people who are either doing me a favor or are bound by blood.  It will almost certainly go down publicly as a failure.

But as much as I wish those things weren’t true, I am still going to look back at this as one of my most favorite life experiences.  Sincerely, I am so grateful about everything this experience has brought me.  Forget the outward stuff, the intrinsic rewards have been more than I could have ever imagined.  Even from that first night in grinding out the first few words, I was surprised and impressed that I would even try something I was so patently unprepared for.  And the mountains of doubts that I pushed through in the early phases of writing–mostly due to the fact that I hadn’t even thought of a story before beginning—I was pleased every time I could face those doubts and still bring myself to write down some words anyway.  It was such a brilliant lesson in sacrificing things that I really wanted to do this Summer for this thing that I just wanted to do more.  In the remaining years of my life, I will carry that lesson of saying no even to things I like because they are not the thing that stirs my soul.  Because man, did this ever stir my soul!  Those tingles and whirrings and can’t-wipe-it-off smiles are truly the stuff of a life being lived the right way.  They are priceless.  The fact that I could have this little period of frequent and regular tingles in my soul is something I will treasure forever.

Now I want more.  That is one of my biggest lessons from this experience.  I need to find more projects or adventures or whatever that will bring more of this feeling into my system.  Obviously it is great to just do more cool stuff and make more memories with things like vacations or concerts and the like.  But what I am talking about is not just the stuff that feels good but that also is a huge challenge for my skillset and something that puts me just past my comfort zone.  What has made this book so singular and special to me is not just that I am making something that can last forever or that can potentially help people but that I never believed I could do such a thing.  I never believed I could write fiction.  I didn’t believe I had a story interesting enough to tell, certainly not one long enough to fill a book.  It was a daily challenge both from a skill perspective and from a psychological perspective.  It required all of my determination, persistence, and self-belief to keep it going from one day to the next.  Thankfully, it then rewarded me for my efforts with these delightful tingles and glows.  But it was a battle.  From this perspective, I can see what a boon the sheer challenge of it has been to my overall life satisfaction.  If it had felt easy and natural, it may have been enjoyable but not nearly as satisfying.

I was listening to a podcast last week with the brilliant documentary filmmaker Michael Moore as the guest.  In his long career, he has taken on the most controversial, hot-button issues of our time, such as gun control, health care, and climate change.  The host asked him how he chooses what his next subject will be.  He said he chooses the topic that scares him the most, the one that will be most difficult or personally risky.  I love that!  He is doing it right, leaning into his growing edge by working in a medium he loves but making it a constant challenge that requires him to grow.

In the end, I suppose my very biggest takeaway from this book-writing experience is that what I want for myself is also what I want for everyone else.  It is not just me that I want adopting a growth mindset and pushing my limits in the service of igniting my soul and blowing my hair back.  It’s everybody.  We all need that, whether we realize it or not.  I want to feel again that same sense of tension between my joy of working on something I love and the fear that I don’t have what it takes.  I want to claim the thrill aspect of that risk and the satisfaction of pushing through.  And I want you to feel it, too.  Maybe mine will come from writing more books.  Or maybe it will be something totally new, like learning the guitar or starting a business.  I hope I am open to the inspiration in whichever form it arrives.  I am eager for my next great challenge.

How about you?  What is the next thing that will stir your soul, challenge your skillset and your self-belief, and potentially be wildly delightful in the process?  Open up your journal and plot to uncover your next great challenge.  Consider what you have already done.  What are the things in your life story that fit the description of a true soul-stirring challenge?  Was it some kind of educational pursuit (getting a degree, a licensure, etc.)?  Was it taking some sort of Art class or taking up an artistic endeavor on your own (e.g. photography, painting, a musical instrument, writing a novel)?  Was it having a child or taking on childcare responsibilities?  Was it a career change?  Was it some sort of physical challenge (e.g. weight loss, marathon training, crossfit, martial arts)?  In which pursuits have you grown the most as a person?  Which challenges left you feeling most fulfilled?  Which were the most pure fun?  In which challenge did you fail at what you were trying to accomplish but still gained so much from the experience?  Which of your greatest endeavors would you want to do all over again?  Which would you never even consider trying again?  Which would you recommend to others?  Are you in the middle of a pursuit now, or are you in a coasting phase?  Is coasting satisfying to you, are you like me and get antsy to achieve something if you are passive for long?  So, based on your review of all of the challenging pursuits of your lifetime so far, are you generating some ideas about what might be next for you?  Is it creative, physical, intellectual, or something else?  Which type of challenge is most likely to pull you quickly out of your comfort zone?  How badly do you need that big plunge into the deep end to jumpstart your soul?  Which type of challenge pushes you just hard enough to be engaging but not so much that you feel your self-esteem questioned?  What is something you have always secretly wanted to try or learn?  What keeps you from taking the next step toward doing it?  Is that an excuse you can live with?  How many more years do you think you have left to live?  Would it be okay with you if you arrive at your end and realize you haven’t pushed your limits and reached your potential?  Which challenge could be your first step to finding out?  I dare you to try.  Leave me a message and let me know: What is your next great challenge?

Wishing you so much courage,

William

P.S. If today’s topic resonated with you, please share it with your community.  All of us living more boldly would make for a truly wonderful world.

P.P.S. If this type of deep dive inside your beautiful mind appeals to you, consider buying my book Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth at your favorite online retailers.  Namaste.

Bucket List For The Brain: What Do You Want To Learn Before You Die?

“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.” –Mahatma Gandhi

“Self-education is, I firmly believe, the only kind of education there is.” –Isaac Asimov

Hello friend,

One day in my twenties, I was suddenly struck by the idea that I simply must learn more about Western Europe, and that I must see it firsthand to do so. The idea would not go away. It had to be done. So, I stuffed my backpack, hopped on a plane bound for Amsterdam, and wandered around for a few months. The Netherlands, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Greece, France, Spain, Luxembourg, Belgium. It was a genuine mind-opener and heart-opener for me. Along the way, mostly to be a courteous guest but also out of pure curiosity, I learned the most elementary phrases in each of the languages: Good morning! Do you speak English? Good-bye! How much does it cost? Excuse me, but where is the toilet? What time does the train to Paris leave the station? Thank you very much! That kind of stuff.

I had Spanish in high school and was already okay with that, but the rest I had to start from scratch. I liked it, though, both the challenge and what it opened up in the interactions with the locals. Most of them spoke English–what a relief–but they appreciated my effort. It made me appreciate their effort to learn my language so well, and it made me envious of their knowledge. How lucky to have a mind with such useful information, like a key to a room with more Happiness inside.

Still, in my first few countries, the sounds of the Dutch, German, Austrian, and Swiss people on their own did not sing to my ears and draw me in like a siren’s song (the German language is pretty unpleasant for me, actually).

However, a magical thing happened to me on the morning that I descended the Swiss Alps into Northern Italy, bound for Verona. I happened to be sharing a train compartment with a young girl and her mother, as well as an old woman riding alone. We emerged from the majestic Alps into this lovely, rolling land and pulled into the station of the first town on the Italian side of the border. The mother, young girl, and I stayed in our seats, clearly pressing on to destinations further down the line. But slowly, the old woman rose from her seat and gathered her belongings. Then, just before she turned to go, she looked into the eyes of the little girl and said with such flavor, “Ciao, bella!” I swooned. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. And right there in those two words, I fell madly in love with the Italian language.

I walked around with a smile on my face for two weeks, repeating the phrases and the dynamic inflections–even the accompanying gestures–that I heard from the people on the street. I loved all the words, even when I didn’t know what they meant.

When I left that enchanted land, I was determined to do two things: 1) return to Italy as soon as possible; and 2) learn that beautiful language. I am pleased to report that I nailed the first one and loved it more each time I went back. I cannot, however, claim any success on the second.

I never learned Italian. But I still want to. It has become a life goal to speak it passably, much as it has been my aim to bring my level of Spanish from high school quality up to fluency. Trust me when I tell you: I have a loooooong way to go! There is so much to learn! I would like to achieve both of these before I die, however. They are just the start of a sort of “bucket list” for my brain.

I have decided that everyone should have one of these lists, separate from the regular bucket list that we are accustomed to talking about, the one with all of the cool things we will do before we die. For one, I find it so important to have plans and goals and things to dream about. These things give us Hope and Purpose. They put spring in our steps. However, whether hampered by age, fear, income, disability, or something else, we are not all going to be able to skydive, run a marathon, visit Machu Picchu, or swim with the dolphins. But we can all have adventures of the mind. And we should!

Learning gives us life in so many ways. It breeds empathy. It sparks our imagination. It helps us to better understand ourselves and how we connect with the world around us. It gives us Wisdom. It inspires us. It does all of that and more for me, so I am planning to stuff my brain full of new skills, ideas, and stories until my last breath goes out of me. These are some of the things–other than becoming trilingual–on the top of my endless list:

Quantum Physics. I may be attempting to swim in a pool that is much too deep for my capacity, but I have always been fascinated by the tidbits about this science that I have picked up in other books. Mostly I love the idea of confirming in a more technical and specific way the idea that I have always felt in my bones to be true: that we truly are all connected, all One. I have no illusions about how difficult the brain work required will be, but I am game for the challenge if it means I get to better understand human existence.

Photography. I have been taking photographs for many years, and my favorites are continually updated on the walls all over my home. But as much as I enjoy, and even admire, some of the images I have captured, I have always been aware of how much my best shots are due to luck instead of true skill with the camera. I may have an eye for light, but I lack the true knowledge to use all of the camera’s variables–aperture, shutter speed, etc.–to create the level of art that I am striving for. I will not be satisfied until I gain competence in the finer points, whether that is through a class or just lots of reading and experimentation. I want to feel like a “real” photographer. I plan to get there.

Photoshop. This one goes with the last one, but it is also its own animal. As much as I enjoy taking the actual images, I am fascinated by those with the ability to play around with the images and create separate works of art out of the original art. It is technical but still artistic. That combination appeals to me. I can tell by how tickled I feel inside when I think about it that it is a tool that I must learn the intricacies of.

Nutrition. I don’t know how deep I really want to go with this, but I want to know more than I do. It just feels like there is a book or person out there for every possible nutrition idea–many of them competing ideas–and I just want to know the real deal about what I am putting into my body and how it is affecting me. More specifically, I want to know if there is a way I can be leaner and lighter without getting extreme in my discipline. There has to be a teacher out there for that, right? I must find her!

Green Initiatives. I am passionate about the issue of climate change and the effects of human activity–especially our extreme dependence upon fossil fuels–on our world, but I don’t feel well-enough informed on all of the science or all of the options for us to move forward. Mostly I want to be better able to have the conversation with regular folks who don’t have the issue on their radar. I would like to be a better example to my kids, too, both by sharing the knowledge and by modeling a greener lifestyle. Before I can do better, I have to know better. I am determined to know.

Astronomy. Because everything out there is totally awesome.

Instant Pot Cooking. I cook for my family almost every night of the year, and yet my repertoire is limited. I only tried a simple crock pot thing that my sister schooled me on in the last year, and I can see the potential. But this Instant Pot sounds like a ticket to a whole new level. I even got one for my wife last year because she agreed that it sounds amazing, but it is not doing me any good in the cupboard. I know the task is as simple as me digging out the instruction manual, then going to the store and start experimenting. I am a bit intimidated, I must admit. But I want to be a better, more creative cook. I just have to learn.

Podcasting & Audiobook Creation. When I wrote my book, I was so into each step of the process of publishing. It was incredibly tedious, but also so engaging and fulfilling to learn all of the skills. I made the bound book; I made the e-book. The one I never got to was the audiobook. I wish I had. And it’s not too late to learn. With as many people that have podcasts these days, I figure that has to be even easier. It would be fun to put these letters out to you in podcast form, too, to speak the words that I write. This sounds even more fun to learn than many of the others on this list. Bonus!

Guitar & Piano. I know this is not exactly “book learning” in the way some of the others are, but it is certainly an enrichment exercise for the mind (and the soul). I own both of these instruments, so I just need to seek out the instruction. I can start with books or YouTube, but I envision myself someday actually taking lessons from a live teacher. It is very important to me to keep Art in my life, and I definitely need help with this one.

That use of an instructor is a wrinkle for me. I can see from my list that while I could certainly be helped by taking real classes in these subjects (hello, Quantum Physics!), they are mostly things I can learn on my own if I just supply the time and the discipline. I can usually summon the discipline, but I struggle with the time. I placate myself by saying that surely that time will appear when my kids grow up, and that then I will treat myself to a first-class education in everything that I feel called to. Will there be enough time to get to it all before I die? Probably not, because learning one thing tends to multiply the spark to learn more. But I promise myself that I will try. No matter how little time I seem to have now, I will chip away at these big learning goals, dabbling in those I have already listed and probably many more.

I love the power in knowing that I can do this without anyone else’s time or permission. It’s on me. Because even though I have let myself down before regarding my ambitions, I much prefer the option to bet on myself. I don’t know how many days remain in my lifetime, but I can guarantee that they will be spent expanding my mind. I will be learning new skills and sharpening old ones, trying out new ideas and testing my wits, opening my soul to allow for new ways to create and express myself through the arts, listening to people’s stories, and sometimes just plain reading. There are so many things I have to know before I go!

How about you? What are you determined to learn before you die? Open your journal and your brain and consider what it is craving? First, how much of a learner are you? Are you like me and feel compelled to understand just about everything in your world, or are you not very curious? How has your level of curiosity and desire to learn new topics changed as you have aged? Has it been fairly constant? Does it change with the amount of free time you seem to have? Is there a topic that you wish you had studied in school? Which types of learning are you more drawn to at this age? Practical skills, like cooking or car maintenance? Does technology interest you? Artistic things, like painting or photography? Would you like to learn a musical instrument (or two)? How about pure knowledge for its own sake, like the sciences or history? Do you like to keep abreast of the important issues of the day, like climate change or health care alternatives? Are you into self-help practices? Would you rather learn other people’s stories in order to be more empathetic? How do you currently study up on the things you want to learn? Books? Classes, like Community Education or a local college? YouTube? Will you actually do the work on your own, or do you need a teacher to keep you on-task and accountable for your learning? Have you shown so far that you are willing to invest in yourself? Looking to the future, what are the things you still most want to learn? How do you prioritize them? Which are absolutely essential? Are there some that will have to wait longer to begin? Which of them would you most regret not learning if you were to die tomorrow? Will you ever be content with how much you know? Leave me a reply and let me know: What is on your Brain Bucket List?

Go & Grow,

William

P.S. If this resonated with you today, please share it with your community. The more you know….

P.P.S. If this type of deep examination of your life appeals to you, consider buying a copy of my book Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth at your favorite online retailers. Namaste.

EXPRESS YOURSELF!!! Do You Let Your Inner Artist Out?

“To be creative means to be in love with life. You can be creative only if you love life enough that you want to enhance its beauty, you want to bring a little more music to it, a little more poetry to it, a little more dance to it.” –Osho

“You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.” –Maya Angelou

Hello friend,

I am an artist. I am an artist!

Gosh, that is really hard to say!!! It makes me feel as though I am boasting! And perhaps, if I am deep-down honest, it makes me feel insecure as to whether I am telling the truth, whether I am good enough to measure up to the term. Artist. Artiste! But I am working hard to say it with conviction. “I am an artist.” I am.

I have a much easier time saying–to myself and to you–that I am a writer. I have the ink stains to prove that claim. Clearly, I write to you on a regular basis. I wrote a book. I qualify as a writer. Before I started Journal of You, I was already writing in my journal every day for 17 years. During those years, however, I didn’t necessarily consider myself a “writer” because I wasn’t sharing my words with the world. I wrote every day because it made me feel good to write. It connected me to myself. And to my higher Self. Writing liberated me at the same time that it taught me who I was. It brought me out while bringing me in. It was both a form of expression and discovery.

Stop there. Back that up a few sentences.

Even as I was just typing that explanation of why my early writing was not “writing” or “art,” the words coming out of my fingers were telling me that that was exactly the kind of artistic outlet–call it Art or Creativity or Imagination or Soul Connection or Self-Expression or Divine Inspiration or whatever you want–that I needed then and that I think we all need throughout our lives, whether or not we ever intend to share our “art” with the world and call ourselves artists.

Sometimes I think it is the terms themselves that hold us back from exploring these outlets that allow us to feel alive and uplifted and whole. Call something an “Art class” or a “creativity exercise” or a chance for “self-expression” or “imagination,” and most of us shut down entirely. “I don’t have a creative bone in my body!” we say. Or, “I’ve never been artistic.”

So, we don’t take up our buddy on that offer to teach us the guitar. We don’t join our friends who are going to take a one-night painting class together. We don’t go out dancing. We don’t sing karaoke (or even in the shower). We don’t draw pictures, even though we used to love that when we were young. We even ignore those new “adult” coloring books. We don’t pick up the pen to write that poem or short story that seems to be rattling around in our brains looking for an outlet. Heck, we don’t even write that first journal entry, so certain are we that we “have nothing to say” (I hear that one all the time, believe me!).

Why do we squash that? I think a lot of it is FEAR and SHAME. We think that if we try something “artistic,” that we will inevitably be found out and then judged on our performance. Judged harshly. We think people are going to be whispering, “How dare she think she is good enough to perform in public? She’s not a REAL…..(insert whatever you like: dancer, singer, actress, painter, musician, writer).”

Beyond just the criticism of our (lack of) talent, I think there is also that self-consciousness and insecurity around being thought of as childish for doing something as whimsical, imaginative, and brave as art is, even if just done in private.

Somehow, as we leave childhood and enter that ultra-self-conscious stage called adolescence, we tend to cut out anything that is not “cool” or “grown-up,” and we certainly stop doing anything we are “bad” at. The potential judgment of our peers stifles so much that made life fun and engaging and meaningful and inspiring. We mute ourselves. Our clothing choices become less personalized. We stop singing out loud. We don’t draw or paint or color. We don’t make music. Performances stop. Even personal writing ends. That fear of sticking out or, worse yet, being “bad” at something, snuffs out so much of our beautiful light. It is tragic.

The real tragedy, though, is that by the time we are ready to slip the chains of adolescence and emerge as independent, mature adults, this muted existence that we have exiled our true, glorious Self to has become habit. It is your new normal. And not just yours, but everyone else around you, too. Whimsy, inspiration, and connection to our artistic souls seem lost on the adult crowd. It is why I see, at the local sledding hill, the kids howling gleefully as they fly down the slope, gulping fresh air and exhilaration and Life, while their parents stand at the top of the hill and make small-talk. Or why those same parents–and I am guilty of this one, too–spend their money and time on getting their kids to music lessons to learn the piano or violin or whatever (because it is vitally important to raise well-rounded kids), but wouldn’t dream of signing themselves up for lessons.

By adulthood, we have so internalized that fear of being criticized and that need to fit in and be “adults” instead of being “childish,” that it is simply–and unconsciously–expected that we don’t have creative outlets in our lives. So, rather than write or sing or dance just because it makes our soul feel good or lightens our load, we skip it altogether and continue carrying that baggage. We don’t even realize how much of what makes us vibrant and interesting and alive and free is simply hiding under there, lying dormant. Unimaginative and muted are the adult normal.

But dormant means it’s still alive in there, right? Hibernating. Waiting for the right conditions to emerge and flourish. Waiting for its moment to shine.

Well, why can’t NOW be that moment for you? Seriously.

I am asking myself that. Why not now? At this very moment, I am doing some of what makes me feel creative, connected, and inspired. Writing this letter to you definitely has my adrenaline going and is tapping into something my “normal” self doesn’t access. I so appreciate that sensation.

But what else can I do? Music. Last year, I started teaching myself to play the guitar. Fifteen minutes here and there and I was getting just a tiny bit of a feel for it. I loved it, though, as I always knew I would, all those years I spent dreaming about playing by a campfire. But I got busy on a writing project and let it slip. I miss it and realize now that I must get back to it without delay. My other two long-term musical goals are to learn the piano and the harmonica, probably in that order. I have them in my house, too, so it is just up to me to make the time. The mere idea of it excites me, though, even as I am certainly the first one to claim, “I don’t have a musical bone in my body.” I don’t care. I love it! And it gives me all of those amazing and surely Divine tingles that I have been talking about. Even just singing–as I do often with my horrible but passionate voice–makes my soul fly. And someday, when I am done paying for all of my kids’ lessons, I am going to pay someone to help me to learn all of these beautiful things. And I won’t feel guilty about it!

I can totally see myself as being the king of Adult Education classes when my kids leave the house. I would truly enjoy learning to paint, draw, take photographs, write poetry and fiction, and whatever else they are willing to teach me. I could see myself trying out for a community theatre performance someday, too. And I am certain that I will keep writing: journals, blog posts, books, whatever. I want to make art until my last breath.

For now, I just want to make sure I am scratching that creative itch as often as possible. The writing is a huge part of it, but I realize I need more. I am here and now committing to a return to the guitar practice. I think I will borrow some of my kids’ art supplies, too, and just see what comes out of me. Even adding a few minutes of meditation every day–which is not specifically artistic or creative–can help me touch that realm of connection and inspiration where art resides. I am happy there. I am committed to putting myself in a position to touch that magnificent realm more often.

How about you? Do you have creative and artistic outlets in your life? Open up your journal and consider the moments when your soul finds its way to that place that ordinary existence doesn’t make room for. Where in your life are you allowed to let your imagination and creativity free? Do you have creative hobbies? What are they? Is there some aspect of creativity in your job? What else? Do you sing in the car? Do you ever pick up a musical instrument? Do you draw or paint? How about those “adult” coloring books? Do you write poems or short stories? Are you just reading my letters, or will you write a journal entry, too? Do you have any apps on your phone or tablet that you use to create, such as Garage Band? Do you get creative with your camera? Do you have the audacity to call yourself an artist? Could anything get you to that point? If there is nothing like these outlets in your life, what do you do that lights up your soul? How long has it been since you truly felt the light of imagination and expression inside you? What do you sense that you are missing out on by going without, if anything? Are there substitutes for that deep connection and release that art provides; perhaps things like yoga, meditation, religious ceremonies, or walking in Nature? What works for you? Why do we stop doing whimsical, creative things? Is it out of fear that we are acting “childish” by trying something like an art? Is it out of fear of being judged harshly for our lack of talent or skill? Do we think art would seem too decadent or self-indulgent, even a waste of time? Are creative people more interesting to you? Do you think they are actually more courageous than the rest of us, or are they just genetically predisposed to trying difficult things and putting themselves out there? Does the answer to that question matter to you? Do you think trying to stretch your artistic or imaginative skills could help you to grow in self-confidence or courage? Do you think it could help you become more empathetic? More open-minded? More playful and free? How else could creative pursuits improve your life? Could they improve the lives of the people around you, too? In what ways? What is one creative endeavor that you would like to add to your life? How soon can you do that? Will you? Leave me a reply and let me know: How do you feed the artist inside you?

Liberate yourself,

William

P.S. If this letter resonated with you, I invite you to share it with your people. We could all use a little soul stirring.

P.P.S. If this type of questioning appeals to your sensibilities, I hope you will check out my book, Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers.

Is Self-Care Selfish? How Do You Show Yourself Some Love?

“You cannot serve from an empty vessel.” –Eleanor Brownn

Hello friend,

This week, for the first time in years, I took a yoga class. It stirred something in me, reminding me of something important that I once let slip from my grasp.

The other day I was talking with my neighbor about the types of therapy he is doing for his ailing back. He mentioned physical therapy, electronic stimulation, lifting weights, and acupuncture. Then he said, “But what has helped the most is yoga. It is healing my back, but mostly I feel it healing my SOUL.” He glowed as he talked about how this nightly, 30-minute video routine makes him feel inside. I thought to myself, “This guy has learned a secret he must never forget!” I told him how I have always been a huge proponent of yoga. I realized as I was saying it, though, that my endorsement felt a little hollow.

I first tried a yoga class about 20 years ago and fell instantly in love. It felt so good to me on so many levels. My body felt healthier than ever. My mind was calm and clear. And there was something more, something spiritual. My soul felt good. Yoga made me feel like I was caring for myself, doing something that made my life better and allowed me to show up better for the world around me. I told myself I was in it for life. There was no way I would stop.

I stopped.

I can’t even explain why. I just got out of the habit. That sounds really lame to me now, knowing that I never stopped working out over all these years. I also never stopped telling people how wonderful and important yoga is. I was like the paid endorser who doesn’t really use the product.

I guess I just didn’t make it a priority. Not a high enough one, anyway. I never seemed to make the time to add it to my schedule or trade it for one of the other things I was doing. Oh, I brought it back a few different times over the years for short stints—and I loved it each time—but it never stuck. I suppose that, subconsciously anyway, I considered it an overindulgence, like I just couldn’t give myself that much of a treat. I was not worthy of the extra hour just for personal growth or soul therapy.

It is not as though yoga is alone in this neglect. I have long been aware of the wondrous effect that reading books has on my soul, and yet I almost never allow myself dedicated reading time (I let myself do it when I am falling asleep at night or on an exercise machine). Music is the same way. Meditation, too, I have always sworn by yet rarely followed my own advice, even for just ten minutes per day. I have no excuse.

I have always tried to be so conscious of my time and not wasting it, and yet somehow in my haste to be productive, I seem to have regularly forgotten to feed my soul its fill. I haven’t taken the best care of what matters most.

Oh sure, I have done quite well on some fronts. I have kept up a fitness routine, and that has been at least as good for my peace of mind as it has for my body. And of course, my daily journaling practice has stood strong for 20 years. That is a huge pillar of my self-care. It is clarity and sanity disguised as a blank book. I also make a point of spending a ton of time with my kids. They put wind in my sails.

And that’s about it for consistent self-care for me. In other areas that feel important to me, I either make an occasional attempt or fail completely.

One of the areas that I recognize now more than ever is getting outdoors and spending some time in Nature. This never fails to help me to reconnect to myself and to the Divine. Whether it is a walk through the forest or a quiet contemplation by a lake or stream, this is my nearest approximation of a church. It makes me feel whole again. And I just don’t do it enough. I am better about it in the Summer, even if it is something as simple as laying in my hammock and listening to the birds sing and the leaves rustle. I know I do best, though, when I get out away from the paved roads and buildings, and that is something I just don’t make the time for very often.

Something that I have improved on a bit in this last year is sleeping. Starting from the time my daughter was born almost nine years ago, I have really struggled in this department. I had an excuse for a few years when the kids were little, but I became too accustomed to being raggedy. As soon as they started sleeping better, I started using that extra time for personal growth things that I had put off, like taking classes and starting these letters to you. I was running myself into the ground trying to get it all done, going on the fumes of a mere four or five hours of sleep per night, every night. As I said, just in the last year I have made a more concerted effort to bring that number up closer to seven hours. I don’t always succeed, but I feel better when I do.

Nutrition is another one that I am just getting started with. After a lifetime of pretending I could eat mostly whatever I want and still feel good, I have lately started to pay closer attention to the ways different foods affect my energy and my comfort. I am beginning to cut things out of my diet. There is a long way to go, but it feels like the right direction for my long-term health and happiness.

The one thing that I haven’t tried but that consistently tugs at my thoughts is the inclusion of more art and creation in my life. Writing these letters to you is about as close as I get to that, and Writing Day is the most fulfilling day of my week. But I want more, and I want variety. Specifically, I feel music calling out to me. I mentioned earlier that even dedicated time for listening to music lifts me up, but what my soul is itching for is to learn how to play it. I own a guitar and a beginner book, but I have never given myself permission to take that time. The same goes with the piano. Even when I touch the keys briefly as I am cleaning the house, my spirit does a little dance. I know the signs are telling me to play.

These musical longings speak again to this issue I seem to have about indulgences. Somehow, somewhere along the way I seem to have confused self-care with selfishness. I allow myself time to write in my journal, and that feels like all I deserve. I give myself permission to exercise daily, but only if it is while the rest of my family is still sleeping. I offer all of my energies to my kids—which I love doing for me—because I can claim it as good for them. I can justify adjustments to my nutrition because it is not taking up any more time or directly affecting anyone else. If I let myself go to bed earlier, I have to write less.

That thing about wasting time and being inefficient—combined with these feelings of unworthiness and guilt about selfishness—is exactly why I don’t allow myself the other self-care activities that I know would do so much for me. Meditation. Nature walks. Learning the guitar and piano. Reading books. Listening to music. These are all things that require time that I seem to feel I don’t deserve. As though care for my soul is not reason enough. This realization saddens me. I want to think I am worth more than that to myself.

This is why I was pleasantly surprised when I found myself granting special permission to go to yoga class this week. You see, I think a big reason yoga left my schedule is that it usually doesn’t feel like as much of a pure workout as lifting weights or running or something like that does, so I had a hard time justifying yoga instead of one of those (my efficiency hang-up at its most glaring). So it was a big deal for me when I substituted a cardiovascular workout for the yoga class (even though I did have to get up even earlier to make it). I consciously prioritized the benefits to my mind and spirit.

Whoa! It seems really strange even to type that thought! I just don’t do that very often, apparently.

And though I felt guilty for missing the cardio workout, oh my, how good that yoga class felt! It was a genuine treat. I was working at it, but it still felt like a pampering for my soul. I can still feel the effects on my mood even days later. What a discovery! This is what self-care feels like! I think I could get used to this. Well, you know, after a few visits to the shrink, maybe!

How about you? What does self-care look like to you? Walk yourself through your weekly slate of activities. Which items on your itinerary are aimed at getting yourself feeling connected, engaged, and at your best? Which ones are, like my journaling, your most ingrained habits, things that are a normal part of your life? How long have you been practicing those things? Could you imagine letting go of those habits? Which of your self-care practices is most important to you? Why? What practices have you tried and liked at some point but never made a part of your routine? Do you envision yourself returning to them? What will it take? Which ones have you had high expectations for but turned out to be just not your thing? Do you have any, like my guitar learning, that you haven’t tried but that your soul seems to be calling out for you to try? Why have you ignored that call to this point? What will get you to begin? Are your self-care activities more often done alone (e.g. meditating or reading) or with others (e.g. coffee with a friend or a yoga class)? Do you allot a certain amount of time each day that you proclaim as “Me Time” and really own it, or are you generally unaware of when you are taking care of yourself? Are you worthy of that dedicated time just for you? Are you only good at justifying it in the flow of your everyday life (e.g. nutrition), or are you good at claiming bigger chunks of time (e.g. a spa day or girls’ weekend), too? Is self-care intertwined with self-worth, i.e. the more we value ourselves, the more we care for ourselves? If so, what does your level of self-care say about how much you value yourself? How can you move that needle more in the right direction? How does it feel to be renewed from within? What best helps you get there? Leave me a reply and let me know: What does self-care look like to you?

You are totally worth it,

William

P.S. If this resonated with you, please pass it on. We are ALL worth it!

Free Time: Imagine the Possibilities!

DSC_0042“If you’ve got the money, honey, I’ve got the time.” –Willie Nelson

Hello friend,

A week ago, I came up with a wonderful new idea to write a book about. I was so excited! Immediately I started brainstorming and working on an outline. Next I had to do some hard bargaining with myself as to whether I am willing to temporarily suspend the other project I am working hard on now, a project that means so much to me. But this new idea is time-sensitive and must be addressed now. As I started to buy into the new project more and more and got to the point of committing to write the book, it suddenly struck me: How am I every going to find the time to do this?

 Sneaking in a few tired minutes of writing at the end of a full day of work and kids is not the way to take a deep dive into a topic, not to mention finding the artistic inspiration to make it all come out right (trust me, I’ve tried it many times!). I need several hours in a row of focused work for days and days on end. Hmmm. Those hours don’t seem to exist in my upcoming calendar of events. If I want to sleep at all, I simply don’t have the time.

This is when my escapist fantasies begin. These daydreams typically come in bunches over several days—usually a few different times per year–when I get really excited to take on a new project and then am hit with the reality of my schedule. Usually these fantasies take the form of me winning the lottery and never having a care about money again. That, of course, means I would never have to hold a job ever again. That, for me, would be absolute BLISS.

I always thought this extreme anti-job thing I had was that I simply didn’t like working. I mean, hey, who likes working, right? I just thought I had an extreme case of it. I have marveled about this many times in my journal, wondering how I got so spoiled. Lately, though, I have realized something about myself. I realized that, more than anything else, I just don’t like to work for someone else. I don’t like my work polluted by other people’s agendas, and I don’t like to be told what to do and when (and certainly not how). Simply put, I have never, EVER wanted to hold a job. That is, until the day I realized I just wanted to be my own boss.

I want to work—I’m dying to work—on my own projects on my terms. I want to choose the things I take on and how the work is performed. For those conditions, I am willing to work hard every day until my life ends. I don’t need retirement because I love what I choose to do.

So, it turns out I am not as lazy as I thought. Spoiled maybe, but not lazy. What a relief!

But that still doesn’t solve my problem. I work my current job because it brings in just enough money—combining with my wife’s income–to keep my household running and allows me to be here for my kids whenever they are here. It is a busy lifestyle, but our arrangement manages to just keep the bills paid and all of us happy and grateful for the time together.

But still pent-up and wishing for more.

More time and more money would be ideal, of course. That is where my usual fantasies of winning the lottery come in. But this week, as my soul was stirred up into a frenzy by this new book idea and my eagerness to dive into the writing of it, I realized something different about the tone of my fantasy hypotheticals.

The pleas suddenly became much less greedy, much more sensible. Instead of “If only I had 500 million dollars, I could really do what I want!” my visions have been more like, “If only I could keep my simple, paltry income but not have to put in the time to do the job and commute, I could do enough of what I want to keep me fulfilled.”

Maybe I thought that if my request wasn’t so gigantic, the wish-granters—there is a local branch of the Wizard of Oz in every town, right?—might somehow find a way for me. I am not asking to be rid of my usual financial balancing act and the tension that comes whenever I spend money. I will happily carry those burdens if only I am granted the TIME.

Yes, TIME is what I am really after. I just want those hours that I spend from the moment I leave for work to the moment I arrive back at home. If I could have those hours, along with my current income, I would not ask the wish-granters for any more wishes (I say now).

What would I do with the hours? WORK! My work. I would spend every one of them writing. In the short-term, I would write the book whose idea is burning in me right now. In the long-term, I have many other things I want to write, too, including more of these weekly letters to you. Believe me, I could keep myself occupied with the many ideas that inspire me to help make the world a better place.

I feel like the painter who has the perfect painting in mind and his paints and brushes ready to go, but he is waiting for his canvas to arrive. Waiting impatiently.

Every artist needs a patron. I started saying that when I was a young actor, having first realized how much energy it takes to create and perform one’s art consistently well. I experienced how that energy and inspiration can get muted in the drudgery of making a living doing something that is not your passion for most of the day simply to get a small window of time to pursue that passion. I am convinced that most of the world’s great art has gone unproduced due to the world’s artists lacking the requisite time and energy to create. Because I dare flatter myself by calling what I do a type of “Art,” I feel this pain. I ache for that time and energy. And thus my fantasies.

Those obligation-free hours are so alluring to my imagination. Of course, there are a million ways to use them. I know it would be wonderful to use the time to read all of the books I have on my list and take up all the hobbies I have ever aspired to. I can see myself easily passing the day between guitar practice, yoga, and some Hemingway in my hammock. It is a vision that warms my heart.

It wouldn’t last, though. What drives me is the writing. Trying to string together words that will make a difference in people’s lives. I can’t make it very long without returning to that.

So yeah, at the end of the day, if you let me keep my current income but allowed me to quit working, what would I do? I would work! (MY way.)

How about you? What would you do if you were guaranteed your income without the time commitment? Open up your journal and imagine this amazing opportunity. How would you use it? Maybe this essentially becomes a question of what you prioritize at this point in your life, not just what you like to do. Is there something that you highly value but that you have not had time to devote to with your current schedule? Is it something that you can see yourself making a habit of and keeping in your life long-term? Would you use the time to cultivate a hobby or rather something that would become a new career for you? How widely would you spread your wings? How much would you simply kick back and take life easier than you have been? Would you intentionally have no agenda at all for a while? How long do you think you could go without any job before you became either bored or stir crazy? Is this even a deal that you would take? Perhaps you would prefer to keep doing your current job, whether for social reasons or connections and opportunities to keep climbing the career ladder in your field and building a bigger income than you have now? Whatever your choice, I hope that the things you prioritize—the things you might fill your newfound window of time with—are things that will leave you feeling fulfilled. I would love to hear what you choose. Leave me a reply and let me know: How would you fill the time that is truly free?

Think big,

William

P.S. If this letter had you re-thinking about what you really prioritize at this point in your life, pass it on. A little clarity could do us all some good!

Is Awe Still In You?

DSC_0601“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”  –W.B. Yeats 

Hello friend,

A couple of weeks ago, I brought my kids downtown to see the skyscrapers. As suburbanites, I often point out “Big City” in the distance as we are driving, but never in their lives had I taken them there to see the tall buildings up close. We parked the car just out of downtown so that we could walk through a sculpture garden and park on the way to the buildings. To get there, though, we had to cross a walking bridge high above a busy freeway. We got to the top of the steps to cross, and my 3 ½ year-old son’s mouth dropped wide open. He stared in wide wonder as, right below him, cars and trucks went speeding by in several lanes side-by-side. He was absolutely mesmerized by the entire scene. Awestruck.

The look on his face was priceless, like a brand new world had just opened up and was flooding his senses. He was stunned, but giddy at the same time. It was, for me, one of those moments when time slows down and every image gets etched into my heart and mind. I was so glad to get to share in a really cool moment in his life that instantly became a really cool moment in mine, but for very different reasons.   For him, it was that he was being blown away by this amazing world and all of its magnificent offerings—like cars and motorcycles racing right under your feet—and for me it was pure gratitude: for him and for the idea that I could provide this jaw-dropping moment for him. The thought that really grabbed me in that moment–and hasn’t let go of me since–though, was “Oh, to be so lucky! To be completely in awe of so many things in this world that the rest of us walk right by. What I wouldn’t give to have the WONDER of a child. The susceptibility to AWE.” 

If you spend any time around little kids, you quickly learn how amazing our world is. They are excited about almost everything. Even when we don’t even leave my house and yard, I can’t tell you how many times a day my son hollers for me: “DAD!!! You GOTTA SEE THIS! This is TOTALLY COOL!!!” He could be talking about a leaf, or, just as easily, what he has just created in the toilet. But beyond mere excitement, this sense of awe is nearly as common. Children are so good at staying in the moment that so many things feel brand new to them every time, and that sense of novelty is the key ingredient in awe. You can stare in wide wonder at a world that is new to you and full of magic.

Regarding the Yeats quote I mentioned at the top, I think kids do a better job than us adults at keeping their senses sharp, i.e., being present and open to the magic that fills the world around us. Where and when do we go wrong, though? When do our senses dull? When do we stop being so awestruck by this place? Is it simply the repetitive nature of our lives, the fact that we see and do the same things over and over? Is it in how terribly busy we get as we grow, our minds trying to keep ourselves organized rather than stopping to smell the roses, or even noticing their presence?

I am trying to think of all the times I have been in awe as an adult. Sadly, it is a challenge to come up with examples. I was completely awestruck by my daughter when she was born. Simply her presence in the world, that this little living thing was breathing and crying and melting my heart when only moments before she was living inside my wife’s abdomen. That was truly amazing to me. I was in awe of her every development, in the first couple of years especially. I remember vividly, in the period of 18-24 months, being completely dumbfounded almost daily by the new intellectual feats. Human development is an astonishing thing. In the old days, when I spent all of my time on personal/spiritual enrichment and didn’t have a care in the world, I found many moments of awe in the Universe, most frequently when I was in nature. Put me by the ocean or a glacial lake in the mountains of Montana, and I ooze awe. What a wonderland we have been gifted with in which to live! Other moments of awe, for me, have happened at concerts, when the music and the artist stir my soul into a frenzy. The last one that comes to me is the head-over-heels falling-in-love phase of a relationship, being in awe not just of the other person but of the utter magnificence of existence now that you have found the key to the whole thing.

Babies, Nature, Art, and Love. These are the things that have dropped my jaw in adulthood. Four things? My son’s list is longer than that before breakfast! So how can I be more like him: amazed and excited by nearly every thing he comes upon? I think a big part of it is presence: simply staying in the moment and appreciating what is. I can also do better at taking an attitude of gratitude, being more mindful of the intricacy and interconnectedness of all Life in the Universe. When I consider the most minute details of how this place runs and all the conditions that had to fall exactly into place so that I could sit here and write this to you, I cannot help but be in awe. That awe makes me feel so much more alive. Einstein had it right when he said, “He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.”

So, how about you? What makes you “pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe”? Get out your journal and start writing. When was the last time you felt that wonder, that awe? How much do you envy children for their wide-eyed approach to the world? What is your biggest trigger, the thing that makes you most likely to feel amazement? What can you do to put yourself in position to feel it more often? Do you think it declines steadily with age, or does it rise and fall with your attitude and life circumstances? Be honest: do you sometimes think you might never feel it again? Leave me a reply and let me know: Is awe still in you?

Let your inner kid go out to play today,

William

The Movies That Charm Me Every Time

DSC_1409Hello Friend,

I LOVE movies!  I always have.  I love them so much that I moved to New York and Hollywood to study acting when I was young.  There is just something so magical about them.  I think it must be that a movie is one giant piece of art that requires so many different types of artists to make: writers, directors, actors, costume designers, set designers, composers, musicians, and more.  When all of these things come together in just the right way, the result is two or three mesmerizing hours of pure enchantment and escapism for me.

Sadly, since having kids five years ago, a few consecutive hours of quiet are extremely rare in my world.  So, my beloved hobby has been temporarily put on the shelf along with other friends like golf, reading, and meditation.  I still allow myself the guilty pleasure of watching the award shows (Golden Globes, Screen Actors Guild, and Oscars) as my one link to this hibernating passion of mine.  I say hibernating, because I will definitely be back.  I love movies too much.

I have to admit to being a bit of a movie snob (I even call them “films” a little too frequently in conversation).  That little movie that film critics like but that only plays at the little art-house theater because most folks won’t sit through it: that one is probably just right for my tastes.  In my pre-kids days, I made a point of seeing all of the films—see, I just did it—that were up for the awards.  On the other hand, I never made it a point to see the giant blockbuster that everyone in the world had seen at least once (I’m that one guy who has never seen “Jurassic Park” or “Mission: Impossible” or the modern “Star Wars” trilogy, to name a few).  I wasn’t intentionally avoiding them; they just didn’t appeal to me.  Generally, if there are a lot of explosions, aliens, superheroes, car chases, or jokes, I am in a different theater.  The closest I come to an “action movie” are films about war, which I love in a way I can’t explain (because they make me sick as I watch, but watch I must).  I tend to go for a drama–something with some gravity–that stirs me up in a deep place.  I am the guy who sits in the theater until all the credits have rolled and the lights come up, because I need all of that time to process such a serious work of art.

So there I was today, in front of the cabinet of my favorite DVDs, taking a stroll down memory lane.  As I looked through the titles and considered each movie, I realized that certain ones had me grinning.   I love all of the movies I own—most have landed on various “William’s Top 10” or “William’s War Favorites” or the like over the years–but somehow a whole new category of favorites was being created as I perused.  What was it, though, that was causing this grin on my face?  What separated these favorites from the others?  At first I thought it was just that these movies were not as serious as the others, not as typically “dramatic” as my usual favorites.  That was part of it.  Indeed, I was not grinning as I passed most of the war movies. But that wasn’t the big answer, wasn’t the common denominator.  But what was the defining element?  What was making me grin?  It took me awhile to pin it down.

It was charm.  I realized that during the many times I have watched this handful of movies, I probably had a subtle grin on my face, or at least a lightness in my heart, all the way through them.  I thought about the effect that charming people have: they are captivating yet keep you grinning, as though under a spell.  They make you feel a little happier, a little more alive.  They connect with you and also tickle you a bit with their sweetness.  They charm you.

These are the movies that touch my heart in just that special way:

  • Stand By Me—This has been on my short list of favorites since I was a kid, and still I enjoy every sweet, poignant minute with those boys from Castle Rock.
  • Almost Famous—There is an innocence and purity about this movie for me.  Both with the musical choices—I dare you to try to NOT sing along on “Tiny Dancer”–and the genuine humanity, it strikes just the right note.
  • Cinema Paradiso—If you have to read subtitles the entire time and are still as completely smitten as I am with this movie, it must be charming.
  • Beautiful Girls—There are so many flat-out funny lines and monologues in this one, but it is the tender, truthful scenes that keep it among my all-time favorites.  The young Natalie Portman is absolutely captivating.
  • American Beauty—The fact that a film with so many dark, disturbing elements can make it on this list is a testament to its amazing director and cast.  This is a great movie!
  • Home for the Holidays—Much like “Beautiful Girls”, there is a lot of straight funny in this one, but that is mixed so beautifully with honest, sad truth-telling.  And it is about family, so of course it touches a soft spot in me.
  • Life is Beautiful (La Vita e Bella)—I told you I love war movies, so I had to include one!  Despite covering a horrific topic, Roberto Benigni managed to bring a love and sweetness to this one.  (Added props again for making this list despite subtitles).

There they are: the movies that charm me every time I watch them.  I am grinning just thinking about them.  That is the power of great art!

So, which movies charm you every time?  Get out your journal and write the first titles that come to your mind when you think about the charm factor.  When you come up with a few, write about them.  What is it about them that sticks with you?  What about them keeps that subtle grin on your face the whole way through?  What is so special?  As you explore your mind for that answer, you probably will find more old favorites popping into your head.  Write them out.  See if you can find similarities among the favorites on your list.  The answer can give you some terrific insight into what makes you tick.  Then—PLEASE–leave me a reply.  As I said, I love movies and any discussion about them, so I would really appreciate hearing which ones have charmed you.  What is on your list?

Keep mining your inner treasure,

William