A Return to Basics
When I was young I was bold. I climbed trees, swam in cold water, hiked through snake infested foothills, climbed rocks. Heck, I even rode my bike without a helmet! These things felt natural and free to me.
I'd often heard the comment spoken of me that I took no thought of the future; that all that mattered to me was what I was doing right then and there. As true as this likely may have been at the time, it was always declared by older-than-me folks in tones either of disdain or dismissal. And, young as I was, I'd always pick up on those tones and uncomfortably internalize them. I couldn't understand what, in these older-than-me folks' minds, was wrong with what I considered enjoying being me.
Later in life the conversation turned from criticism to cynical direction: "If you keep on this path you're going to end up doing (fill in your favorite disgusting job). You need to (fill in the blank)", or "You would make a great (fill in the highly educated blank)". The pseudo-encouragement was typically from someone in a counseling position of some sort.
I can remember taking an aptitude test in high school that had some mystifying results. As I read through the hieroglyphs used to categorize my scores I came to the only discernible part of the page where the minds in charge of my destiny outlined what I should be when I grew up. I can still feel the pit in my stomach when I recall the words "sanitation worker" and "medical professional" embossing themselves into the caverns in my teenage brain. Could there possibly have been two more extreme opposite descriptions for one person? I would either be the garbage collector who performed an analytical archaeological dig through each of the cans on my suburban pick-up route, or the doctor who nobody would see because of my own personal hygiene issues! To my teenage mind this did nothing more than cause utter bewilderment and dismay. I was better of before taking the test!
It has always made me uncomfortable when I don't fulfill the expectations that others have of me. As a personal precursory condition to my attempts, a need for order has always been a part of my nature, which I'm reminded of by my earliest memories, some of which are frequently found unexpectedly leaking from the cracks in my grey matter. One such example my mother likes to remind me of. I would take my Matchbox® cars and line them up in rows that were perfectly spaced in flattened out sections of the brown shag carpet we had in the family living room growing up. I've heard others label this tendency as "perfectionism", or a title often spoken in hushed tones called "O.C.D.". I never thought of my inclinations in a negative light until I saw the looks on the faces of those recounting what they saw me doing to someone else. It's just who I was - and still am! I find great comfort in having things in a certain uniformity and degree of cleanliness. But sometimes that same need for order prevents me from completing a task because I don't want the finished job to appear as substandard in another person's mind.
There are certain tasks that I have to stop and stare at for a while to analyze what's before me. Then, after a period of mustering my energy, I can begin. The task can be anything from doing the dishes to writing a blog post to weeding the garden. I've caught others looking at me with furrowed eyebrows as I've contemplated a task, wondering if I'll ever get started. I'm simply taking inventory of what I have to do and mentally completing the puzzle before I ever pick up the physical pieces! What's more confusing to me is when these same people come to me after a moment of their own personal perplexion and criticism regarding my methods and tell me what a "great job" I did and that they "couldn't have done it so well" themselves.
As time has rolled on my tasks have become immeasurably greater in complexity and quantity. As a direct result my contemplation time has grown. So has my anxiety toward failure. Along with the tasks has also come an increase in my age and an unspoken expectation that due to it I should have greater capacity. In some regards this is absolutely true, but I still see the same furrowed eyebrows as my pauses for task contemplation increase. Whether the criticism is fair or not, it still causes me consternation.
Have you ever watched Bob Ross paint a nature scene? Time and practice gave him freedom and flow. I am envious of people who can pick up the components of whatever lies before them and, without a moment of pause, begin their work, then flow right through it without a hiccup. I am not that way. If I cause what I perceive to be a mistake in my work I'm stymied and anxiety is unleashed. Then I spend time in self-criticism wondering who my lapse of judgment is going to affect, when the reality is no one knows about it but me. When Bob Ross would make a "mistake" in his paintings, instead of picking up his easel and throwing it across the room, time and experience taught him to turn his mistake into a tree or a cloud or some other object that would only enhance his beautiful artwork. In contrast, I've mistakenly allowed myself over time to throw out too many of life's easels because of my own perceptions of failure.
Through some deeply personal conversations with close confidants (some of whom counsel people for a living) a surprising development came down. You'll remember that I started this post outlining what I was like as a kid: fearless of consequence and fully accepting of outcomes. To recap some of my previous post, I was told through these various conversations that allowing myself to "influence the moment" would shape the future of my life. In other words, if I want a positive future I need to stop being so self-critical about my mistakes, accept them for what they are and turn them into a tree or a beautiful cloud so that the future I will look forward to will be something worth looking at. My own self-criticism causes me to be so reactive to everything that I don't take time to paint a bright future. My painting becomes the image of a volcano spewing out skeletons and demons with pitchforks! Paramount to my success in painting a masterpiece is developing the skill to put off outside influences and feel secure with the outcome I create for myself.
A few months ago I was in Nevada standing on the muddy shore of Washoe Lake, south of Reno about a half-hour drive. It was the end of November and it was cold. The wind was just strong enough that I needed a coat to stay warm. I had gone there in search of birds to add to my life list, a chronicle of sorts itemizing the birds I had seen. I parked the car a long way off from the shore as the road to it was made of rutted dirt and I was in a borrowed BMW 550i (NOT an off-road vehicle). As I took the walk out to the shoreline I noted a surprising lack of birds except for a few shorebirds a great distance out on the lake. For a period I contemplated returning to the car. But being outside and momentarily free of responsibility kept me exploring.
I took a turn to the south and headed along another dirt road. It was then that I spotted something standing in the water - a big, beautiful bald eagle. I stopped in my tracks and stared! It struck me that this bird was standing in the waters of a shallow lake, solitary and un-flustered. What was it doing there? Did it have a fish under the water that it was feeding on? I couldn't see. I crept slowly along the road, taking a 45º angle of approach so as not to appear a threat to the bird, hoping to get a little closer. This bird obviously knew something that I didn't about what it was doing. My lack of stealth eventually flushed the bird into flight leaving me with more than a few questions about what this bird knew that I was so unaware of. I studied them in my mind for the rest of my time at the lake.
The natural world can be a great source of parables and parallels for how we live every day. Birding has brought some perspective for me. With it comes a study of the natural abilities and instincts of different species. Recently, I had a personally rewarding epiphany. Nobody tells the bald eagle how to build a nest, or how to find food or a mate. Nobody tells it that it's getting cold and it should move to a more suitable environment for a while. Nobody tells it to eat meat. Instead, it goes out and finds the biggest twigs to build a strong nest for its young, eats the freshest sushi on the planet and finds the perfect companion for itself. As humans we look at these things as natural and inspiring, enough so that we even made this bird a symbol of our nation.
Some things come just as naturally for humans. I believe each of us, minus a few cases, has an innate and natural capability to flourish. Is there something wrong with the way I'm naturally wired? Or does the problem lie with someone else's ability to understand that my methods aren't typical? Does a problem actually exist at all, or have we both created one out of the ether? The reality is that whatever I do, there will always be a critic who thinks I should do something else. My struggle lies in the question: "Am I okay with being me? Or do I sill feel the need to live up to someone else's concept of me?"
I'd often heard the comment spoken of me that I took no thought of the future; that all that mattered to me was what I was doing right then and there. As true as this likely may have been at the time, it was always declared by older-than-me folks in tones either of disdain or dismissal. And, young as I was, I'd always pick up on those tones and uncomfortably internalize them. I couldn't understand what, in these older-than-me folks' minds, was wrong with what I considered enjoying being me.
Later in life the conversation turned from criticism to cynical direction: "If you keep on this path you're going to end up doing (fill in your favorite disgusting job). You need to (fill in the blank)", or "You would make a great (fill in the highly educated blank)". The pseudo-encouragement was typically from someone in a counseling position of some sort.
I can remember taking an aptitude test in high school that had some mystifying results. As I read through the hieroglyphs used to categorize my scores I came to the only discernible part of the page where the minds in charge of my destiny outlined what I should be when I grew up. I can still feel the pit in my stomach when I recall the words "sanitation worker" and "medical professional" embossing themselves into the caverns in my teenage brain. Could there possibly have been two more extreme opposite descriptions for one person? I would either be the garbage collector who performed an analytical archaeological dig through each of the cans on my suburban pick-up route, or the doctor who nobody would see because of my own personal hygiene issues! To my teenage mind this did nothing more than cause utter bewilderment and dismay. I was better of before taking the test!
It has always made me uncomfortable when I don't fulfill the expectations that others have of me. As a personal precursory condition to my attempts, a need for order has always been a part of my nature, which I'm reminded of by my earliest memories, some of which are frequently found unexpectedly leaking from the cracks in my grey matter. One such example my mother likes to remind me of. I would take my Matchbox® cars and line them up in rows that were perfectly spaced in flattened out sections of the brown shag carpet we had in the family living room growing up. I've heard others label this tendency as "perfectionism", or a title often spoken in hushed tones called "O.C.D.". I never thought of my inclinations in a negative light until I saw the looks on the faces of those recounting what they saw me doing to someone else. It's just who I was - and still am! I find great comfort in having things in a certain uniformity and degree of cleanliness. But sometimes that same need for order prevents me from completing a task because I don't want the finished job to appear as substandard in another person's mind.
There are certain tasks that I have to stop and stare at for a while to analyze what's before me. Then, after a period of mustering my energy, I can begin. The task can be anything from doing the dishes to writing a blog post to weeding the garden. I've caught others looking at me with furrowed eyebrows as I've contemplated a task, wondering if I'll ever get started. I'm simply taking inventory of what I have to do and mentally completing the puzzle before I ever pick up the physical pieces! What's more confusing to me is when these same people come to me after a moment of their own personal perplexion and criticism regarding my methods and tell me what a "great job" I did and that they "couldn't have done it so well" themselves.
As time has rolled on my tasks have become immeasurably greater in complexity and quantity. As a direct result my contemplation time has grown. So has my anxiety toward failure. Along with the tasks has also come an increase in my age and an unspoken expectation that due to it I should have greater capacity. In some regards this is absolutely true, but I still see the same furrowed eyebrows as my pauses for task contemplation increase. Whether the criticism is fair or not, it still causes me consternation.
Have you ever watched Bob Ross paint a nature scene? Time and practice gave him freedom and flow. I am envious of people who can pick up the components of whatever lies before them and, without a moment of pause, begin their work, then flow right through it without a hiccup. I am not that way. If I cause what I perceive to be a mistake in my work I'm stymied and anxiety is unleashed. Then I spend time in self-criticism wondering who my lapse of judgment is going to affect, when the reality is no one knows about it but me. When Bob Ross would make a "mistake" in his paintings, instead of picking up his easel and throwing it across the room, time and experience taught him to turn his mistake into a tree or a cloud or some other object that would only enhance his beautiful artwork. In contrast, I've mistakenly allowed myself over time to throw out too many of life's easels because of my own perceptions of failure.
Through some deeply personal conversations with close confidants (some of whom counsel people for a living) a surprising development came down. You'll remember that I started this post outlining what I was like as a kid: fearless of consequence and fully accepting of outcomes. To recap some of my previous post, I was told through these various conversations that allowing myself to "influence the moment" would shape the future of my life. In other words, if I want a positive future I need to stop being so self-critical about my mistakes, accept them for what they are and turn them into a tree or a beautiful cloud so that the future I will look forward to will be something worth looking at. My own self-criticism causes me to be so reactive to everything that I don't take time to paint a bright future. My painting becomes the image of a volcano spewing out skeletons and demons with pitchforks! Paramount to my success in painting a masterpiece is developing the skill to put off outside influences and feel secure with the outcome I create for myself.
A few months ago I was in Nevada standing on the muddy shore of Washoe Lake, south of Reno about a half-hour drive. It was the end of November and it was cold. The wind was just strong enough that I needed a coat to stay warm. I had gone there in search of birds to add to my life list, a chronicle of sorts itemizing the birds I had seen. I parked the car a long way off from the shore as the road to it was made of rutted dirt and I was in a borrowed BMW 550i (NOT an off-road vehicle). As I took the walk out to the shoreline I noted a surprising lack of birds except for a few shorebirds a great distance out on the lake. For a period I contemplated returning to the car. But being outside and momentarily free of responsibility kept me exploring.
I took a turn to the south and headed along another dirt road. It was then that I spotted something standing in the water - a big, beautiful bald eagle. I stopped in my tracks and stared! It struck me that this bird was standing in the waters of a shallow lake, solitary and un-flustered. What was it doing there? Did it have a fish under the water that it was feeding on? I couldn't see. I crept slowly along the road, taking a 45º angle of approach so as not to appear a threat to the bird, hoping to get a little closer. This bird obviously knew something that I didn't about what it was doing. My lack of stealth eventually flushed the bird into flight leaving me with more than a few questions about what this bird knew that I was so unaware of. I studied them in my mind for the rest of my time at the lake.
The natural world can be a great source of parables and parallels for how we live every day. Birding has brought some perspective for me. With it comes a study of the natural abilities and instincts of different species. Recently, I had a personally rewarding epiphany. Nobody tells the bald eagle how to build a nest, or how to find food or a mate. Nobody tells it that it's getting cold and it should move to a more suitable environment for a while. Nobody tells it to eat meat. Instead, it goes out and finds the biggest twigs to build a strong nest for its young, eats the freshest sushi on the planet and finds the perfect companion for itself. As humans we look at these things as natural and inspiring, enough so that we even made this bird a symbol of our nation.
Some things come just as naturally for humans. I believe each of us, minus a few cases, has an innate and natural capability to flourish. Is there something wrong with the way I'm naturally wired? Or does the problem lie with someone else's ability to understand that my methods aren't typical? Does a problem actually exist at all, or have we both created one out of the ether? The reality is that whatever I do, there will always be a critic who thinks I should do something else. My struggle lies in the question: "Am I okay with being me? Or do I sill feel the need to live up to someone else's concept of me?"
To sum up, what I'm looking for is equilibrium. There is a natural balance that I want to find between my personal progress and acceptance of the outcome. It may be a lifelong pursuit. I may never find it. Life has brought me a lot of opinions from other people about what I'm supposed to be doing and how I measure up. I've spent a lot of energy concerned that I've failed to do so. To the credit of many of my critics, more than a few of them have also offered unconditional support and love through my struggles and I don't think I could face the difficult times without them.
What I am learning is that no matter what other people may think, or where I'm at in my pursuit, I really am okay. I have interminable natural capability and talent. I've proven that to myself, and others, many times over. When left alone to unfold my wings I have been known catch the wind and soar.
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