transitions

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October 11, 2009

kaua’i: the beginning

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, surfing, transitions, yoga | Tags: , , , , |
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Yesterday, I arrived at Lihue airport on the Hawaiian island of Kaua’i.

This is my first visit to Hawaii, and I couldn’t be happier that instead of vacationing here for a week or so, it’s for a long stay. We plan to live here for six months to work, to live, to learn and to experience something new.

It’s so easy for me to stay where it’s comfortable. The familiar routine of morning coffee. Familiar trails. A community of good friends. When Bracken suggested we move here, I committed pretty immediately. It sounded so wonderful (I mean, duh… who wouldn’t want to live in Hawaii?). But more than wonderful and exotic and fortunate to have the means and time to do so, it seemed to fit. There was an aspect that just felt right to me.

So, after a couple of months packing up our stuff after our wedding, a hectic week moving it all into a storage unit, and a week of car trouble where we weren’t sure we were going to make our original flights and feeling pretty displaced and defeated before we’d begun, we made it.

For me, I want to experience something new. I want to slow down and find a way to simply be without my own expectations, interests and familiar routines getting in the way. I finally feel ready to move forward on a new career path (one I’ve been searching for and thinking about for over a year now). And I’m excited to begin that process of recognizing and realizing my (newly rediscovered) long-held dream to write and to work with others, helping them realize their own goals and dreams.

I don’t know how I know, but I know this is the place to do it. I imagine it’s similar to the feeling I had when I moved out to Colorado way back when. Somehow I knew I wouldn’t leave it for a long time, and I knew it was the right place for me. And today, I know Kaua’i has something planned for me. Maybe it’s something big. Or maybe it’s simply planting new seeds of growth for something far in my future.

I’ve learned to trust my intuition a little better lately, and although it’s not going to be without challenges and difficult moments, I feel a quiet calm in my presence here. A quiet and peace that feels good and right.

I’ve tried to keep my expectations and plans open as to what I want to do here and leave here with, but I do have a few things I know, and want to share them here, with you, my dear readers.

  • I plan on doing a LOT of yoga. I want to strengthen and heal my body and to meditate and find deeper peace and knowledge of myself.
  • I will be spending a lot of time working towards a certification as a life coach. This is the first step on my new career path and one that is amazingly exciting for me to think about and finally delve into.
  • I plan on spending a lot of time swimming in the ocean and learning how to surf. It’s a childhood dream to be a surfer and while I have no expectation on surfing large waves, I do want to be comfortable in the water, with a board, standing up.
  • I want to write. A lot. I have a vision of this blog with a lot more updates, observations and stories, as well as writing for a few bigger projects I have in mind. Stay tuned.
  • And finally, I want to slow down. I want to find a deeper sense of consciousness in my choices and an awareness in the world around me.

Over breakfast this morning, I looked around and got the feeling as though I’d been plucked out of my own life and dropped in on an entirely new world. It’s a good thing, it’s a scary thing and it’s an entirely unknown thing. And I’m ready.

 

October 1, 2009

finding home

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, transitions | Tags: , , |
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I remember when I moved out of my parents house, that figuring out where “home” was was something I thought about. Was I coming home from college for the summer, or visiting my parents for three months? Was I leaving home for four years, or moving to a new one?

It took me awhile to feel comfortable calling my college dorm room “home.” (And I’m not convinced I ever really did… I never felt that connected to Miami.)

The fall after I graduated, I moved to Colorado and finally felt like I’d landed. Maryland had been my home because my parents lived there and I grew up in the same house for 18 years. But I knew that house, and Maryland, wouldn’t be home forever.

Although I’d only driven through Colorado once or twice as a child on family road trips, being here and living here felt right. I moved around a lot at first, but as the years went by, I realized I identified myself as being “from” Colorado instead of Maryland. All my apartments and houses I’ve lived in over the past 14 years were homes for me. When I moved to Boulder, my connection to the state and to this particular town was stronger than ever. The air, the trails, the routes, the coffee shops… they fit.

And now, I’m leaving on a new adventure with my new husband. We’re leaving Colorado. We’re leaving Bolder. We’re leaving our apartment and putting all our material possessions in a 10′ x 15′ storage unit.

We’re moving to Hawaii for six months and then plan to travel through the US for a year when we return. We’ll have only clothes and a few essentials with us in Hawaii. A van for the road trip. Our possessions could be in storage for almost two years.

So where is home? It’s a question I have been pondering and mulling over recently. A good friend of mine has a great attitude about it: Wherever you are that day, is home.

Wherever we are.
Wherever we are. It’s a new perspective for me. One that intrigues and tantalizes. I want to explore it and feel it and notice it. I want to sit with it and say it to myself over and over. “I am home wherever I am.” Will it be challenging? Or will it feel natural right away? How will this new perspective effect other perspectives in my future? Will I find more or less meaning in tangible objects? Will I end up traveling nomad-style for longer? Or will I long to “nest”?

The concept of home has infinite variations. I love that about our world. Maybe Colorado was a stopping point in learning where my true home actually is. For me—today—it’s here. Right where I am. Wherever I am.

 

September 10, 2009

taking in the moment

Posted by Amy C under integration, life experiences, observations, setting goals, transitions | Tags: , , , |
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being.

Sometimes I find it hard to simply (and consciously and deliberately) “be” without thinking about where I just was, or where I’d like my life to be tomorrow, or in a week or maybe in five years from now. It’s hard not to think about what might make it (whatever my present reality is) better—even if I’m currently really happy with it.

Over coffee in the back garden of Espressoria the other morning, my good friend and I were talking about my upcoming plans to move to Hawaii for six months this winter. It’ll be the first time in my life I’ve moved somewhere without a set plan on where I’m staying or exactly how long I’ll be there. I think about the adjustment. I think about the challenges and the newness of it all. I think about the adventure and about experiencing this together with my (new, yay!) husband.

Our conversation began to center around a conundrum we all seem to face (similar to “the grass is always greener” and “you always want what you can’t have”) of wanting what we used to have or what we see as “better” or “easier.” There’s the flexibility vs. structure continuum. Those with 8-5 jobs yearn for the freedom to set their own schedules and go play when they want to; those with flexible jobs yearn for more structure so they know when to stop working and can go play without a sense of guilt for not working.

Sick vs. healthy (or more often in my world, the injured vs. healthy) is another one I’m often faced with. Healthy but unmotivated or tired, I think about the rest one gets from being sick or injured (the kind that forces your body to slow down). And when I’m sick or hurt, all I want to do is get out of the house and go running, or clean or do something.

It’s hard to find a balance, and sometimes I wonder if it’s really balance I’m after. Maybe it’s simply the ability to accept what is. I appreciate the ups and downs of my life. I love the feeling when things are going well; when the energy is flowing and things feel good. And when they’re not, I find a renewed appreciation and gratitude for those good times and try to take advantage of the extra down time to rest the body and the mind.

So here’s my Thursday morning musing and thought … I am happy to be. Right now. Today. At 9:17am. And in each moment, I will remember that whereever I am, I am good. Life is good. And by wishing and dreaming too much about what isn’t, I’m missing what is.

I have a feeling that I will need to remember this over and over again… but over time, I know it’ll get easier. With more experience and with more wisdom, I can be a little more often each day.

 

July 21, 2009

the space between

Posted by Amy C under integration, life experiences, observations, transitions | Tags: , , , |
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the space between
We seem to be a society that “does” a lot. We work. We socialize. We recreate. Yet sometimes it seems we don’t do much between the doing—whatever it is we’re doing. It’s constant movement.

I talk a lot on this blog about being conscious of our lives and being present for them, and making decisions with our eyes open and with meaning.

It matters what we do between our “doings.” It matters that in music, we rest. The silences between the notes and rhythms accent, prepare and complement the notes themselves.

It matters that we stretch and eat right between running, or biking or any other type of physical activity. Stretching our legs and gaining core strength decreases our risk of injury and works to ensure we’ll be active for years.

It matters that we take time for ourselves between relationships and careers. Taking the time to review our mistakes and get to know and reconnect with our inner selves can solidify our sense of self and place in the world, thereby bringing forth a stronger, more confident self into the next chapter.

The space between matters.

expectations and breath
I (and our society at large) seem to have internal expectations that we must always be “doing something” in order to be successful. Leisure time is wasting time, right? I disagree. I’ve heard the “you can sleep when you’re dead” mantra before and wonder how it came to be something to value or to look up to. Resting between action is vital to our mental, physical and emotional health.

Pay attention to your next breath. To breathe in, one must breathe out. There is a natural pause when the exchange happens.

space in action
even in action, what we do between our movements and judgments matters. I signed up for a Parkour class a few months ago and the instructor, Ryan, gave us this advice (paraphrased):

Those who are the best at this discipline are constantly scanning their environment and perfecting their movements between the obstacles. It’s what they do to get into the right position before they make a big move, and what they do to land safely after each jump that makes them so good.

peace with inaction
And from this idea, I realize that all the time I’ve taken between jobs… the worries, the frustrations, the time I felt I’d wasted, and the ideas generated are all good things. Because I now realize that when my next career launches in full force, I’ll have scanned my environment; stretched my mind; and I’ll have paused to feel the rhythm of my life. And all of that information I’ve gathered will result in focused energy and knowledge for my next big move.

 

June 6, 2009

spring cleaning

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, transitions | Tags: , , |
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IMG_8532Maybe it’s that spring is in the air—this annual season of renewal and growth. The pungent fragrance of roses and lilacs, mingling with fresh pine, linger in the wind. 

 

The past couple of weeks I’ve sensed a growing need to purge: possessions to make room for a new home, a new life shared with a partner along with hibernating emotions from past wounds, and some inner voices to quiet and cease listening to.

 

I wonder if this is purely the spring air, or does my upcoming marriage have anything to do with this sudden need to start anew? My guess is that it’s a little of spring and a lot of a new chapter in my life. 

 

The getting rid of possessions is the easy part, although for me, the more tedious. Garage sales where strangers haggle over your memories; craigslist meetings and coordination, donations to charities you hope will appreciate your old CDs.

 

 

And then there’s the emotional “baggage” to get rid of. (I prefer to believe I have a small carry-on.) It’s been much more difficult to uncover and face old, outdated thoughts and beliefs from my past—recent and long ago.

 

It’s a good feeling… refreshing and cathartic. The thoughts have been nagging me and holding onto a past that I’m now feeling strong enough to let go of. It won’t happen over night, but it’ll happen and I anticipate, come July 25, that I will have created space for energy to devote to a new life as a life partner.

 

I don’t mean to sound dramatic. My fiance and I have definitely started the “purge and combine” process of possessions, habits, energy, etc. that come with the commitment to share our lives and living space.

 

However, the strong motivation to clean, sell, get rid of, have come as a surprise. And the need to reflect, resolve old (and current) hurts and let go of past haunts has risen up rather suddenly and insistently.

 

The ceremony of marriage is ancient, and one I am anticipating with excitement, awe, humility, and a deep sense of commitment. There is something about the act of speaking your promises in front of those who bear witness to your vow that seems pretty amazing to me, and makes it (for lack of a better word) real.

 

It’s time to move forward. I am listening to the voice that’s been whispering its advice to admit failures, apologize to a friend, and (finally) to let go of past resentments and create space to move forward. 

 

I liken it to a snake shedding its skin. The old skin served to protect and shield, yet is old and must go; the new skin is still tender and raw. It continues to grow and generate, revealing beauty and grace.

 

April 15, 2009

life lessons from the trail

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, trail running, transitions | Tags: , , , , |
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setting out

I trail run. A lot, it seems, these days. When I started running eight years ago, I tended to dread it. Then I went off-road and found exactly what I didn’t know I was looking for: peace. fun. challenge. patience. and a little bit of zen.

As my life shifted into new territory recently (I moved, left a secure job for an opportunity to find a career I was passionate about, got engaged and started the wedding-planning process), the trails in the foothills of Boulder have been instrumental in helping me focus my energy, maintain a semblance of sanity, and find that ever-elusive balance.

On a recent long run, parallels between the current challenges I was experiencing on that particular trail, and the challenges and fears I was working to overcome in my professional life began to emerge.

Know your goal, but you don’t need to know every little thing about the path you’re on.
We’ve all been there. We want to know exactly where we’re going; how long it’s going to take; what it’s going to look like when we get there; and how we’re going to feel. Some of us are a little less relaxed about this than others, but we’ve all learned the same lesson: Not knowing everything can be good. Why?

Our minds stay open to possibilities and opportunities. We become (and stay) more flexible when things don’t go as planned. A better way to go about it and reach your goal might just appear before you (if you’re looking).

Prepare for your journey, but don’t overdo it.
Remember your first backpacking trip with the 60 lb. pack? Or your first international trip with two (or maybe three) suitcases? You wanted all your comfort items and were determined to have everything you needed on hand “just in case.” I’m guilty.

Make sure you have the essentials dialed in. Your business plan. Knowledge of the product or service you’re offering and an ability to actually articulate it to others. A rain jacket in your pack. Enough food and water (plus a little extra).

But too much weight can, well, weigh you down (I couldn’t help myself). Feeling compelled to have all the “right” materials before officially announcing your new company to the world can leave you with missed opportunities to network and get the word out.

Learn (and trust) that you can start with less and expand as you move forward. Finding that magic balance of supplies, knowledge and gear might take some time, but know that it’ll never be perfect, so get to where it’s “good enough” and go for it. 

It might seem like your goal is far away, but trust in the process of the journey.
It’s closer than you think. I do this all the time when I’m approaching a summit. I stand at the bottom of the trail looking up and think to myself, “I’m never gonna get there.” Yet I make it. And along the way I find myself taking in the smell of the pine needles, the color of new blooms or the sound of crunching snow on the way up.

We’re an impatient species. We seem to shrink away from the tedium of an approach, only to feel depressed when we actually get to the summit. We made it and forgot to enjoy it because we were so concerned we weren’t going to make it. Trust that you’ll get there and remember to be where you are.

Remember to look where you’re going.
Manage the details of your journey, but don’t forget to look up once in awhile. Keep your eye on the rocks and terrain before you, but make sure you remember to stay on trail. When you do look up you’ll notice the brilliance of the sun and the way the wind moves through the trees. It’ll remind you why you’re on this path in the first place.

slow and steady

Take baby steps when you’re going uphill.
It takes less effort than an all-out run and it’s easier to stop. Running uphill is tough. And counterintuitively, it can often take more energy than walking—and be a lot less efficient. The same thing happens when we’re in a tough spot at work.

I know I often over think whatever seems to be going wrong. I invest so much energy into worry and frustration that I forget that sometimes going a little slower is okay. Taking a breath, making time to slow down often ends up saving me time.

We all know it, but stuck in the moment, it’s difficult to remember. When we rush into a tough challenge, we’re at a higher risk for falling down or making a mistake. And those mistakes made at warp speed can be doosies!

Get into the rhythm when you’re going down.
At those moments when things aren’t going well and you know you’re falling, go with the flow. When we try to slow it down, stop or otherwise control momentum, we’re at a higher risk of injury. When we move with the flow, it tends to be a softer landing.

Breathe deep and let your legs guide you. Trust yourself. We all fall at some time or another. It’s okay and it’s expected. We just need to remember to pick ourselves up and move on with grace and humility. Others admire those who take failures in stride. Just tuck and roll…

Tell someone when you’re out alone.
Having someone at home supporting you and knowing what to do if you get into trouble is important. They’ll know when to call in the troops if you need it; and will support you in your goals.

Trying to do everything by yourself can be tiresome and draining. Even just knowing someone’s home, cheering you on from the sidelines, can help keep your perspective and energy.

honor the accomplishment

Take a moment to stop and look where you’ve come from.
Success can creep up on us. One day we step out of the house for our first 3-mile run, coming home tired and sore. And the next time we look, we’ve covered 31 miles of tough, vertical terrain in one day. Or we stand on the summit of a mountain, looking over the vastness of the land before us and see a bird in flight far below.

How did we get here? When did this happen? I’m constantly amazed every time I climb a summit to look down at the trail below and know I’d just been there. The first time I actually ran up an incline on a trail I was stunned. How did I get so strong? Wasn’t it just yesterday I was huffing and puffing my way up? Stopping every few feet to catch my breath?

Recognize your progress and honor it. Success comes to us each and every day, in a myriad of forms and experiences. Take a moment to notice.

 

November 19, 2008

defining moments – a conscious decision

Posted by Amy C under defining moments, life experiences, transitions | Tags: , , |
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About a month ago, I was having a conversation with some friends about “defining moments.” Moments in your life that represent a new path; moments that mark an unexpected lesson; moments that change the trajectory of your life plan.

I’ve had a lot of these defining moments throughout my life. One taught me the value of being nice despite mean words and looks from others. One taught me more about my hidden confidence and strength in a few hours, than I’d realized I’d had the previous 25+ years that offered a new vision of what my life could be like.

The one I want to share today is a moment I experienced this past year that resulted in, what was for me, an extreme, yet conscious decision. A decision made as a result of a feeling that washed over me on a bus ride this past May that has since led me in a direction I’d only dreamed about, but never imagined being a realistic option for myself. 

“It’s time,” the voice whispered. 

I was listening to Lucinda Williams’ Blue on my ipod. Her voice deep and steady. The melody simple and pure. As I was staring out the bus window, looking out at the familiar and ordinary landscape of Westminster and Broomfield as it blurred by, tears began to well up in my eyes. “It’s time,” the voice whispered again with more conviction. In that moment I felt a deep sense of peace. I nodded in amazed agreement. Hearing those words and recognizing their truth, I felt a sense of renewal and confident strength.

I knew my inner voice was right. I knew, without hesitation, without fear, and without a need to find excuses as to “why not.” I knew it was time to quit my job.

The revelation itself, was not a total surprise. It was the strength of the truth that surprised me. I’d been thinking about quitting for a long time. I’d been struggling with an ever-deepening feeling of discontent and discomfort over the past months. It reminded me of the anguish that breaking up with someone that initially seemed great feels like. That feeling you get when you see so much potential for the relationship to be what you want it to be, yet something just doesn’t resonate and you can’t put your finger on why. So you try harder, saying to yourself, “There must be something I can do.” Everything seems fine, but it’s not. And you know it. Even if you don’t want to know it, you know it. 

And the time comes when you have to admit it to yourself. That’s the biggest step in this whole process, right? Admitting to yourself that you might’ve been {gasp!} wrong.

In the case of a job, however, the predominant and widely accepted way to quit is to have something else lined up. There are the financial reasons. The expectations (and pull) of society’s norms. Your career is at stake. And then there’s the safety factor. Having another job lined up is the “expected and approved” thing to do. And just the day before, I wholeheartedly bought into this line of thinking. I wasn’t ready to quit. I hadn’t been looking hard for another job. And besides, I wasn’t done trying to make this job work. I’d invested my time, energy and emotions into this job. There were aspects of it I truly loved and thrived on. I had plans for the future that relied on my income. I wanted to keep saving my money. It didn’t feel safe to consider quitting.

Structure was familiar and safe. The norm. I’d lived a structured life since I was in nursery school. Getting up at a certain time each day to go to class, to chorus, to work. Even in the rare instances I had free time, there was always something on the horizon.

Sitting on the crowded bus that May evening with tears in my eyes, I knew instinctively that this was different. That my life was on the verge of a major shift. It was time to quit the next day. No plans. No safety net. Just a small amount in savings to carry me and an amazingly supportive partner to encourage me to jump. It simply felt right.

The future opened up. My sense of adventure was awakened. The possibilities seemed endless. I took some time that evening to think about it, but deep inside, the decision had been made and I knew it. It was just a matter of figuring out how to make it work. The rightness of the decision couldn’t be brushed aside. There were no excuses. It was time.

I gave six weeks’ notice to help out with the transition. I was naive in thinking it’d take me only a mere few weeks to sort out what I wanted and jump onto a new path. It just doesn’t work that way. Five months later, I sit in the local coffee shop, an americano beside me, looking back over the past months, still considering my future. What do I want to do? What gets me up in the morning? What do I procrastinate doing? When are my passions aroused?

The feelings that I’ve experienced are all along the spectrum of emotions. Some expected, but most continue to surprise me. The contradictions of uncertainty, failure, strength, excitement, anxiety, guilt, freedom, pride, frustration, motivation and lethargy… sometimes they come all at once, sometimes they creep up and overcome me in waves–unpredictable and often uncontrollable (and yes, I like to feel that I’m in control of my feelings, at the same time I know it’s an unrealistic expectation). I feel so many varying things that I’ve found it hard to navigate what’s authentic, what is a result of past beliefs and which ones reflect a fear of the unknown.

In that moment on the bus, I very consciously altered the direction of my life. I veered off the path paved by society with my eyes open. I opted to bushwack through the unknown until I found (or built) a new trail. It’s been rocky and muddy at times; frightening, beautiful and incredibly awe-inspiring. I’m gathering up new strengths and forming new perceptions as I step into my future. I’m still searching and exploring, but I’ve made a number of discoveries about myself these past months:
  • I’ve learned that knowing what you don’t want to do is just as valuable (if not moreso) than knowing what you do want to do. 
  • I’ve learned (and continue to practice) the difference between what I truly need and what I simply want.
  • I’ve learned to appreciate the value of a penny.
  • I’ve learned that I need more compassion and patience for myself.
  • I’ve learned that I enjoy writing and look forward to sharing more of myself with the world.
  • I’ve learned that I still want to help others.
  • I’ve learned that my generosity didn’t disappear under a corporate spell, but that it was simply hibernating and now recovering and blossoming again.
  • I’ve learned that I am horrible at self-motivation on a daily basis.
  • I’ve learned that I still don’t like to leave voicemail.
  • I’ve learned there’s an entire new world of RSS and blogs out here.
  • And I’ve learned to pay attention to the world I’m living in a little bit more and notice the nuances, expressions and details that I so easily overlooked and took for granted. 
So, so much to learn and appreciate. I continue to create my path. The future is still wide open. The journey of self-discovery continues. 





 

October 28, 2008

becoming

Posted by Amy C under poetry, transitions | Tags: |
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The heat of the sun.
The rushing water below.
Insects hovering.
The wind across my face.

I delve inward. Seeking strength.
Drawing out memories of pain
To examine. To accept. And to let go.
Into the wind… toward the sun. Burning

Into particles of joy & sunshine.

I am seeking freedom in this wild place.
Freedom to embrace my past.
Freedom to treasure my present.
Freedom to create my future.
Freedom to become.

To become more. Stronger. Lighter. Joyful.
To recognize and harness my power. 
To act without fear. To raise my voice with confidence.
I have something to say.

I am here to draw on the power I feel.
In solitude. In stillness. In light.

~Written 7.31.08, on the eve of my (most recent) birthday while camping alone in the backcountry for the first time. 


Each year on or around my birthday, I find some time to remember the past year and all I’ve accomplished and how I’ve changed. And then I look ahead to what the coming year might bring. What my goals are. What I’m hoping to experience, etc. With the decision to quit my job and explore a brand new path, this year is one for discovery and creation, both externally and internally. I am learning so much about what is out there in the world, what’s going on, and more about who I am and who I want to be. 

The time I have to sit in a space and consciously listen to myself and really see me is a new experience for me. I find myself noticing patterns from my past creeping in. Immediate reactions to situations that come up I see a little more objectively and try to reassess the situation with a clearer mind (although it’s still quite a challenge to reign them in). I notice colors, smells, sounds, expressions, nuances. My senses are more acute; more aware; more intense.

I am so grateful for this time I have, yet find myself seeking reminders (i.e., my poem above) when I need to remember that what I’m going through is normal; that the ups and downs I’m experiencing are all part of the growing pains of newness. I feel guilty for not being the person I was four months ago. I feel stressed and torn by the expectations of others. And I especially feel discouraged and confused by my own expectations–what the ‘old’ me would do; and what I think the ‘new-as-yet-undefined me’ should be doing. 

Rereading the poem is grounding. It serves as a reminder that I have not lost my way. That I am staying true to my goal to expand within and move forward through my life with purpose and grace. 

I know everything I’m going through, seeing and feeling is bringing me closer to that goal. And that it’s a lifetime journey full of experiences and moments. The signs are all there. Yet with this clearer vision comes more accountability and responsibility. I can no longer hide within my job, within a label of ‘what I do.’ I have chosen to live more deliberately and aware. I have chosen to feel more acutely the experiences of life–the failings, joys, surprises, disappointments, beauty, awe, sorrow and brilliance. I wasn’t expecting it all to feel so amplified in so many ways. The volume and intensity can be overwhelming.

Yet finding simple reminders is encouraging. They serve as mantras to repeat when I’m feeling the weight of the world. Today, my mantra is, “I have the freedom to become. I have a voice. I have something to say.” And I will take this time to embrace all of it; to acknowledge the challenges and the beauty of the process; and find compassion within me (and for me) as I become more of who I already am.
 

October 22, 2008

moving forward

Posted by Amy C under setting goals, transitions | Tags: , , |
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I’m fond of quotes. Of reading new information and finding that nugget that feels like home. The words express a thought you’ve had before, but could never articulate. Or, in my most recent experience, a thought or concept that has you saying, “ah-ha! that’s me!” 

 

 

I’m currently reading a book about finding your ideal career (when you’re feeling stuck). It centers around common fears people have of committing to, and doing, what they love. It’s called I Could Do Anything if I Only Knew What it Was, by Barbara Sher and in one of the chapters, she discusses how some people avoid making a commitment to pursuing a skill or interest, because they’ve never learned how to learn. They’ll start something, catch on quickly, but then as soon as it gets hard, get frustrated, convince themselves they’re no good at it, and quit. Reading this intrigued me. I have quit many things that interest me: swimming, ballet, geometry, advanced math classes (never even attempted physics or calculus in high school since I figured it’d be way over my head), speed training on a track, biking up Olde Stage Road, writing, painting, singing, playing the violin, learning a foreign language… my list goes on. And on. She writes:

“Always feeling like amateurs, but sensing their considerable talent, these people are caught in a nightmare of self-evaluation: Am I a genius or am I a fool? That seesaw thinking is a painful mistake people make when they haven’t worked enough.” 

This line of thinking is achingly familiar to me. There are so many things I believe I might be good at, or could be good at, but I’m petrified to even contemplate trying even one thing. I haven’t pursued anything very seriously. I haven’t mastered anything. Writing is a perfect example and one of the reasons I’m so elated that I’ve begun this blog. It’s a beginning for me. It’s an gentle step forward into the unknown… into a realm of living that I’ve dreamed of, but have yet to realize. I am petrified of finding out that I’m a fraud. I have to be honest with myself and, regardless of how rational or irrational it may be, admit that I’m afraid people will find out I’m not smart, or talented, or very creative at all.

I learned about 8 years ago how perseverance works in the physical realm. Running a continuous mile for the first time in my life at the age of 26 was a defining moment in my life. I could do it! But then it got hard, and I thought to myself, “I don’t even really enjoy running.” But alas, I’d already signed up for a 5K race with a friend, so I was stuck. I had promised to run with her and I wasn’t about to back out. Something told me to keep moving forward. So I set up a schedule and I trained. 

And I learned something that year. I loved it. Deep, emotional, ecstatic love for the training. Not the race. Not the running. (It was actually a few more years before I fell in love with the running itself.) It was the training I loved. The hard work. The sweat. The challenge. I thrived. And you know what? I was average. My time was average. And I felt strong. And there it was. My life had begun to shift. And it continued to shift in ways I never imagined, or had even perceived at the time I completed that first mile.

It was a valuable lesson. But one that, apparently, didn’t translate very well to my mental ability to learn and persevere. Reading the chapter today felt like a hammer hitting the top of my head. A big sledgehammer. Just yesterday I was in tears because I was feeling stupid for not being able to do one task on my ‘to-do’ list that involved learning something new. I’d procrastinated for over a month doing it. And just couldn’t ‘get it’ when my deadline was approaching and I finally sat down to figure it out. I didn’t know how to approach it and learn about it. And I didn’t know how to be patient with myself. 

So what does this mean? Where do I go from here? It means that I need to learn how to learn. It means I will be patient with myself and have compassion for myself when my frustration and fears overwhelm me. It means I will set a few goals and stick to them–regardless of the pain and suffering and defeat I might feel at the time. I will persevere through the beginning stages and have faith (and trust) that I’ll move into a new realm of mastery and confidence with time. 

This blog is my first commitment (of hopefully many) to that goal. To keep writing. To keep learning. To weather the struggles and temptations to quit I know I will experience. To see the struggles as a sign of progress and validation that I am getting better.

I am inspired by one of my favorite lines from Walt Whitman: “A foot and lighthearted, I take to the open road.” The road is ahead of me, full of wonder and experience and moments of discovery. I take another step. 


 

October 20, 2008

beginnings in action

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, transitions | Tags: |
1 Comment 

My first blog. My first blog post. Whew. 

“Just start writing,” my mom would advise. I typically (not always, mind you, but often enough) prefer to have everything figured out before taking action; to have it ‘perfect’; to meet some arbitrary standard I’ve set for myself. I’ve been thinking about and talking about starting a blog for the past four months. I have ideas I want to explore. Yet four months go by with lots of thinking and pondering and daydreaming and excuses, but no action. Until now.


Taking that first step–the commitment, the exposure, the fear–it’s tough. I’ve taken many ‘first steps’ this past year, so you’d think starting a blog would be small potatoes in the grand scheme of things (and it probably is), but it’s something that scares the heck out of me.

So why tonight? Why now? Why, on this particular day, did I sit down at my computer expecting to read the news and find myself here? I don’t have a good answer to these questions. Other than I think I’m finally tired of simply talking about doing stuff. I am restless. Antsy. Feeling motivated to do something. Anything. I’ll be writing more on this in the following posts, but I am in a state of pretty spectacular transition in my life. I’ve spent the summer exploring my inner world and how the choices I’ve made will effect my future. And all that thinking has begun to feel stagnant and stifling. I want to finally take action. The need to move has overridden the fear. For now. The brilliant hues of autumn serve as a reminder that change is inevitable–and an absolutely beautiful process that I can embrace and get excited about.

This is my first step of many towards a new world order. I don’t have all the answers tonight, but I know one thing for sure: I want to write. And it’s time to sit down and “just start writing.”


 

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