If you wish to improve

For pretty much my whole life, I have struggled with feelings of inadequacy. I learned early on that there is value in being smart and clever (in ways that society deems you ought to be) and no value in being stupid or unintelligent (or seeming to be so in virtually any situation). Since I understood the game from a young age, I made it my mission--in order to gain acceptance--to be "smart." I consistently made A's throughout grade school and high school and beat myself up mightily for the few Bs that made appearances on report cards. When I got to college and some Cs started to creep in, I fully accepted the fact that I was a failure and basically unworthy. And that mentality stuck with me for much of my adult life. I believed I wasn't really that smart and therefore didn't really have much value. Being seen as (or perceiving being seen as) "stupid" by anyone for pretty much anything became a huge trigger for me, which would almost guarantee me lashing out or shutting down. Eventually, I learned to just avoid situations and conversations that made me feel dumb (and there were many!), which left me stuck in a place of non-growth and action paralysis much of the time. Because to step into the unknown and try something new, to grow and become, to improve in life, you have to be a learner. And, by definition, a learner does not yet know it all. They have not become an expert...yet. And they will certainly not always seem "smart"--to themselves or to others. 

I have recently received a promotion at work, which is exciting, but which has put me squarely in the learner's camp. And, honestly, so much about it sucks. I went from being one of the most knowledgeable people in my workplace--even teaching others how to do the job--to feeling like I know nothing. And, truthfully, it is way more fun to be the expert than it is to be the bumbling newbie who makes tons of mistakes. Being a learner doesn't feed the ego in any way, and it can make you feel inadequate and even like a fraud. Uncomfortable feelings, to be sure. 

I have spent a tremendous amount of time and energy in the last several years unlearning unhealthy mindsets and retraining my brain to think differently. Thankfully, I know now that I am truly smart--and more than that, I am wise. (And, I've come to understand that my opinion of myself matters infinitely more than the opinions others have for me.) I know that I have intrinsic value that isn't in any way tied to being "smart." I seek constant improvement but do not shame myself for not yet being an expert. I have come to appreciate Epictetus' words: "If you wish to improve, be content to appear clueless or stupid in extraneous matters--don't wish to seem knowledgeable. And if some regard you as important, distrust yourself." The only way to improve is to enter a phase of cluelessness, and we must learn to be content with the uncomfortable feelings that come along with that. We must sit with them long enough to get over the hump so we can eventually become experts. And we need to realize there will always be--and always should be--areas of our lives where we are learners. 

Connection

My youngest son wants to be a blacksmith when he grows up. He told me a couple of weeks ago that he sure would like to go see a real blacksmith because he had some questions. Over the weekend, we decided to revisit the blacksmith shop that first inspired him, where they do public demonstrations and have some hands-on activities available. He was completely enraptured by the experience. And I learned some very important things from the blacksmith myself. 

First of all, he told us that blacksmiths work mostly by sight. They spend years learning to see when the metal is ready to be removed from the fire and when it is ready to be twisted or hammered or manipulated in some other way. The color of the metal tells them what they need to know, even when there are only small variations in hue. But looks, he said, can be deceiving to the untrained eye. He explained that eyes that don't know what to look for might observe that the metal has gone from glowing red to blackish gray and assume it is cool to the touch. Not true. Steel that looks cool may actually still be somewhere in the neighborhood of 1000 degrees. If a blacksmith wants to ensure the metal is cool, he will dunk it in a bucket of water, which will almost instantaneously take the heat out of it and solidify the work. When the blacksmith mentioned the high temperatures the metal was reaching (and staying at a while after it appeared "cool"), I questioned aloud why he was doing this work without gloves of any kind. He explained that steel is a pretty poor conductor of heat. So if he has a longish rod (maybe two feet or so), he can hold it in his hand and never really feel the heat of the end that had been submerged in the fire. But then he let us in on a little secret that felt truly profound. He said the main reason he didn't wear gloves while working was because he's a craftsman, and in order to make the metal do what he wants and become something useful or beautiful, he not only needs to visually observe it, he needs to be physically connected to it, to feel it. The more insulation he puts between his hand and the metal, the less accurate and precise his work and the more likely he would be to make mistakes. 

Connection has been on my mind a lot lately, and usually when something is rattling around in my head, the Universe shows up with all kinds of lessons on the topic in places I never really even expected to find them. Specifically, I've been pondering human connections. I've been wondering how to create them and how to strengthen them and how to keep them intact. I know connection is something I crave deeply, but it isn't always something I intuitively understand how to produce or maintain. And sometimes it's something I either actively avoid through a myriad of defense mechanisms or something I just don't invest the effort in, either intentionally or unintentionally. The blacksmith helped me understand connection a bit better, I think. 

First of all, I need to see--really see--the people I desire to make a connection with. And since connection isn't a one-way street, I need to feel seen--really seen--as well. I need to learn to recognize the subtle variations in what I see so I'll know whether a relationship is "too hot to handle" or whether it is has "cooled." I need to be able to read how malleable the relationship is and if it is in a place to become something beautiful or if it needs some tweaks. I can only get this kind of connection by investing time and energy and genuine attention. And I can only experience a true connection when the other person is willing to invest to an equal degree. Not only that: to have real connection, I must remove as many insulators as possible so I can truly be in touch with those around me. That means I will have to allow space for people to be vulnerable, and I will have to allow myself to be vulnerable as well. In-person, face-to-face connections will always be the most meaningful because they are by their nature the least insulated. They allow for the most contact as the art of the relationship unfolds. 

Interestingly, a few days before my visit to the blacksmith, I had looked up some Brené Brown quotes for inspiration. She is one of my favorite authors and one seriously wise woman, and on a day when I was feeling a little "blah," I thought she might have some words to help me rise above my limiting mindset. There were a few I added to my collection of quotes, but one really stood out: "To form meaningful connections with others, we must first connect with ourselves." And that little gem was swirling in my head as I exited the blacksmith shop pondering connection. 

I cannot create meaningful connections with other people until I learn to connect with myself. That means I have to stop insulating and distracting and disengaging from myself long enough and often enough to really get in touch with myself. I need to really see myself and understand myself so I can learn what the variations in my colorful emotions mean. There is always the potential to get burned, but the more I learn to trust the process, the easier it will become and the better craftsman I will be. There is a masterpiece inside me waiting to emerge, but I have to be deeply connected with myself so I know when to heat things up or cool things down or put in a twist or take a hammer to it. 

One of my great desires in life is to make meaningful connections with other human beings. In fact, I believe this is absolutely my main purpose in life. It is something I strive for in my home, in my job, in my social circles, and even in everyday activities like grocery shopping. Sometimes those connections come easily, but sometimes they are a struggle. I know now, after several years of learning and growth--and an important reminder in a blacksmith shop--that the first step to making those connections with others is to stop insulating myself from my own experience. I have to be really in touch with it, even when it seems like it might be a little dangerous or uncomfortable. Before I can connect outwardly, I must connect inwardly. That connection will help me create something beautiful of myself, which will help me fulfill my life purpose of making meaningful connections with others.

Growing Pains

When my daughter was young, she used to get the most horrific growing pains. The deep, throbbing, and sometimes shooting pains would take hold of her legs and cause tears to fill her eyes and spill down her cheeks. She would rub them and I would rub them until our hands were almost raw. And we both literally lost sleep over them. We tried warm baths and heating pads and muscle creams, but nothing really seemed to alleviate the pain except time. They would eventually go away in the same mysterious way in which they had arrived. 

When you do an internet search for "growing pains," you learn that, despite the moniker, they are not necessarily associated with growth. Some sites even suggest that there is no evidence that growth hurts, but here I must disagree. Even if the so-called growing pains are not caused directly by the stretching and elongating of bones and muscles, the fact that the pain is felt means that those muscles and bones are not yet strong enough to support whatever activities the child has engaged in, and until they are, there will be pain associated with their usage. The same is true for people (young or old) who exercise. You don't run your first mile without feeling some pain in your body. And when running a mile doesn't hurt anymore, you will feel new pain when you decide to start running three or four miles. Growth is always accompanied by pain. 

What's true for the body is also true for the mind. When we choose to or are forced to grow mentally and emotionally strong, we will feel pain as we face our demons and take responsibility for our choices and experiences. I am deeply committed to personal growth, which means I am often deliberately putting myself in the uncomfortable position of self-examination--although I will admit, I'm relatively new to this and actually spent years avoiding really examining myself at all, in an effort to minimize pain in my life. (Spoiler alert: I still had pain--and lots of it! But because I wasn't regularly examining myself and taking responsibility for my own contributions to my suffering, I found myself confused about where it was coming from, blaming Fate and other people, and adopting a victim mentality. The pain was still there, but I effectively made myself powerless to overcome it. I don't beat myself up over these years though, because you only know what you know when you know it.) These days, I am looking myself in the eye and asking myself hard questions and taking responsibility for the parts of me that aren't very lovely or that aren't as lovely as I would like them to be. And facing those things is unpleasant and painful in many ways. Taking a deep look requires that you either accept what you see as the best you can be or decide to make a change. Change is always hard. And growth hurts. But as with exercise, it's worth it when you feel the pride of overcoming obstacles, living a healthier life, and becoming your best self. 

Not only is it painful for me to grow; it is also sometimes painful (or at least inconvenient) to others for me to grow. 

My oldest son has a wonderful sense of humor, and laughing and making others laugh is one of his great passions. He loves to joke around, and he enjoys trying to get a rise out of others--not in a mean-spirited way, but just to keep things light and funny and maybe slightly shocking. For him, it's all about getting a reaction. I definitely have a track record of taking myself too seriously, so there have been times when I have not been able to laugh at his jokes or have taken offense at them. I have occasionally reacted with shock and horror, which sort of delights him, rather than mirth, which he would also accept. One day this week, he was trying to get a rise out of me, and I didn't react the way he thought I would. In fact, I didn't really react too much at all, which prompted him to declare, "I see you're growing again, which makes this not as much fun." I don't believe he was actually disappointed in me, and I believe he does support my growth, but this silly situation got me thinking seriously about how my growth doesn't just affect me. 

My personal growth will change my reactions and the way I show up in situations, and this can be uncomfortable and inconvenient for other people, especially people I have a close enough relationship with that there are expectations for how we behave towards each other in particular situations. Some people may be able to see and support my growth and adjust to new ways of interacting with me. But other people will be offended by my growth and will actually try to discourage it in subtle and non-subtle ways, so that they don't have to grow and change themselves. I am learning that people who don't genuinely support my growth are not my people. I am trying to surround myself with people who encourage and facilitate my growth, and I'm trying to be that kind of person for others. Growth is painful enough as it is. No need to multiply the growing pains by letting someone else's discomfort dictate how and when I grow.

If it comes, let it come; If it goes, let it go

Have you ever noticed how much energy you put into chasing things/people that aren't meant for you or holding on to ideas that no longer serve you? Or maybe it's just me... 

Loyalty is a double-edged sword in my life. I am a deeply loyal person, which means I go all in on relationships and philosophies once they've proven themselves valuable to me. If you happen to be a friend of mine, lucky you! This means I will be here for you no matter what, and I will love you the best way I know how pretty much forever. But sometimes, I keep trying to hold on to people and ideas even when they are no longer sparking joy in my life but are instead only a source of frustration and hurt. Or when they have already let me go. I seem to have a knack for trying to make the person/idea serve the purpose it once served or be the way I imagine it to be rather than the way it actually is. Sometimes, I can be loyal beyond what is reasonable. And I can really marinate in the hurt that comes from an ending.

A couple of years ago, all my ideas about the concept of "forever" got shook, and I have been slowly learning to greet life with an open hand instead of a closed fist. I have realized that nothing is forever and that it's okay--healthy, even--to let things and people and ideas come and go from my life without trying to control how long they stay. Not every person or idea is meant for me, and the ones that are may only be meant for me temporarily. 

Think of it this way: have you ever had a butterfly land on your hand? It feels magical and surreal, like you've been chosen for something special. But the minute you close your hand around it and try to hang on to that magic for dear life, it starts to wither and die. Something beautiful and wonderful and amazing becomes something lifeless when it is held too tightly. You can and should appreciate the magic of that moment for as long as it lasts, but you should keep your hand open so the magic doesn't die, even if it means that particular magic is no longer meant for you. 

I am currently in the process of changing my mindset about loyalty and embracing this philosophy: If it comes, let it come; if it goes, let it go. These two things can be true at the same time: I can be loyal AND I can let go when it's time to let go. Letting go doesn't make me a bad person or a weak person, and it doesn't diminish my desire and ability to be loyal. I can appreciate the magic of the current moment without trying to suffocate it. I don't need to chase things that are meant for me. The magic that's meant for me will come when it's suppose to and stay as long as it needs to. I do not need to expend energy to chase it or to hold it tightly. That doesn't mean I will not be saddened by the letting go or that I will not mourn the loss of something that was once beautiful to me, but giving myself permission to let things come and go freely feels like the kind of freedom that leads to happiness. And I definitely need more of that in my life. 

How Do You Eat an Elephant?

There are a few pieces of wisdom I have gleaned over the years that I like to pull out and share with my kids from time to time, in part just to see if they are still capable of rolling their eyes all the way back in their heads. This is one of them: "How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time." Or the way I put it to my 5th grader, who was overwhelmed by his homework last night: "How many problems do you need to work on RIGHT NOW? Just one." 

All he could see was pages and pages of math problems with blanks out beside them for answers he didn't know off the top of his head, and it felt like too much, like something he would NEVER get through, and so he didn't want to even try. But he didn't need to do all the problems. He only needed to do one problem: the next problem. 

The reason this bit of wisdom is eye-roll worthy is because, in general, people don't want to be reminded that the hard thing they are facing is, in fact, doable, because then they will actually have to try. It's much easier to give in to the overwhelm, to say we can't, to believe the problem is simply too big. If we can convince ourselves that those things are true, then we can give ourselves permission not to do hard things, and it doesn't have to be our fault but simply just the magnitude of the problem. But that's a cop out.  

It makes perfect sense to my adult brain to tell a 10-year-old that he only needs to work on the very next math problem, and that if he does that over and over, he will soon be finished with the night's homework. Also, my adult brain looks at that 5th grade math, and thinks, "It's not even really that hard." That is NOT how my son looks at it, though, because the concepts are still new to him, and he doesn't have much experience yet with those kinds of problems, so they seem unreasonably difficult, like trying to eat an elephant. 

But give me adult problems, and suddenly I'm just exactly like a 5th grader who doesn't want to do any of the problems because all I can see is all the things I don't know. And while it may seem easy to tell someone else how to eat their elephant, it's harder to start taking bites of your own. I can't tell you how many times I've been paralyzed with the overwhelming feeling that I need to solve all the problems of my adult life right now but I don't know how. I look at all of them at once and don't have answers for most of them off the top of my head and feel I will therefore NEVER work my way through all of them--or maybe any of them--and I want to quit then and there. I have always found that I learn more when I teach others, and I'm thankful that coaching my 5th grader through his homework gave me the opportunity to be reminded how to eat an elephant. I don't need to solve all of life's problems right now. I just need to chew the bite that's in my mouth and then take the next one.  

Less Unhappy

As many of you know, I have declared 2022 my year of "happiness" and "joy." As you may also know, I began the year under a cloud of depression that made it difficult to even imagine those concepts, much less embrace them. Thankfully, I have managed to pull myself out of that pit and am in a place of true peace in my mind. 

There has never been a time when I believed happiness and joy would just fall into my lap or that it would be a once-and-done type of situation. I know they must be pursued and chosen every single day. Honestly, I still struggle to give myself permission to seek them--much less demand them--so long has been my habit of believing they weren't attitudes I was entitled to. But I know (though I forget and fall into old habits sometimes) that this is for sure what 2022 has for me and that I deserve every bit of it. Unfortunately, there is not always a clearcut path to happiness and joy, and I'm honestly not really sure if I would always know them if I saw them. So, it's interesting that, rather than just throw happiness and joy at me, this year is sort of backing into it by showing me things that don't make me happy and that don't create joy in my life. And I suddenly have a burning desire to eliminate those things from my life, even if they are things I have tolerated for months or years. 

Just this week, I have taken several steps in that direction. I have gotten rid of my chipped and stained dishes, which made me sad every time I looked at them, and replaced them with new dishes that feel like a pleasure to use. I discarded my cracked recycling bin and replaced it with a fully intact one. I threw out some dead houseplants that I was hoping against hope would have a second chance at life. And I ripped up my warped, eye sore (and foot sore every time I tripped on it) of a deck that was acting as a hideout for what I'm sure was one of the largest rat kingdoms of all time. 

I cannot proclaim to you that any of these acts necessarily made me happier, and in fact, they sort of seem like small, silly things to focus on in the grand scheme of the pursuit of happiness. But, here's the thing: they all made me less unhappy, which seems like a very good step in the right direction and one I will gladly take. Who knows, maybe the secret to a happy life is simply to become less unhappy in whatever circumstances you find yourself in, changing those things you can change and accepting the rest. 

Great, Glorious Pieces of Good

A friend recently posted a quote from Dolly Parton that I love and cannot stop thinking about: "I make a point to appreciate all the little things in my life. I go out and smell the air after a good, hard rain. I re-read passages from my favorite books. I hold the little treasures that somebody special gave me. These small actions help remind me that there are so many great, glorious pieces of good in the world." Dolly grew up poor and ended up rich, but as far as I can tell, she embraced this philosophy of appreciating the little things throughout her life. It's the last bit that particularly sticks with me. There are truly so many "great, glorious pieces of good in the world," and even though I keep a daily gratitude journal that covers many of those things, I feel as if I have a tendency to focus on the negative sometimes, and I want to be intentional about breaking out of that mindset. So today, I'm sharing some of the amazing little things I've had the privilege of experiencing this week. 

Great, Glorious Pieces of Good:

• Seeing the full moon, both at night and in the morning
• Viewing gorgeous sunrises while taking my kids to school
• Watching a silly puppy play with a too-big stick
• Getting a much needed haircut
• Playing board games with my youngest
• Spending time with lovely girlfriends
• Dancing with my oldest son in the living room
• Snuggling with my youngest son during a family movie night
• Celebrating a personal victory for my oldest son
• Participating in a special family tradition
• Making and eating yummy food
• Soaking up the sunshine and lovely weather with a couple of nice walks
• Finding a 90% off sale at one of my favorite consignment stores
• Receiving several sincere compliments
• Watering my houseplants
• Having meaningful conversations
• Listening to great music and sometimes singing along