When I am too scared to do something and I find a friend who has similar feelings, I sometimes ask if they would like to connect so we can journey together. If they say, "Yes," then we do three things:
We each set a goal, and put dates for when we want to reach it.
I set up a blog.
We begin writing what happens to us as we move toward our goal.
It is that simple. And that hard.
Fears arise immediately. "Oh yeah, I know you," I think, as my critic begins yammering away on my shoulder.
Then what? A bit of self-sabotage ("Oh sure I'll organize the annual blahdeblah show, and do all the invitations, and the food and set up the tables and..")
Fortunately I wake up in time to stop myself and re-commit to what I have promised my friend. I won't martyr myself with organizing, I have work to do. And I am going to track it.
In the blog we record our thoughts, setbacks, and triumphs. Weeks go by and we are doing what we said we would, with lots of sidetracking and hesitation, feints and follies. But the blog keeps reminding us that we set a goal, and someone else cares if we get there. I was reminded of this the other day when I saw three women walking in the park, their arms swinging and their animated conversation carrying across a wide swath of lawn. It is so much easier for me to take walks if I have promised a friend I'll go with them. What is true of walking is true of art projects: it is easier to venture forth with a friend.
Making a promise means being accountable, and supportive. The premise of the blog is to share what gets in the way of working. There is no shame in writing that I didn't sign up for a life drawing class as I thought I would, or I won't make my April 10 deadline, or I took a nap instead of working. My goal is to stay in the game and anything that keeps me there furthers my cause. The point is as much to track and share my progress, and learn how I work, as it is to get to my specific goal. It is to have compassion for myself as I slip and slide toward home base, and extend that to others.
Working is messy. I almost never set a goal and move toward it without revisions, setbacks, major overhauls, losing courage, abandoning ship, having late night panic attacks, or being crippled by doubts and self criticism. It helps so much to write about them to a loving friend. Often that is all that I need to get back in the game, but it never hurts to read my friend's comments of concern and support, even if they comes weeks after my troubles. Over time I've been able to incorporate some of the love I feel, and I can speak to myself in the language of a caring friend: "You're doing great Jill. Keep on going."
And when I feel scared? I try to make it virtue. If I'm not scaring myself I'm not challenging myself. I like the territory where what-I-know meets what-is-too-hard. Borderlands have the richest life: the places where forest meets meadow, or salt-water meets fresh water, are teeming with creative diversity. This is the sweet spot of growth. But it can also be a see-saw of confidence and fear. Reading old blog posts reminds me that I struggled before and made it through; often a particularly desperate time is followed by a huge outpouring of work.
There are other benefits to sharing my process. Acknowledging vulnerabilities deepens friendship. When I confess my doubts, stumbles, backtracking and failures my friends seem pleased to tell me what I've been doing right, and point out how I'm forging ahead. Our friends often see us in a brighter light than we see ourselves. My friend Wendy isn't carrying around the little critic that sits on my shoulder: she is much kinder. She looks at what I'm doing and reflects back to me how much I've done, or grown, or how brave I am. I do the same for her, because I can see the bigger picture of how she is growing into herself and into her power. Two scared people can give each other courage, egg each other on, and make it to their goals.
We each set a goal, and put dates for when we want to reach it.
I set up a blog.
We begin writing what happens to us as we move toward our goal.
It is that simple. And that hard.
Fears arise immediately. "Oh yeah, I know you," I think, as my critic begins yammering away on my shoulder.
Then what? A bit of self-sabotage ("Oh sure I'll organize the annual blahdeblah show, and do all the invitations, and the food and set up the tables and..")
Fortunately I wake up in time to stop myself and re-commit to what I have promised my friend. I won't martyr myself with organizing, I have work to do. And I am going to track it.
In the blog we record our thoughts, setbacks, and triumphs. Weeks go by and we are doing what we said we would, with lots of sidetracking and hesitation, feints and follies. But the blog keeps reminding us that we set a goal, and someone else cares if we get there. I was reminded of this the other day when I saw three women walking in the park, their arms swinging and their animated conversation carrying across a wide swath of lawn. It is so much easier for me to take walks if I have promised a friend I'll go with them. What is true of walking is true of art projects: it is easier to venture forth with a friend.
Making a promise means being accountable, and supportive. The premise of the blog is to share what gets in the way of working. There is no shame in writing that I didn't sign up for a life drawing class as I thought I would, or I won't make my April 10 deadline, or I took a nap instead of working. My goal is to stay in the game and anything that keeps me there furthers my cause. The point is as much to track and share my progress, and learn how I work, as it is to get to my specific goal. It is to have compassion for myself as I slip and slide toward home base, and extend that to others.
Working is messy. I almost never set a goal and move toward it without revisions, setbacks, major overhauls, losing courage, abandoning ship, having late night panic attacks, or being crippled by doubts and self criticism. It helps so much to write about them to a loving friend. Often that is all that I need to get back in the game, but it never hurts to read my friend's comments of concern and support, even if they comes weeks after my troubles. Over time I've been able to incorporate some of the love I feel, and I can speak to myself in the language of a caring friend: "You're doing great Jill. Keep on going."
And when I feel scared? I try to make it virtue. If I'm not scaring myself I'm not challenging myself. I like the territory where what-I-know meets what-is-too-hard. Borderlands have the richest life: the places where forest meets meadow, or salt-water meets fresh water, are teeming with creative diversity. This is the sweet spot of growth. But it can also be a see-saw of confidence and fear. Reading old blog posts reminds me that I struggled before and made it through; often a particularly desperate time is followed by a huge outpouring of work.
There are other benefits to sharing my process. Acknowledging vulnerabilities deepens friendship. When I confess my doubts, stumbles, backtracking and failures my friends seem pleased to tell me what I've been doing right, and point out how I'm forging ahead. Our friends often see us in a brighter light than we see ourselves. My friend Wendy isn't carrying around the little critic that sits on my shoulder: she is much kinder. She looks at what I'm doing and reflects back to me how much I've done, or grown, or how brave I am. I do the same for her, because I can see the bigger picture of how she is growing into herself and into her power. Two scared people can give each other courage, egg each other on, and make it to their goals.
RSS Feed
