Relax Your Mental Spam Filter (and Contemplate a Dream)

Last night I had the most vivid dream. I had been selected as a grant winner to write a children’s book. It was enough money to take a month or two off of freelance work and just be immersed in the creative process. Other than that the book had something to do with the ocean and ships -- I don’t remember too many more details, but I remember how I felt.

I felt as though I was being recognized for a talent I knew I had but had been afraid to engage. Nearly everyone was effusive in their praise (except someone shadowy, but I’ll get to that). More than anything, I felt like in acknowledging this award and accepting it, I was at home. More at peace and more serene than at any other time in my life. Like I was a key finding my lock, a puzzle piece clicking into the final empty space. Like I was being allowed to fulfill my potential.

As for that shadowy figure: I was aware of jealous, critical eyes, too. Surrounded by happiness and supportive people, I felt a dark presence that dismissed the award. “What, she got it? Oh, please!” it seemed to say. This person was full of unkindness toward the award and toward me, and essentially told me I didn’t deserve it. That someone else had been robbed, and that it seemed to be fixed. That I hadn’t earned it.

Upon reflection, I’m certain that sneering person was me. My inner critic. The one who keeps me afraid and holding back and procrastinating on all my big dream projects. The one who tells me to not shoot too high, and to stick with what I can get. With what people will just give me. Don’t ask for anything too good, she says, you don’t deserve it. And if some good thing should come your way? Don’t get too proud, you aren’t that special. And if you’re too good at something, watch out -- you’ll alienate people, and no one will like you.

I think dreams often have vital information. They’re the e-mails our subconscious is desperately trying to send to the already stuffed inbox of the conscious self. Could you dismiss them as spam from the wacky boiler room of your head? I suppose so. And sometimes they certainly seem to be undecipherable weirdness. But this one (and a few others I’ve listened to over the years) have had such resonant, lingering feelings that they are impossible to dismiss, even if they are hard to tease out.

The dream above is not one of those, obviously. It did take a little bit of reflection to know that the negative presence wasn’t someone external, but the critic and negative self-talker that takes up way too much space in my head.

Does that mean I’m going to start writing a book now? (I’m actually surprised by the fact that it indicated a children’s book, since I’ve never seriously contemplated writing one. Or maybe I have – subconsciously!)

Actually, maybe I will. Something tells me this is one of those dreams you listen to. I had a dream about starting this blog—even the name came to me in a dream—and it’s been a vital project in my life, even with my occasional sabbaticals.

I had a dream about knowing it was time to have a baby, and while I have never been busier or more sleep deprived, I can say without a doubt that he is the greatest blessing of my entire life. I was ready for a baby, and I’m so very, very glad he’s here.

I know that one doesn’t eject the nasty inner critic in one evening, but something about the dream above clarified things for me. I may have intellectually known that I had a destructive, sabotaging inner voice, but the dream was the only way I could have felt how damaging the voice is, and how right and perfect I am when I’m engaging my talents to their fullest potential.

Since I can’t know whether this dream will steer me in a new path until some time has passed, I don’t have too much advice. Just a suggestion to allow your most vivid dreams a chance to open up and show you something important that you might be missing.

If nothing else, maybe it’s a good idea to loosen up the mental spam filter and let something that seems kind of wacky or out there into a space where it can gain a bit of traction and legitimacy. And hey, who knows? Maybe it’ll be the newest priority on your to-do list.

Why I Stopped Following My Bliss, and What I'm Doing About It

Today, this post is all about me. I hope you'll forgive me, and indulge me. If not, that's okay, too.

One of the reasons I started this blog, and wanted to think about what it takes to follow one's bliss is because I was fairly certain I'd found something worth pursuing. For me, that something was writing, and especially creative writing. Because I'm so verbally wired, and because I love reading and because I love the way both writing and reading make me feel, I determined pretty early on that I wanted to be a Writer.

For a long time, I wasn't sure how anyone really did that. I stumbled around, writing bad poetry, taking classes that had the words "creative" and "writing" in the title, and spending time at night and on weekends doing something that seemed to be natural for me. Putting words down on paper.

I started to think that maybe there was something more formal one could do to achieve this goal of being a Writer. I had a friend who wrote, and who talked to me about writing, and one day he unveiled an entire pathway I didn't know existed: He said he was going to get his MFA. I didn't even really know that you could go back to school for writing, so this was tantalizing. Then, he got in. To the Iowa Writer's Workshop, which is only the most famous MFA program of them all. (I went from not knowing about MFA programs to quickly understanding where they all ranked. How American of me, right?)

Well, after this, I had a new bug up my butt. I too, was going to go get my MFA in writing. I was working at a miserable job, where I slaughtered language for political purposes, doing so for humorless ogres that looked like this. I had to get out, and that was that.

So off I went, into the application process--which is not easy, I'll tell you that--burning with the desire to get minted into a Writer. Eventually, I got a few acceptances, and even some generous offers of funding and teaching, and settled on the University of Arizona.

The next two years were a blur. I moved to Tucson, sacrificing proximity to my boyfriend (now husband) because he couldn't find work in Tucson and I desperately needed to be a real Writer. I gave up a lot, is the point, to do this.

My experience is probably pretty typical. I breezed in, thinking, Hey, I must be pretty good at this writing thing if they let me in and gave me money and a teaching job! Of course, I quickly realized that what they let me in for was based more on potential than on actual skill. This caused some major paralysis, but I got over it once I remembered that I was there to learn, not to just show them all how great I already was.

Incidentally, Tucson is the place where I began seriously understanding and contemplating what ego is, and how it can make us so crazy.

Eventually, after some very, very tough semesters, I came to the end. People began to say things in workshop that were very, very encouraging. Accomplished writers and professors were admiring my work, telling me how much I'd grown, how things I was writing were close to publication. Then, that last semester, I got my first story accepted at a journal. I felt like a Writer.

But after graduation, things slowed with my writing, and I got discouraged. No matter how many revisions I made to these stories, I couldn't seem to get another one accepted. No matter how hard I tried to understand what was missing, I couldn't. I got rejected a lot, and the worst part was I had to wait months and months to get rejected. It was agony.

In the meantime, good things were happening in my personal life. I was getting married. We'd bought a house. I had friends and a comfortable job with a nice salary. It became harder and harder to tear myself away from these things, with all their attendant positive feedback, to do something all by myself that no one much cared to see.

Also, by then, it was becoming obvious that the entire publishing complex was undergoing an earthquake, and there were fewer and fewer print venues with each passing day.

I thought, I'll just put my writing aside for a little while. That was in 2006.

And I've been telling myself that ever since. While there have been some bursts of activity, it's time to face facts: I quit.

I never said so formally, announcing it. But that's what I did. I closed the door, unofficially but definitively, on my creative writing efforts. I stopped trying to be a Writer, or a writer.

I'm here, telling you this story today to tell you that I'm recognizing that I'm unhappy about this. I'm facing it. I've been lying to myself and others so long, pretending that there were *reasons* I wasn't writing. Too much going on in my life, or a fear of the post-print media landscape or a million other things that seem perfectly plausible.

While plausible, making art, writing creatively, doesn't arise out of reason, doesn't depend on circumstances. And I, of all people, should know that. But I've been afraid. I think I've mainly been afraid of the enormous effort that writing every day requires, especially as it means I must give up time for things and people I enjoy. The sacrifice, again, for something no one seems much interested in.

But, I found a quote by Stephen DeStaebler yesterday in David Bayles' and Ted Orland's book, "Art & Fear," that sums up the situation: "Artists don't get down to work until the pain of working is exceeded by the pain of not working."

And I have to say, the pain right now is pretty intense. How often I wish I could let it go, say goodbye to this urge to write! But I'm at the point where I feel like a teenage boy who's been trying for total celibacy, without even the relief of his right hand! A too-graphic image? Perhaps, but we all know what happens, and the point is, it makes a mess of things. My urge to write and create and use words in artistic and interesting ways is nearly as strong an instinct as the sexual one, or the will to survive. I don't know how to explain that from an evolutionary perspective, but all I can tell you is that it's true, and real. If I suppress this instinct for too long, it begins to manifest itself, to surface, and in ways that are not healthy or productive. I get moody. I cry a lot. I feel emotions I don't usually feel: anger, resentment, jealousy, despair.

I don't want to be someone who used to write. I don't want to have quit. But at this moment, I am, and I did. Fortunately for me (and for the people who love me and enjoy my sanity), there is nothing in the world that says I can't start again.

My motivations will be different now, I think, as will my goals. But I will be writing creatively again. I may even share some of it here. If you don't care to read it, that's fine, just don't tell me. Let me put it into the world somewhere, okay? It's so hard to leave it always in the dark. If you don't like it, or don't want it, just skip it. There will be other stuff for you to read, I promise.

And for anyone who's gotten this far, I want to tell you that you and I could be good friends, if we're not already. I appreciate you sticking with me, and hey, maybe you're in the same boat. Maybe reading this will get you to figure some things out about the creative parts of your life. I hope so.

One thing I do know: My efforts from this point forward will be dedicated to my husband. Because for all I've put him through in this writing journey, he has never once--not once!--wavered in his dedication to me and his belief in my work. So thank you for that, pickles. I love you.

Why Fiction Is My Bliss

This question came in to me from a writer named Sharon on one of the listservs I belong to:

Here's a question from one word nerd to another, Tiffany: when writing fiction, are you as convinced as often and as intensely as I now am that what I'm producing is utter crap?

And here is my answer:

Sharon--
interesting question, since I have a slightly different problem. When I am writing and everything is on and the neurons are really firing, I feel convinced that what I am writing is brilliant and lyrical and sure to bring me fame and fortune. The moment I am finished with a draft is the moment I lose all those good feelings and feel that I have just produced, as you put it, utter crap.

Chris Offutt, who is a great writer and who I saw lecture at a writers' workshop, reassured me in this sequence of feeling, since he said it was essential to be in love with something as you're writing it--or else how would you ever finish it?--and that it was similarly essential to fall out of love with it the moment you've stopped--because how else would you ever be able to cut and slash and revise to make it not suck so much?

It's kind of the same thing Anne Lamott says about letting the little kid write and dig for gold and making sure the thin-lipped editor lady is far, far away while that's happening. When I teach, I talk about this as the separation of the creator and the editor, which I think is essential. You can't write great fiction if you're critiquing yourself as you go along, and you can't create great fiction if you allow that dreamy, inspired poetic part of yourself handle the surgery that's required afterward to repair a good, but defective, heart.

The trouble is that I think anyone who tries to write fiction has the poet, but it requires education and patience and fearlessness to cultivate the surgeon. I actually think science writers and journalists have the opposite problem, and I see this in my classes: too much surgeon, not enough poet. (Not to say that it isn't there! Just that you can't have that nagging surgeon in the room saying, "Well, I wouldn't do it that way, not if you want the patient to live.")

So yes, I'm basically advocating schizophrenia as a means to writing fiction. Hey, schizophrenia worked for me! :-)

So, Sharon, to answer your question, what you're writing is wonderful, and what you're writing is crap. It's just a matter of getting the right person to work on it at the right time, so that when they're finished, what you're left with is just the right amount of both wonderful and crap: in other words, art.

Now, if only writing fiction was as easy for me as talking about it. Still, I love it, and I believe in it. What do you feel this way about?

When to Choose the Tangible Over the Abstract

I was reading a newsletter from the Glimmer Train literary quarterly today, and found this quote from author Melanie Thon:

The Kingdom is here, on Earth, waiting for us to step into it. Ansel Adams says: I believe in beauty—I believe in stones and water and air and soil—people and their future and their fate. If we believe in these things, then the love and patience required to evoke them for our readers becomes sacred. Art is an Affirmation of Life—not only our separate lives, but our lives within the endless body of all living things, our lives as they are connected to stones and clouds and wolves and spiders.

I love this, and here's why: Sometimes, reflection is too much. Sometimes, getting lost in thinking and ideas is unhealthy. Sometimes, you have to remember the physical world, the one you experience through your body, your senses.

After all, no matter how complex your thought processes, the experience you have of the world is mediated through the physical self.

Often beginning writers will make the mistake of writing a character who does pretty much nothing but think. This has been called the "mind on a page" problem. There's no there there, there's nothing for us to see or taste or smell or touch. And so we lose interest, and often no matter how hard we try, we lose track and grow confused about what's happening. One of the best pieces of advice I've gotten from my favorite writing teachers is to ground the action in the physical world, in tangible detail. Don't tell us that our hero is nervous, show us the nickel in his hand that he's obsessively turning over.

When you're feeling overwhelmed with mental activity, when you can't make sense of the tangled thoughts in your head, seek out the details. Focus on that. Stroke the velvety ears of your dog. Look closely at the wood grain of your dining table. Smell the aroma of a just opened jar of peanut butter. Remind yourself that this is the world, this is life. When you can identify yourself as a physical entity in the same way as a package of pasta and the wasps nesting under the eaves of your house, you slow down and take note of things in a way that is often lost.

Connect to the stones and the clouds and the wolves and the spiders, and you will connect with the self that is here on earth, now, already in the Kingdom.

How to Get Out of Your Own Way

As a teacher of creative writing, I always ask why people want to write. After all, it's not the easiest and certainly not the most lucrative pursuit. I always worry when someone answers me thusly: "To express myself." If the student is young or particularly naive about the satisfactions of writing or pursuing any artistic endeavor, I take heart. If the student is older and should know better, I worry.

Why? Because after a certain point in your life, you realize that gratifying the ego is, for the most part, a treacherous path to be on. When you pursue work, possessions and relationships as a means of making yourself feel important, something negative happens. What is that something? I've observed that things begin to fall apart--living a life for yourself just doesn't hold together. It's as though the things achieved have been gained through the wrong reasons, and so any hold is like one stuck with the wrong glue.

Now, this is not to say that you--as a unique personality with something to share--may not come through in your art, or work or relationship. But the paradox is that the only way you can truly come through is by thinking first of serving others as you pursue your goals.

When I was a young, geeky girl, hopelessly uncool and in love with books, I found that writers--and other artists, but writers especially--spoke to me in such a life-affirming, soul-saving way. I felt a boundless gratitude that someone had taken the time and made the effort to write these books that spoke to me, that taught me, that comforted me. When I first realized that I had been blessed with the ability to write, my intention in writing was to reach people who needed me, as I had needed the authors I read.

If you are not already conceiving of your bliss as something with responsibility and as a means to serve others, then you need to figure out why you want what you want. If you think you want something because it will make you happy, it will not. In fact, it may even torture you. But the brilliant, simple and amazing thing about serving others is this: When you stop worrying about your own happiness, but engage your gifts to serve, you are suddenly most likely to get on the right path and succeed at it. In a sense, you really just need to get out of your own way.

If you think of using your unique gifts as a means of vitalizing the world, of making a difference in your sphere of influence, congratulations--you're on the right track.

If, however, you think: if only I could write my novel, then I would be happy--no. Just as it is flawed to believe that getting married will make you happy, believing that achieving your goals is about making you happy will also not work.

In yoga, it is a common practice to dedicate your efforts to someone or some ideal--something beyond your own benefit and gratitfication--as a means to find extra inspiration, to draw on hidden resources. Imagine who or what you can dedicate yourself to serving with your gifts--whether it's the young nerdy girl in the library, or whether it's the folks who enjoy the sensory pleasure of a lovingly crafted beer--and you will stop serving your ego and start serving something much, much better.

Language Day: Raise the Stakes

Raise the stakes. What does that mean? In my writing class, when a story is lacking drama or conflict, it is often because the we don't know what the character has to win or lose. If we don't know what it means for him to get the job or lose the girl, then we don't know how much to care, how much to invest in the outcome of the story.

One of the ways you raise the stakes in your life is to find what is really important to you, and go after it. If you really want to own your own design business or if making a film is where your heart returns, time after time, then following that raises the stakes of your life.

Now, you may be thinking: Wait a minute, Tiffany. Isn't that where you just said drama and conflict come from? Isn't drama and conflict difficult?

Um, yes? But did I also mention how much more thrilling life is for the characters of our novel, or the characters in our lives, when they achieve a big goal--something they really want? Or when they get rid of a terrible burden? Don't we cheer at the end, transported for a moment into the glory of attainment, of atonement with what the heart desires? Don't we root for them all along their journey?

But maybe the struggle and the difficulty sound like too much. Consider these lyrics. They're from the song "Small Stakes" by the band Spoon.

Oh Yeah Small Stakes Ensure You The Minimum Blues
But You Don't Feel Taken And You Don't Feel Abused
Small Stakes Tell You That There's Nothing Can Do
Can't Think Big, Can't Think Past One Or Two

I hope you read these in the same depressing way I do. Do you really want to live the kind of life with minimum blues? That it's better to just coast on along? To protect yourself from the risk of failure or struggle?

My guess is that if you're reading this blog, the answer is no. If you keep your life small, safe, with nothing big wagered, you're still a worthy human being. But what do we have to root for? What can we truly know about you? If we don't know your largest, greatest desires for your life, how can we help you?

And we want to help you. Give us something to root for. Raise your stakes.

Gone Sailing...

Okay, not really. I don't know how to (literally) sail, but a vacation--the reason the blog will be quiet for a few days--is definitely a voyage of adventure, surprise, and always at least a little risk.

The house above is in the place I'm headed--Salem, MA. The house above also happens to have been owned by one of my childhood heroes--Nathaniel Bowditch. (There he is, bottom left, in the top hat!) He was the subject of Jean Lee Latham's book Carry On, Mr. Bowditch, which was one of those childhood books that had a profound effect on my young mind.

Here's how the Wikipedia entry summarizes the plot of the novel:

The novel introduces readers to young Nat Bowditch, a boy who loves school, and especially mathematics. He dreams of someday attending Boston's Harvard University, but is forced by economic circumstances to quit school and begin working. Eventually, he ends up as an indentured servant to a ship's chandler. Still determined to continue his education, he begins to study (and master) advanced mathematics in the evenings after work.

When his indenture is complete, he gets the chance to go to sea. There, he discovers that many of the navigational sources used at the time contain extensive and dangerous errors. He is prompted to compile a new book of navigational information. This book, The American Practical Navigator, is still in use today. Under several captains, Nat learns how things work at sea. He invents new ways of calculating latitude and longitude, increasing the accuracy of calculations used to find ships' locations. Eventually Nat becomes a captain himself.. At the book's end, Nat receives an honorary degree from the school he always wanted to attend, Harvard.

His story was such an inspiration to me as a young girl--the amazing way he triumphed over the odds, the challenges he faced, the talent he had that he refused to give up on--he was certainly a hero.

Joseph Campbell talks a lot about the hero's journey, viewing it as mythic instruction for how we should strive to live our own lives.

I read a post today at the Shane & Peter, Inc. blog about getting a mentor, and I think it's priceless advice that I will definitely heed. But I think it's so important to have heroes, too, be they living or dead. Sometimes I actually prefer the dead ones, just because they have stood the test of time and have gained a lustre that shines as a beacon for us when times seem dark. They reach out across the ages and give encouragement through the legend and example of their own lives. That their stories resonate even today is immensely heartening, because they too were human. It's like that line in the latest Harry Potter film:

Every great wizard in history started out as nothing more than what we are now. If they could do it, why not us? Well… why not us?

Indeed. Why not me? Why not you? Carry on, dear reader. Become the hero you loved as a child.

Language Day: Find the Meaning of Life in a Novel

I read this truly excellent essay today in the Boston Globe, and it has me all atwitter with thoughts. It's somewhat lengthy, and I'll pull out my favorite paragraphs here, but if you have time, by all means read it. (And feel free to get a discussion going in the comments!)

Essentially, it talks about the failure of universities to provide a true humanistic education to the students passing through its gates, and what that means for society's spiritual (but not necessarily religious) investigations. The article acknowledges that those studying the sciences fare better, though I believe that anyone in any discipline could benefit from humanities courses taught well. The difficulty, the writer posits, is that when the humanities left a secular but still spiritual pursuit of the questions Why are we here? and What is the meaning of life? to pursue narrow, specialized research fields, they lost their power, prestige and the interest of their students.

What I'm interested in is the obviously deep curiosity people have for the big questions, and how they go about trying to find their way toward insight, even without guidance or organization. After all, this curiosity is what led me to stumble upon Joseph Campbell, and then embrace him as a teacher. As Kronman, the writer of this essay, says:

Most importantly, perhaps, the great upsurge of religious fundamentalism outside our colleges and universities is a sign of the growing appetite for spiritual direction. These movements can be a source of danger and division, and intellectuals may mock and despise them, but teachers also ought to see in them the energy that will drive the restoration of the question of life's meaning - and, with that, of the humanities themselves - to a central place in our colleges and universities. The fundamentalists have the wrong answers, but they've got the right questions. We need to learn to ask them again in school.

So maybe we got screwed in college. So maybe we should have been studying Plato, but we were (somehow, in my case) studying Madonna. What do we do now?

For me, I couldn't agree more with Kronman--the answer isn't in the unique inflection of a religious tradition, but in the larger, more universal explorations of human mythos, consciousness, philosophy. So, we go and we find like-minded people, and we teach ourselves. I know that this is suited for avid readers--and while I am one, I recognize not everyone is--but again, starting out with Joseph Campbell's accessible The Power of Myth book or DVD could be the beginning of a direction.

Then, as we progress, we can follow Kronman's suggestion, which begins by discussing the similarities of programs devoted to these larger questions. He writes: (emphasis mine)

These programs differ in many ways, and inevitably reflect the culture of their schools; some are mandatory and others, like Yale's Directed Studies, are elective. But despite their differences, all rest on a set of common assumptions, which together define a shared conception of humane education.

The first is that there is more than one good answer to the question of what living is for. A second is that the number of such answers is limited, making it possible to study them in an organized way. A third is that the answers are irreconcilably different, necessitating a choice among them. A fourth is that the best way to explore these answers is to study the great works of philosophy, literature, and art in which they are presented with lasting beauty and strength. And a fifth is that their study should introduce students to the great conversation in which these works are engaged - Augustine warily admiring Plato, Hobbes reworking Aristotle, Paine condemning Burke, Eliot recalling Dante, recalling Virgil, recalling Homer - and help students find their own authentic voice as participants in the conversation.

That notion above--"that the best way to explore these answers is to study the great works of philosophy, literature, and art in which they are presented with lasting beauty and strength"--obviously speaks to me as a writer of fiction. But I see it as an exhortation to those of you who may not always see the potential art has to be more than be an elegant and decadent luxury.

This is pretty heady stuff, but here's my main message on this Language Day: Read fiction. Study a painting. Read philosophy. Watch a really great film. Get to know Art. Get right up next to these big, huge, ginormous ideas--yes, it may make you uncomfortable, yes, it might be difficult at first. But if you're serious about finding your bliss, you first have to find out what your life means to you, what you have to contribute, what the purpose of your life is.

To me, there's no better, more fun way to do that than to cozy up to some art.

Language Day: What People Say When They Talk

So, as I've mentioned before, I teach a fiction writing class at the University of Texas Informal Classes program. One of the things you look at when critiquing a story is the dialogue.

One of the mistakes new or inexperienced writers make is to create dialogue that is essentially a Q&A format. So, for example:

"Did you have a good day at work?" she asked.
"It was okay. Nothing much happened," he said. "How about yours?"
"The same. A few meetings, pointless chit chat--the usual."

While this may be an accurate rendition of the brain dead conversation that takes place after a day of slogging it out with your fellow cube monkeys, this isn't the dialogue most people want to read, and it certainly isn't the speech to pay attention to.

A better way to write dialogue is to have the characters talk past each other--essentially having their words slide right over each other, creating friction and heat. To illustrate:

"Did you have a good day at work?" she asked.
"Who cares. I'm here now. What are we having for dinner?"
"Tacos. Did you know Lucas's art teacher called me today?"
"Why? Did he get caught drawing boobs or something?"

When you look at dialogue like this, so much more is revealed. She asks a simple question, but we do not get a simple conversation. Suddenly we see that he would rather stick hot pokers in his eyes than discuss work, and that he's hungry. She isn't concerned with the menu, but brings up their son. He presupposes his kid is in trouble for something, not really paying attention to what she might have to say.

What's the point of all this? Agendas. Every person, at every moment, wants something. Even if he/she doesn't know it. You're desperately hungry, but your spouse wants you to look at the stack of mail. Conflict. You want to ask someone out, but they want someone else. Conflict. Oftentimes, we become so immersed in our own wants and agendas that we are unaware of what other people are saying or doing.

To which I suggest: Listen to the words people use when they talk to you. Not only will you learn a lot about the other person, but you may learn a lot about the way they view you.

I once had someone apologize to me thusly: "I'm sorry you got upset." Look at that carefully. Not, "I'm sorry I upset you," but that you were upset. Almost no responsibility taken there, and not much of an apology, is it? And it's all in how the words are arranged.

When you ask someone how they're doing and they say, "Fine," you know right away whether that's the truth or not. If they're the kind of person who always does this, there's no intimacy there, and they may not ever be willing to tell you much.

Listen also to the conversations around you. Analyze the way people choose their words and try to figure out what each person wants from the conversation. I find that going to coffee shops and listening to people on cell phones is great for this.

By paying attention to what people are really saying to you when they talk, you can get a much better sense of where you stand with people and the sort of folks they are. You may find that people you talk to on a regular basis aren't saying much, or aren't giving you the respect you deserve. If you find this is the case, ask yourself why, and then look at the way you speak to others.

Think of this as an exercise in tuning up your bullshit detector. Once you can recognize it, you can avoid stepping in it and/or generating your own. Conversely, once you recognize (and practice!) genuine, honest speech, and especially the kind that's supportive and generous, you will find your true allies in your quest to find your life's purpose.

Find Your Self. Then Trust It.

There is a woman I know who fascinates me, though not for admirable reasons. Instead, I am fascinated by the smallness and sadness of her life--how anyone can be in such a sorry place as she!

Well into middle age, this person is completely, utterly incapable of making a decision. And when a choice seems to be made, it is later revealed to have been an arbitrary one, as random as throwing a dart. When someone asks her opinion, she usually turns to the questioner and says: "I don't know--what do you think?"

I thought perhaps this inability to make a decision or express a strong opinion came out of fear. And while that certainly is part of it, I've recently come to the theory that perhaps the primary reason she can't make a decision is that there is no self there. After all, when someone asks you what you think or what you want to do, you must first go inside yourself for a split-second, and ask yourself. In other words, you consult your self. If you have no self--and by that I mean a vital spirit with a will and a mind and the lessons of experience--there is no one to answer those questions.

As I've grown older, I've noticed this self of mine growing stronger and more potent, more confident that I know who I am and where I've been, and where I'm going. This takes time, and is one of the reasons younger people--especially teenagers--can be so easily led. They simply haven't had as much time to develop themselves.

Of course, one expects that by a certain point, you will begin to form and take shape, and that you will soon be making contributions of voice and opinion and action, and will no longer be a suggestible vessel. Which is why it's so sad when you see older people who still seem so vacant.

This post does not pose any easy solutions. In fact, I believe that finding your self is in some ways the holy grail of personal development. So what can I tell you? Well, I can share some observations based on my own life experience and extrapolate from there.

What keeps you from having a strong sense of self?

1. Fear. Generally a fear of what other people think. Paralyzed into inaction or indecision for fear of going against what is socially accepted.
2. Denial. In that you refuse to acknowledge your truths, because it is too hard or too painful. You really want to be a musician, but that path seems so difficult. It is easier to opt for the stable job with the stable salary. By denying who you are, your self begins to wither.
3. Insecurity / Lack of confidence. What do you know? Why would anyone trust your opinion or your course of action? Despite the fact that you have life experiences and a unique mind and personality, you devalue your voice to the point that not only do you feel that others shouldn't listen to you, but you begin to lose all faith in yourself.
   

These are the biggies, though of course I'm sure there are subsidiary reasons. But all of these erode your sense of self to such a point that you become lost, your spirit a dim light among the shadows. The good news is you're still there, but only you can go within to fan the flame and help it to burn brighter. Again, it all goes back to your own willingness to change.

Now, developing your self and trusting in it are two different things. You can have a sense of who you are and what you think, and yet still be unable to trust in it. Of course it helps when you have someone--a loved one, friend or family member--who believes in you. But no one can teach you to believe in yourself. Again, it must come from within.

So how do you learn to trust yourself?
This has no easy answer, but here are some ideas for where to start.

1. Stop worrying what others will think. What is the worst that can happen, honestly? What, someone will laugh at you? Hate you? Think you are stupid? Well, let me ask you this: Have you ever laughed at someone? Thought they were stupid? Hated them? Guess what--you have no control over what other people think of you, and thinking you do is nothing but a delusion. No matter how hard you try, there will always be people who you will not get along with or who won't care for you--but it's nothing personal, and in fact, the harder you try to get everyone to like you, the more likely you'll lose respect--theirs and your own.
2. Find out who you are. Of course, that's kind of the point of every article on this blog, so it's not likely this is an overnight solution. This could be your life's journey, but so long as you're taking it, you're doing all you can to get into harmony with your truest self. Begin by asking for help. When you do this, you reawaken parts of your self that have been dormant, but that when revived, will strengthen you in so many ways.
3. Learn to listen to yourself. I don't care how long you've been ignoring that voice inside you, so long as you're alive, it's still there. It may be tiny--only a croak--but if you get very quiet, you can hear it. Begin first by simply acknowledging its existence, and then, when you're aware it's there, begin by listening to it. Hear your thoughts and desires and ideas and opinions, and just let them be. Don't dismiss them. Just listen. At some point, you'll realize that you have something unique to contribute, and you will begin to allow that voice to actually reach your throat and be spoken. It may take awhile. Be patient.

Now, what do I know about all this? Well, when I started my MFA program, I was suddenly confronted by a large, critical audience for stories that previously I'd pretty much just kept to myself. I found that I was suddenly paralyzed by writer's block, and that I had lost all ability to trust myself as a writer.

After a year or so, I realized that I was worrying too much what others thought, and not trusting my own voice. Now, was it valuable for me to go through this crisis? Probably. Why? Because when I came out of it (and I eventually did) not only had I learned to listen to other people, but I also learned how to ignore them. In other words, I was able to discern for myself which criticism was valuable and which was not in line with my vision as a writer. I was so much more confident in my voice, my sense of self, and my convictions. It took a long time, but I finally knew who I was as a writer. This isn't to say that I'm not still growing and learning--I am. But I now have an unshakeable foundation on which to build.

So if you haven't already, find your self. Say hi. Take it out for a drive or a walk. Get to know it. And then, when you know each other for a while, make a commitment. Bring it home. Sleep next to it. Eat breakfast with it. Soon, you and your self will be joined at the hip, and you'll be ready for anything.

Trust me. Or better yet, trust you. Trusting your self is one of the most important steps on your journey toward bliss.

How Having Faith Can Lead You to Bliss

Right now, the word "faith" has a political association that I'd like to immediately dispatch. Let's just say that the faith I reference in this post's headline has more to do with the ability to trust in something you cannot objectively prove or know, whether that is a deity, an idea or yourself.

I'm thinking about this today because I go to a wonderful yoga studio every Sunday, and I find the connection with a larger force that one is meant to get in a church, but that I, personally, have rarely found there. To me, going to Sunday morning yoga is like going to church and getting all the things church is supposed to do for me, plus even more.

It doesn't really matter that I find this feeling at yoga. If it happens for you in church or during a walk in the woods, that is what I'm talking about. If you know where you get this feeling of connecting with a sense of purpose or awe that is larger than what you know empirically, objectively, good--keep going back to it. That is a place where your consciousness gets a tune-up, where your thoughts are least distorted, and where what you are meant for has the best chance of coming through. I'll talk more about the relationship between being, consciousness and bliss in a moment, but let me address how to get to this place if you're like I was several years ago, and you couldn't find that feeling.

For a very long while--for me, beginning in junior high till a few years post college--I could not summon that feeling of connection with something larger than myself. I had studied science extensively, and in my search for meaning, I found that somewhere along the way, science's objectivity (or its appearance of objectivity) became my Rosetta Stone. I dismissed all things that could not be submitted to the rigors of the scientific method, especially faith.

Long story short, through some very trying experiences, where I found my world turned upside down, I discovered that not only did I have seemingly limitless inner resources to draw from, but that life and people contained a mystery and a beauty that I could not explain but that I found inspiring. While I did not abandon science, considering it to this day as one of humanity's highest achievements, I expanded my outlook to include that which transcended explanation, duality, time. (OK, this is kind of a heavy post, I realize. Stick with me here for just a little while longer.)

When I realized that not only did I not have all the answers but that it was possible that there were some things beyond direct understanding, but maybe accessible through symbol, metaphor, myth, I began to find myself capable of taking leaps that before had seemed impossible.

It's like that scene in the Dagobah swamp where Yoda is trying to get Luke to lift the X-wing fighter out of the swamp. Luke tries to use the force, and eventually declares: "I can't. It's too big."

Then Yoda counters, in one of the most inspiring scenes ever filmed:

“Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? Hmm? Hmm. And well you should not. For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. You must feel the Force around you; here, between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere, yes. Even between the land and the ship.”

When I closed my eyes and believed, I succeeded. Nothing but faith could have gotten me to jump, but once I did, I succeeded, just as Yoda did in pulling the X-wing out of the swamp.

So back to cultivating faith. Joseph Campbell talks of how he came to the theory of following one's bliss, saying:

"...in Sanskrit, there are three terms that represent the brink, the jumping-off place to the ocean of transcendence: Sat, Chit, Ananda. The word 'Sat' means being. 'Chit' means consciousness. 'Ananda' means bliss or rapture. I thought, 'I don't know whether my consciousness is proper consciousness or not; I don't know whether what I know of my eing is my proper being or not; but I do know where my rapture is. So let me hang on to my rapture, and that will bring me both my consciousness and my being."

For those who are maybe less certain of what their bliss is, perhaps going though consciousness is a path toward bliss. I believe they are interrelated, and that finding something to believe in--whatever faith you can summon, in whatever form it comes--is a path to a consciousness that is open to finding bliss.

Whew. Again, kinda deep, but I hope something in here speaks to you, and gives you ideas for yet another path to finding your bliss.

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Ask the Universe for Help in Finding Your Bliss