How Are You Feeling, Today? Brave, Thanks.

Lately, I’ve been reading one of the three new Brené Brown books I received for Christmas. I knew I was getting them, so I had a week or so to strategize about which of the three I would start with. Do I go with the earliest one and read chronologically? Do I start with the one that seems to offer what I am most in need of at this very moment? Or do I attempt to read them all at once? In the midst of this decision, I listened to a podcast in which Brown was the guest and the host actually asked her which order she would recommend to someone. She suggested the second option…starting where I am…which, when you think about it, is the obvious answer.  So I’m reading Daring Greatly – because 2016 is my year of living courageously.

Incidentally, it’s also my year of gratitude – I decided to set an intention for the year instead of making a New Year’s resolution because I am in the middle of a 41-year streak of SUCKING at New Year’s resolutions.  (The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.) Setting an intention also proved challenging because I couldn’t decide between the two that were most important to me – courage and gratitude. Then I remembered that there was no grade for this so I could choose two or five or 50 and it wasn’t going to matter to anyone other than me. So I have 2 intentions which is very courageous because now I’ve set myself up for the possibility of two failures instead of just one. But I also feel gratitude because in showing that bit of courage I am already aligning my decisions with my intentions.

#WINNING

This morning I was reading Chapter 5 – Minding the Gap. Before this morning, minding the gap was what I did on the Interstate when I didn’t want to give a tractor trailer (or anyone, really) the opportunity to merge in front of me. Kind of a narrow definition. When Brené (because I am a legend in my own mind, I’m on a first name basis with her) talks about “minding the gap” she is referring to paying attention to the space between where I am and where I want to be.

Pretty good timing to have that concept framed for me.

I started thinking that for me, there are really two gaps that underscore all of my intentions…resolutions…goals…dreams…whatever I call the particular target that I have placed somewhere out in from of me. The first gap is the chasm between what I am doing professionally and what I want to be doing professionally. It’s pretty deep. Now, somedays it doesn’t feel very wide – as though I could easily jump it if I wanted, but I never leap. I could slip on a banana peel and still fall into the abyss. And I’m positive that there is a nest of large hairy spiders down there. The second gap is between who I am and who I want to be. I don’t think I’m alone in this -- though discussing fear of failure isn’t a popular conversation topic at social gatherings so I can’t be sure. Nutshell…I am always trying to be the best version of myself and there is a gap between where I stand now and where I believe the best me might be standing. Metaphorically, speaking.

The real danger for me here is not mixing up these two very different ideas. They are connected without a doubt, but how I relate them to one another could mean the difference between a healthy sense of self and spiritual disorientation. Specifically, I want to ensure that what I am doing is a reflection of who I am now or who I want to be – that they mirror my values. I do NOT want to fall into that trap of defining myself by what I do nor by people’s opinions of what I do. I’m pretty sure that will always lead to disappointment.

Note to self: Never read the comment sections when searching for clues about who you are.

This is where being courageous enters the narrative for me. The more I write this blog the more I realize that my mild psychopathy is really just some sturdy armor I’ve put on to deal with criticism and failure. If I say I don’t care enough, eventually I won’t – though that has yet to actually happen. As I poke at the armor, I realize that allowing myself to be seen (particularly through my writing) is kind of terrifying, especially if I’m not carrying my shield of humor or my sword of sarcasm.

I have lots to say about lots of things. Food, Religion, Privilege, Racism, Sexism, and most of all politics…but I’ve shied away from them because I don’t want to open myself up to the ugliness that I see perpetuated every single day by people who dehumanize others for the benign act of disagreement. I have no reason to believe (or really even to hope) that everyone agrees with me, but I really don’t trust that I’m resilient enough to withstand the personal attacks that people will no doubt hurl in my direction after hearing my opinion and distorting it into an attack on their own.

You KNOW that people do that, right? Especially, with the written word. They read someone’s opinion on something and then they have an internal dialogue. One conversation may go like this: 

“Oh, so that’s what they think about that. I think differently, maybe I’ll discuss it with them.” 

But another conversation is based on a subtext of judgment added by the reader. They read an opinion but what they hear is this: 

“I think X. And if you think Y or Z, then you are not only thinking wrong, but everything about you is wrong.” 

This type of thinking doesn't work too well in human interaction. If the second dialogue is what someone hears in the expression of an opposing opinion, it’s not hard to see why they might take to the Internet with an angry and defensive rant. This is when not minding the gap causes unsatisfied expectations, misunderstanding, and human suffering. 

I don’t suffer too well. But I think I need to learn – suffering is part of the human condition too and I think it might be the best way to foster resilience.  So… courage. And gratitude. Gratitude for those in my tribe who, agree or disagree, will always be generous in their interpretation and kind in their interface. And gratitude for the opportunity to be courageous.

It feels scary, but it feels like LIVING. And that is something for which I am always grateful.