Lately I haven’t been in a blogging mood.  And I think I understand why.

About a week and a half ago I had a really great conversation with N, in which both of us discovered how sick we are of feeling the weight of trying to become superstars.  It sounds silly saying it outright like that, but that’s the burden I’ve borne for who knows how long—the burden that it’s my responsibility, indeed, my obligation to become some kind of star.  Writer, speaker, counselor, pastor-type, doesn’t really matter what.  Just be really fantabulous at something and you’ve succeeded.  That’s what my inner voices say.

Problem is, I haven’t remotely succeeded at that.  In fact, it’s that very pressure to succeed, I think, that keeps me blocked from doing it.  It’s like there are two kinds of fuel inside of me, pushing me forward.  On the one hand there are my interests, the things I love to do, the things I’m consistently drawn toward.  Writing, music, soul care, healing work, art.  On the other, there are these voices:  be a superstar, or you’ve failed.  Now I can’t go trying to be a star at things I hate to do, so I go ahead and plug away at the things I like.  But those damned voices really get in the way.  They taint my efforts.  They freeze me up, sometimes, and make me sick of doing what I do at others.  They make me ask questions like Why aren’t you better at this by now? and If you love this so much, why do only ten people know it?  They chastise me for not having more published, for example, and inject me with fear that I’m hopelessly behind at accomplishing anything worthwhile.  And as if that isn’t bad enough, they add a final blow:  You’re the one who loves doing these things.  We’re only saying all of this because you’ve said you love to do them.  Aaaagh!  As Pirsig might say, these voices are the worst gumption trap ever.

So what I realized about a week and a half ago is that I’m just sick of feeling like I need to be (or be on my way to becoming) a superstar to be worth anything.  I literally visualized taking that burden off my shoulders and testing out what it feels like to use only the other stuff—the things I genuinely love to do—for fuel.  Yow!  What a difference!

I’m discovering, among other things, far less need for others to know my thoughts.  I love to write, and I plan to continue doing it here, but I’ve realized that part of my motivation to blog has been a need for people to know that I’m thinking and doing worthwhile things.  There’s nothing at all wrong with that motivation, it’s just that it happened to shrink when I took that be-amazing burden off my back.  For me, the two were connected.

So here I find myself feeling like I’m experiencing life anew.  Again.  Is it Sue Monk Kidd who talks about life being a perpetual waking up?  Just when I feel like my eyes and limbs have adjusted to a new view, everything shifts again, and I feel like a baby, or a newborn fawn.  Or maybe only one tiny thing shifts, and I realize just how connected all of it, all of my life, actually is to that thing, and that in effect, that one tiny thing is as good as enormous.

Anyway.  I won’t presume to have my burden permanently gone, but for a really nice week, here, I’ve felt what it’s like to be content with who I am and this little life that I’m living.  I’ve begun to think my thoughts and go about my business with a lot less need to be acknowledged for it.  To let the trajectory of listening to and following my soul unfold as it will, without so much worry over whether or not it’s enough.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, January 24th, 2006 at 7:56 pm and is filed under Healing, Psychology, Mindfulness. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.