I’ve been thinking a lot lately about scripts. About the ways we all live by many of them. I’m a late bloomer. I talk too much. I soak in all the feelings around me. I try lots of things and never settle down with any of them. We collect them along life’s way and hold them, repeat them often, fondle them like treasured rocks in our pockets.

Even the ones we don’t like.

In my experience, new beginnings are a perfect time to get conscious of what our life scripts are – not only because getting conscious of them gives us a chance to choose different ones, but because they so forcefully bubble up and wave their arms in our faces at these junctures.

This happened to me this week.

My work here is pure joy for me, and a path I see opening out into books, courses, retreats, etc. I’m right here, though, starting month four of this endeavor, and all that other stuff is somewhere off in the (safe because distant) future.

Last week it dawned on me that all that other stuff isn’t so far off after all, and that some of the work I have planned for this month will be taking me right up to the brink of it.

Which of course is exciting news for me. Thrilling! Years in the making.

But you know what happened soon after that dawning? I started to get bummed out. I started to feel lethargic and blasé about the very things for which I’ve had so much energy recently. Add a day like Sunday to the mix and I was downright depressed.

Last night I was thinking about this and noticing that my depression had a familiar quality to it – something I’ve felt many times before. And with a little more probing I put my finger right on it: grief. I was grieving.

Getting conscious of that much more was a life-changing doorway to this: I have been living with a life script that says I have tremendous potential that will always get derailed. Every single time I come near to reaching a dream, I immediately start to grieve the loss of its realization. Before it’s even lost! And this no matter how many green lights I see up ahead. No matter how aligned the stars are above my head.

I literally pet my head and patted my shoulders when I realized this last night. Dear, dear girl.

The next chapter in the story, which began just after that patting, is all about me getting my gusto back and feeling more hopeful than I’ve felt for a long, long time.

But the point I want to make is this: thresholds – places where you stand on the brink of something new – are wonderful times to take the time to listen deeply to your fears. Deeply as in more than just saying I feel afraid and this is normal for me at a time like this and hey, what’s for dinner?

I mean deeply as in asking:

• What am I really afraid will happen? (make a list as long as your fears!) and
• What are the scripts that I’ve inadvertently been living out and holding onto? and
• What are the scripts I would rather choose to live out and define myself by?

Doing this work – on the brink of something new or not – may be the most radical, life-changing thing any of us could ever do.

Here we are at the start of a new month and a month about starting new things. And as fate would have it, my day today set me up perfectly for a post about false starts.

Have you ever gotten excited about a new beginning? Energized about all you want to do in pursuit of it, ready with every fiber of your being to learn, explore, research, do?

Maybe you even worked through a number of blocks to get to this point, did the hard work of therapy or journaling through questions and fears. Maybe you’ve put in your time procrastinating, eating chocolate, deciding to clean parts of your home you never cared to clean before. Maybe you’ve spent hours of unintended time on facebook or twitter or listening to other people talk about their new ideas in attempts at avoiding addressing this thing you both want and fear to do.

But here you are today, past all that: ready and ripe to get crackin’ (if this does not describe you, don’t worry! We’ll be talking about blocks/delays a lot more this month.).

So you’re ready, maybe even on your way to a meeting about this new thing, or sitting at your computer finally to research parts of it…and then your kids have spring break. Or you get sick. Or you realize your house has dry rot. Maybe your landlord says you have to move. You break your leg. You get a call from your mother’s nursing home saying she’s fallen and hurt and resisting all aid.

Whatever it is, it comes unexpectedly and instantly derails you. All that momentum you worked so hard to build skids inellegantly across gravel and stones before depositing you in a stalled-up heap of bafflement, indignation and self pity.

This, my friends, is what I call a false start.

Today I spent an unusual day at my desk. A combination of it being a make-up work day for me and my husband being generous with extra childcare on top of that left me an unheard of (for me) seven hours at my screen.

I’m super excited about this month’s theme here, and had all kinds of ideas racing through my mind to write about. I figured I had time to write a post, send out some interview invitations, finish up a guest post I’m working on. Maybe even tinker on a bigger project I’m hoping to share with you later this month.

But you know what happened? I spent the entire day writing and rewriting that one damn post. And not only that: by the end of the day, I didn’t even have one draft to show for it. Gah!

In my world of eeking out time at this screen, I can’t say how demoralizing this was. As the hours slipped by, I felt myself falling ever deeper into funk. Gold – pure, glistening hours-at-my-screen all tossed into a river of nothing-at-all-to-show-for-them. By the time I left my office, my bleary eyes were completely hidden by the clouds above my head.

This, my friends, is what I call another false start.

So here I am this evening, challenged, yet again, to find pathways, in the midst of my ever-so-real life, toward trust.

And it occurs to me, it knocks me over the head, really, that every story worth telling, every tale of adventure or transformation or shocking success, by definition begins with false starts.

Stories without them, stories where everything unfolds quickly and without any hitch: well, they aren’t really stories. I don’t even know what to call them. They don’t draw us in, reflect back our lives, inspire us to live differently. They don’t warm our hearts or fan our embers of empathy, compassion, connection into flame.

So here I am tonight to say that your false starts? The ones that leave you so demoralized? They are excellent beginnings of wonderful, transformative stories.

What might it do to your life script and sense of morale to frame your false starts this way? To place them as beginning chapters in a tale even you can’t help but want to read?

A new season is upon us and, at least for those in the northern hemisphere, it’s one of so much newness: leaves, buds, flowers, green.

Content at Trust Tending this month will be a line of harmony with what’s happening in the natural world. The focus here will be tending trust around starting new things.

Whether you’ve recently embarked on some new endeavor, are gearing up to do so, or have only glimmers of longing toward such a thing, you probably aren’t a stranger to the fears that accompany beginnings. This month will be devoted to tending trust around fears and beliefs such as:

• Failure is shameful and must be avoided at all costs.
• People in my position or age bracket shouldn’t feel as vulnerable as I do.
• I’m exhausted after doing nerve-racking things. Something is wrong with me.
• I feel so out of it. How in the world will I learn what I need to learn to do this well…or even know what it is I need to learn?
• How can I possibly earn enough money to make this work?
• If I succeed, I’ll alienate people I love.
• If I talk to my family about this, they won’t “get it” and I’ll feel stupid. If I keep pursuing it anyway, they’ll feel confused and maybe disrespected.
• I don’t know anyone else doing this kind of thing. Maybe I shouldn’t do it.
• My partner’s career matters way more than me pursuing this dream.
• I’m shamefully less clever/experienced/connected/creative/brilliant/etc. than _______. Maybe I should throw the towel in now.
• Success is defined by money earned, popularity garnered, and sphere of influence secured.
• Having fans will fulfill my deepest needs for love.
• Being a beginner is reason for shame.
• Blooming early is what counts.
• If I haven’t reached x level of success (mastery, income, connectedness) within weeks (or months or years) of starting, I will have failed.
• I have so much less time than other people for this. I feel sorry for myself.
• Superstars are the benchmark I use to judge my worth.
• Looking stupid is the worst thing in the world.
• All or nothing, baby. Period.

If any of these sound like thoughts from your head, I hope you stick around! I have a feeling this is going to be a wonderful month for the growth of our trust – yours and mine!