Why don't we just start? I designed this blog many months ago. I searched for the perfect title, the perfect photos, just the right quote. I did everything except actually write. This turn of events was not surprising. My life's history is littered with ideas, dreams, and plans that never materialized, largely due to my own inaction. So why don't I just start?
It's tempting to say that I'm afraid to fail, or even afraid to succeed. And both of these are true. Existentialists might conclude that I'm afraid of death, trying to fend off the inevitable by not really starting to live. (If you don't live, you can't die, right?) I suspect there is some truth in this as well. When I was nine years old my dad turned 32. He winked at me and announced that that was it for him. He would remain 32 forever. I thought this was a fine idea and agreed to live my life as a nine year old. It was our deal. And in spite of all evidence to the contrary: the continuation of birthdays, the onset of puberty, college, marriage, two kids and a body that keeps on aging, part of me still tries to maintain my end of that deal.
But I don't think that's the whole story either. For as long as I can remember, one of my dreams has been to sing. When I was in high school I would come home after school and stand in front of a mirror singing along with Carole King's Tapestry album over and over again. I had every nuance of every song down pat. And when I went to brush my teeth at night, I would stand in front of the bathroom mirror imagining myself on the Merv Griffin show. Merv would ask me questions about my amazing voice and my meteoric rise to fame. And I would dole out wise and witty answers like they were candy. Ah success.
In real life, however, I mostly sang in the privacy of my bedroom. Painfully shy and terrified of failure and public humiliation, I chose to keep the dream of singing largely in the realm of fantasy. But along with fear, there was disconnection with the process of becoming a singer. I wanted to be Carol King being interviewed by Merv Griffin. I didn't really want to practice. I didn't want to grow and progress slowly. I wanted to be loved by all immediately. Anything short of that smacked of failure. And where was the sparkle and glamour in practicing scales or learning to play bar chords on the guitar? I didn't want to put time and energy into the process; I wanted success. Now.
I suspect I am not alone. As a culture we are taught to be goal oriented, to set our eyes on the prize and do whatever it takes to get there. Some of us plow on ahead to great success. Others are afraid to try. There are huge costs in this kind of living. We are not taught to live in the moment, to relish the journey, to find wisdom in the process, and joy in the ordinary. When we narrow our life's focus to reaching goals (or not), we don't really live our lives. We miss out on our days. We don't value the feeling that comes from just sitting down and spending an hour writing, even if we never publish anything. We forget that setting the table for a family meal is an act of love, that there is beauty in the ritual of making a cup of coffee, tenderness in wiping a child's face clean. We don't notice the shifting light outside, or breathe in the quiet moments of early morning. We forget to go for a walk, just because.
What is our life, if not the day to day living of it? And how can we do what we love or love what we do if we are not present for it? There is a quote I keep tucked away in the back of my mind. Unfortunately, I heard it second hand and never learned the original author. But the words are wise just the same: "Perfection is the enemy of excellence." What if being a singer just meant singing, and being a writer just meant writing? What if being human just meant showing up and really being there? What if we tried to live with presence and love and gratitude in everything we do? Why don't we just start?
