On Forward Motion

For me, the year 2011 has served as a year of extreme self development. I have fought my natural instincts of settling into the lull of everyday life and have sought out self motivation and industriousness. Serious effort has been applied to leaving my airhead ways behind me, a bit of a struggle, but hey, everyone has to start somewhere. And as this year comes to a close I find myself pushing through discomforts I would formerly shy away from.

For example, I recently pursued a field I never would have dreamed (actually I probably would have placed it in the nightmare category); sales. To have to talk to people, and more than that, sell things to them, is an extremely frightening venture for me. I had to be ok with rejection, to separate myself from people's reactions, knowing that it wasn't personal. I had to put myself out there on a daily basis and roll with whatever came my way. While it was scary, I feel I have come out of it a stronger and more intelligent person with incite into professionalism that I would not have gained without the experience.

In reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, I have discovered that I fall into the category the author describes of people who are uncomfortable with technology. This represents a more massive classification of fear of systems in general. As I stated in my previous blog, I have been reading extensively in preparation for an eventual move to a dwelling with plentiful acreage for an organic farm, and this reading has forced me to confront that discomfort. Having to research crop rotation, green manure planting patterns, and spacial outlay of the land has ignited a deep seated discord within me. While normally I would wretch at the presentation of such mathematically involved planning, I have directed myself toward it, knowing that without this knowledge, the demise of my farm will be swift. Instead of turning a blind eye to the intricate foresight necessary, I am taking notes, reading and rereading passages to make sense of the logic that is so foreign to me.

While these are only a couple examples based in my own recent experience, it leads me to conclude that self development and forward motion of any kind require a removal of one's comfort zone. Because the comfort zone, while cozy, can act as a blinding force, not allowing wisdom to penetrate it's walls. I have found that I am more open and perceptive when those blinders have been removed, making personal growth inevitable.

Some Thoughts...

Having just finished The Hunger Games, I have returned to the thought provoking title I had started earlier this year, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance written in 1974 by Robert M. Pirsig. Pirsig's writing has resonated strongly with me, and oddly enough has even coalesced with some of the themes from The Hunger Games that I have been ruminating on the last few days.

For most of my life, I have felt a sense of guilt at not being motivated enough. Being that my mother is a dynamo, with a seemingly everlasting flow of creativity, industriousness, and integrity, I have always felt a few steps short of productive. It is something I have had to confront several times in the last couple years both from the standpoint of self motivation and the question of whether productivity is the goal in the first place. But something has been illuminated for me by Pirsig's writing, the reason for my perpetual feeling of no direction, one I no doubt share with many people of my generation, is the lack of immediate need. This may seem to contradict some of my previous writings, but this statement isn't coming from a place that demands struggle, rather begs for a purpose that demands focus and meditation, absent of the frills I have consider necessities for most of my life.

Throughout my time in Mexico, I have oscillated several times between focused, enthusiastic direction and complacent frustration. While I believe I have found a vocation that suits me, traveling saleswoman, at the end of the day, I still feel disappointed at the fact that the trade I have made, goods for currency, didn't begin with me. To clarify, I find myself wishing I had been the creator of the objects sold rather than the middle man. Since I was a child, my craving for authenticity has been large, almost to a fault. Though I am not a gifted artist like almost every other member of my family, an urge to create things from their very beginning stages has been lingering in my mind for a good many years.

Here I venture a possible solution, not only for economic and environmental toil, but personal fulfillment. Nowhere near a novel idea; self reliance. In the book, Pirsig applies this idea to motorcycle maintenance, imploring that owners of motorcycles learn to maintain their own vehicle thereby discovering the inner peace the work supplies. As far as this applies to my life, I yearn for work that means something; plain and simple. The protagonist of The Hunger Games wonders toward the end of the book what she would do with her time if everything she needed was supplied for her, having become accustomed to filling her days with hunting and gathering to support her mother and sister. Though sparsity in food and energy were no stranger to her, she stated, in so many words, that she preferred to provide than be provided for by some inconspicuous source. This tactile, beginning to end purpose is what I yearn for. Simplicity and self reliance. The solution to feelings of boredom and inaction.

Both books, though thoroughly unrelated, have also got me thinking on the topic of excess. How, just because something is available to us in abundance doesn't mean we should overuse it. Reading about someone starving or dehydrating to death, puts my diet into perspective. Having enough that I can afford the need to cut back is an extreme privilege, and not one to be taken lightly. Another point adding to my want for self reliance. Seeing each seed grow, maintaining compost, catching the rainwater, I feel these experiences will enrich my understanding and appreciation for the aspects of my life I sometimes take for granted simultaneously giving me tangible tasks to complete on a daily basis to provide for my family.

So this is something I have been wanting for some time now, talking and thinking but not doing, which brings me back around to Zen. While writing of how to locate a problem in a cycle, Pirsig discusses the scientific method, he writes:

For this you keep a lab notebook. Everything gets written down, formally, so that you know at all times where you are, where you've been, where you're going, and where you want to get.

Upon reading this passage a lightbulb went on in my head and I thought "Why can't we apply this to our lives as well?" As Pirsig has described in detail the destructive cycle inherent in the dichotomy between the romantic and the rational way of thought, I feel this, the scientific method applied to what some may see as a more romantic viewpoint (spirituality), is a perfect way to combine the two in harmony. Personally, I see my blog as the notepad, chronicling where I am, where I've been, and where I want to get, using writing as a manifesting facility.

And so I continue to narrate my dreams of a sustainable future, an avenue in which I can lead by example as my mom has so wonderfully done for me...

Hello, Goodbye

Sometimes, especially lately, I wish I could freeze time. I find myself desperately trying to capture feelings, moments, and pictures, all the while knowing that they aren't mine any more than they are anyone else's. That the perfect rows of corn, the trees resembling overgrown kale, the rolling clouds coming toward me gently like a blanket of mashed potatoes, are boundless and not to be reigned in. The love I have for family and friends is magnified by my living situation, the short amount of visiting time I am allotted each year makes each moment bittersweet with a sense of impending sadness, even when the laughter abounds. And when I am far away, that laughter echos in my memory, prompting solitary giggles and melancholy longing.

So I looked to the right, out my window at the progressively pinking sky, watching the slightly sloped hills of the Midwest flaunt their summer green, a color I never knew I would miss until it's ubiquity was replaced by the beige of desert stone. I replayed the weekend in my head. Cailin's freckles and gestures, shadows of her mother's traits not only in her physicality but in her open heart and endless optimism. Rodney's penetrating eyes sending me back to my childhood when I used to ride on his shoulders. Beth's smile, just as I remembered it, genuine and comforting. Anna's statement about feeling lost which instantly made feel less alone, and her infectious laugh, a perfect reflection of the purity of her spirit. The kismet of Beth's journey leading her to the symbol of a butterfly's transformation and the fact that Chloe's and my tattoo have a parallel meaning. The wide expanse of grass, the lake, Sharon's house for dinner. Cailin, experiencing a situation all too familiar to me, and being able to let her know with great certainty that it will get easier with every passing day. Rodney's quiet happiness and all consuming embrace.

And though I wish I could steal these moments, hide them away in box, to be opened when I need reassurance, I know that living them, being there in the moment to catch every smile and sigh alike, is all I can do. For the leaves will turn and fall, foreshadowing the snowflakes that follow the same gravity. Winter will bring Chloe back to me and though I'm not sure when I will return, I am happy just to be here right now surrounding myself with love and sunshine and endless laughter.

Forgiveness

Perhaps, then, you should forget everything I have said to you and remember only this: The real beauty in life is that beauty can sometimes occur.

- Dancer Colum McCann

We took the long way home last week. After a flurry of errands, exhausted with sweat dripping from the various crevices it stemmed from, we retired to silence in the presence of Beres Hammond. My reaction to the raspy tone I had become accustomed to over the years took me by surprise as I felt a red flush adorn my cheeks and a knot of anger swell in my gut. The joyful music that had once reminded me of the vibrancy of his face as well as the presence of the Caribbean sea, and the tranquility or volatility that each possesses at any given time, was now tarnished by the space he left behind for the umpteenth time. I began to cry silently as Mom bobbed her head, no doubt thinking of how they fell in love. The little bit of his island that he carried with him wherever he went, made reggae convey as vivid a portrait of him as a photograph.

Having just started dancing again after a 2 year hiatus, I have rediscovered a passion that was long buried under layers of politics, competition, and ego. My reunion with the art has serendipitously coincided with my starting the book Dancer by Colum McCann, a novelist's account of the life of Rudolf Nureyev, a story that, like many of famous dancers, is one of the torturous and seldom achieved desire for perfection.

As I stood across from her, slim bodied, flawless complexion, professional manner, bilingual, I felt myself stifling a frown that not only crept onto my face, but into my body as well. I began to fidget as I watched her effortlessly speak to people as I struggled to understand. My mother's voice rang in my head, singing her praises and I was beginning to see why. She owned all of the attributes I didn't, the ones mom so fervently begged I gain: confidence, togetherness, organization, assertiveness. I thought on her all night, after learning that she was, among other things, a ballerina, actress, bass guitarist, newlywed, and I found myself falling into old patterns of needing her to be flawed to boost my own confidence, the only difference being that I was now conscious of my devilish efforts, which made it feel even worse.

The common thread uniting these experiences is an ever present need for forgiveness, something my being has been lacking a long while. To forgive others and myself for our flaws, and allow for the misgivings as well as greatness, is something to be achieved. To recognize that perfection doesn't exist and even beauty and happiness is fleeting, for if it weren't, it's significance would be lessened greatly. More than anything, to acknowledge that forgiveness is a necessary first step to forward movement of any kind. The next is allowing forgiveness to chisel away at the chip on my shoulder, an accumulative cinder block of dance teachers' comments, harsh words from Davis and Keikai, and years of a monologue of self doubt, and for now, that's what I'm working at.