Working Meditation

Observations on Human Connection & Contribution

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#66: Prototyping the everyday

I haven’t published in two months. I was building other parts of life that left little brainpower to review and edit. Or so I thought.

Over the last year, I saw my writing-voice take shape. But behind the scenes I was observing and getting to know myself through this part that likes to write. I saw how ideas arrive, which ones I select, how I process them, but also what I observe, what I care to write about and how I string together language. I was not only finding my writing-voice, I was finding my voice and wisdom. And because I sought discernment, I wanted to think things through a bit more before I published. I didn’t post last two months because I didn’t have time to think things through to the degree I would have liked.

I also noted that I had pieces at various stages of readiness. Some thoughts were supported only by quick scribbles to help me recall later while others were over 90% written, just needing final edits. Simultaneously, the inflow of observations and thoughts never stopped (I am thankful for this). So a mental traffic jam occurred. On one side, incessant mental downloads knocked on my brain waiting to be unfurled and on the other side half-written notes awaited attention. And there I was crushed in the middle…wanting to publish when my personal standards had been met. This act of turning off the publishing faucet created a creativity backlog so instead of flowing, my words felt like a tangled mess on my Notes app.

I’ve been learning prototyping tools and mindsets over the last couple of weeks. Today I realized that the prototyping mindset applies even to my writing. A prototyping mindset frees startups to experiment in front of potential users without being ashamed of failures and imperfections. The prototype only has one goal: learning. So it’s developed just enough to gain learnings and not an ounce more. Prototypes aren’t meant to be perfect, they are meant to be iterative. Each prototype a fertilizer for the next.  

The act of writing over the last year has been learning in motion for me. I write about this and then about that. An addition here and a deletion there. Sometimes poetic and sometimes prose but always a learning. When I stopped posting, I stopped learning. The desire for better got in the way of doing.

Thinking like a prototyper, I might have published more. Published more imperfect work that would have been enough to get the point across and taught me lessons not only for my writing but also other work and life. This writing isn’t meant to be perfect; it’s meant to teach me something and be of use to others. One prototyped post at a time.

“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”― Vincent Van Gogh: Dutch painter

#64: Walking with fear

Just because we want to do something in life doesn’t mean it can’t scare us. Fear might make an appearance exactly because we want to do this thing. But fear is also a broad word that covers a large terrain. Is this thing truly dangerous or are we afraid of the odds and the possibilities ahead? Are we afraid of failure, are we unsure of what to do next, are we lonely in our pursuit, do we wonder if we have the stamina to get to the finish line, or do we fear that life as we know it will change beyond recognition? It can be hard to know what’s beneath the resistance. It could be one of these things or several, or perhaps something entirely different.

We often look away from fear because not only is it hard to face, it can also be hard to understand. It’s complex and a shapeshifter. One day the fear shows us one side of the story and just when we think we’ve nailed it and addressed the cause for unease, it starts reflecting a different shape and color. How much time can one spend trying to understand their fear and resistance? We can live in our minds and keep analyzing till the end of time; it may not help but it will certainly exhaust us. We can’t look away though and keep doing what we were doing. Tuning things out and turning away our attention means we’re resisting the emerging future.

The only real antidote to fear is action. Small, imperfect, sometimes tear-filled and anxiety-ridden action. It’s not to say that another flavor of this exact same fear won’t return but imperfect action is the only way the world and lives are built. We’re all like that little child—first tentative and maybe afraid of the new face in front of us but then as we start interacting with them, the fear dissipates.

Before we act, it helps to look at the fear directly to try and see what part of us it’s trying to protect. This is different from analyzing or problem solving. The goal here is to create a silent space and direct attention to whatever wants to surface today. As it is. With zero judgment. When I’m really fearful though, it’s harder to sit in silence but easier to move in it. A moving meditation like a walk, swim, row, yoga or even slow improvisational dance makes this inquiry more bearable. But we can’t just stay in inquiry-mode; the key is to move ahead and take action holding our fear’s hand knowing that tomorrow, it might tell us yet another story and make us taste yet another bitter flavor.

In my most recent walk with fear, I noted that life is asking me to be a certain type of vessel for its work…and I’ve resisted and crumbled repeatedly. Silence allowed me to pick up those pieces, re-tape them to create that beaten up and patched-up vessel so life can start flowing through me again.

Life will be full of these fear-filled speedbumps, especially when we really want to do something.

“I’m a spring leaf trembling in anticipation of full growth.”― Maya Angelou: poet, memoirist, and civil rights activist.

#63: Work as craft

We tend to think of creative work as a craft. Something that requires focus, genuine care, patience and practice, which eventually turn to skill. We respect and prize this level of commitment. Yet most of us likely hesitate from referencing our own work as craft. We may shy away for a litany of valid reasons― seems like a lofty ideal that might attract eye-rolls, others may think we’re posturing, our work environment is so transactional that it laughs in the face of such care, we had this attitude once but circumstances have beaten it out of us, we never got the chance to practice our work like it mattered. Our reasons will come in many flavors and feel relatable to others. We might also note that most of these reasons have an external orientation, where we look to others for definition.

What if, rather than making external proclamations, we change our internal orientation and start thinking of our work as craft regardless of external incentives. What if we defined our work in terms that are personally meaningful to us? Then, what if we commit only to ourselves to show up everyday with that internal rudder?

Would we color outside the expected lines to come up with novel solutions, stick with a hard task despite hurdles, commit to something without needing external nudges? Would we be able to think beyond our self-interest? Would we show up not only with an open mind, and open heart but also an open will*? Essentially, would we do the creative work of inviting in a future we truly want for ourselves and others?

This level of silently powerful presence in our work requires a recurring choice. It’s easier to make this choice after we allow ourselves to see our own work as craft.

P.S.: The idea of job crafting is another practical way to go about shaping our work. Harvard Business Review offers a few pithy articles on this idea. Here are a couple:

*Credit: Otto Scharmer and Theory U

“When you stop downloading, you realize that you actually have a choice — a choice in how you respond to any situation. You can respond by turning away, or by turning toward. Turning away means closing your mind, heart, and will — in other words, acting from ignorance, hate, and fear. Turning toward means opening your mind, heart, and will — acting from curiosity, compassion, and courage. These are the choices we face in any moment: Do we turn away and close down, or do we turn toward and open up, activating the deeper levels of our humanity?” (Read full text here) ― Otto Scharmer, Senior Lecturer, MIT Sloan School of Management and co-founder of the Presencing Institute. 

#62: The delicate blue sky

One thing that all astronauts seem to have in common is the awe at witnessing our earth from afar. They speak of the deep emotion and tenderness they felt in the moment and the lasting perspective shift. They mention the thin blue line of our fragile atmosphere, the thing protecting our precious planet from the onslaught of space to make life possible. The same sky that appears to those of us on earth as infinite, everlasting and indestructible. While we enjoy the sky and its many stories―the dawn, the multihued sunsets, the star-studded night sky, and the enchanting moon―we don’t really think about the sky itself. It’s such a constant that it’s often invisible to us. We think it has always been there and it will always be there.

But the astronauts see it differently. They know what’s on the other side. Their veil of illusion has been lifted, making them aware of our small yet important part in maintaining or breaking this natural order. They know how fragile this nourishing blue sky actually is.

Certain life events have the power to show us our version of the delicate blue sky full of similar paradoxes. Each of us will experience these mind-bending and soul-altering events at some point in our lives. Childbirth and loss of a loved one are two examples that come to mind. They will make things more visible and impossible to take for granted. They will highlight the life-giving qualities of something alongside a sharp reminder of its fragility. They will pluck us away from our everyday to shove us in the presence of the divine. They will create a desire to tend to something deeper alongside a primordial reminder of our impermanence. They will create anxiety and discomfort.

If we sit long enough in this discomfort though, we’ll see a kernel of fearlessness amidst fear. We will see more clearly the things we have control over and those that we don’t. We will realize how truly miniscule we are compared to the limitless life. But we might also see that each of our lives has significance and a unique assignment the way each cell in the body does. And that this significance lies In shaping ourselves and contributing in ways only we can; in tending to our unique little footprint in time and space with integrity and love, not in the outsized actions and wins that popular culture might have us believe. Life asks us to tend to only our footprint, no more and no less, not because it wont fade but because before it fades it will impact another and through them another.

When you wake up to your own realization of the delicate blue sky, pause long enough to soak-in the questions that animate you. Note your version of the delicate blue sky. Note what you are called to tend to. Because when we each tend to our small footprint, we ensure every version of the delicate blue sky is tended to across time.

“Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there–on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.
…There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.”― Carl Sagan, Astronomer and Astrophysicist. Pale Blue Dot, 1994

#53: Getting stuck and unstuck

Humans tend to live out a cyclical pattern of getting stuck and unstuck; certainly over the years, months and weeks but sometimes over shorter windows of days and even hours. Our approach to getting unstuck makes a material difference in who we become. Getting stuck and unstuck might look different for each of us from the outside but what is likely similar is the internal environment. 

For me, “stuck” has felt first like a mental followed by an emotional valley, moments where everything seems just a bit harder and solutions don’t come easy but the questions keep surfacing. Where the mental chasm between life’s demands and what I feel prepared to handle might increase a bit. When all of a sudden, in the mornings, the bed feels more magnetic and just a bit safer. Where the recurring internal optimism is met by a faint but definite voice of a cynic that sows seeds of self-doubt, calling that optimist a fool. Where the wiser me doesn’t jump in to troubleshoot because it hasn’t been fed the nourishment of solitude, reflection and self-care. When I find myself in such a space, I often realize that it had been on slow boil and I failed to see the signs and “weed the mental garden” in time, only to now find the mind overrun with aggressive vines. It’s often such a subtle shift at first when the thoughts start marching on a downward trajectory. I have also noticed that this always happens when the connection to self is lost and my actions lose the benefit of oversight from my steady, wise and compassionate internal observer.

Getting stuck for me is an entirely mental thing.

The unstuck similarly doesn’t arrive with a big bang. It often begins with the simple yet hard-to-do act of listening to my body. Historically, it’s has been a challenge for me to pause and tune into the embedded wisdom in the body when the mind is running in loops. My particular internal programming would rather I do all the work first and then anything else. When the stress knots arrive, my tendency is to push harder on the gas pedal as if I could outrun and outwork the knot to make it dissolve. It never does. What does happen is that the tasks become Sisyphean―laborious and ineffective. When the mind is overrun with action, the last thing I want to do is take an active pause; by which I mean a pause to understand the fear that underlies all that action and stress (yes, it’s always fear of some sort). That knot in the belly, the labored breathing, the sleeplessness, the tight jaw are often the physical manifestation of a deeper undercurrent, and it’s hard to wade through the pulsating fear when we’re already overwhelmed. This is where things like journaling, breath work, yoga, and other rhythmic movement practices like hiking, walking, and dance come in. They create a safe silence that allows the spidery fears to start crawling out from the nooks so we can see them for what they are.

All fear―fear of failure, fear of not amounting to anything, fear of not being understood, fear of losing trust and respect, fear of losing physical or mental faculties over time…you name it―is ultimately the fear of being othered, of being cast out of the tribe, of not being loved for exactly who we are. Imperfect, afraid and yet deeply desirous of love and belonging. And these fears don’t just create emotional pain, they turn into physical aches and pains. 

Getting unstuck typically requires some physical shift followed by a connection to trusted others. And the thing that felt so big starts to dissolve and lose its hold.

Our fundamental human need to belong and be loved is often at the root of getting stuck, and that unconditional belonging and love from ourselves and others is often what gets us unstuck to propel us forward. The hardest thing of all is to show to someone that we are afraid and need them. The mental and physical shifts are certainly important but they are a precursor to then asking our trusted humans for support and care.

We can stop the work at the mental and physical shifts and get back to productivity or we can add that extra splash of human care and make the journey both fruitful and worthwhile.

(I am deeply and lovingly grateful to my humans who got me unstuck last week!)

“A life truly lived constantly burns away veils of illusion, burns away what is no longer relevant, gradually reveals our essence, until, at last, we are strong enough to stand in our naked truth.”— Marion Woodman