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Observations on Human Connection & Contribution

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#127: Creative acts

I’m constantly falling in love with one piece of creativity or another. It might be a song that I can’t stop moving to, a sharp stand-up bit, a piece of heritage pottery, or an interestingly woven scarf. Creators and their acts of creativity have always felt magnetic to me. The artist’s studio feels like the epicenter of cultural, intellectual, material and spiritual evolution. I think of studios as any space where ideas get to surface, mix and remix; where they are chiseled with care, and offered to the world with courage.

In the presence of work I loved, I’d instinctively think “Now this right here is the epitome of the craft.” It was a kneejerk thought in an awe-filled younger self. Then another maker or maker collective would show up and absolutely floor me. They were not only musicians, writers, comics, poets, sculptors, painters, weavers, actors, and directors; they were also facilitators, chefs, scientists, business leaders, politicians, designers, and journalists. Some were interesting combinations of more than one craft. My creative loves were sprouting everywhere.

Alongside awe there was a deep longing to be them. This wasn’t hero-worship. I wanted to be as magnetized by my craft as they were. I wish I could absorb by osmosis how they did what they did: their passion, seeming ease and grace. I’d be curious about their influences, journey and the solitary experience of being them when nobody was watching. I thought these people were unique.

I now see is that this love of craft is all around us. There’s passion and inspiration at every turn. There are people breathing new life into my long-standing neighborhood bookstore and community hub. There’s Amanda, my wonderfully creative and kind hairdresser, who built the most welcoming hair studio from scratch. There’s David, who is dedicated to building relational cultures as a tool for social change and healing. Not everyone has a Wikipedia page but everyone has a rich creative backstory and is magnetized by their craft.

Here’s my current thinking about creative acts:

  • No one creative act can be the epitome of a craft. Each work is a point-in-time drop into a larger ongoing creative conversation.
  • Impact doesn’t wait for us to become broadly-known. Every creator has precious influences and as they create, they start inspiring and influencing others even before they become “known”. Also, there are countless impactful niches. We inspire and influence others even if when don’t become “known” in popular culture.
  • What we know or are curious about is the source of all we create. When we create, we tap into our Venn diagram of influences, experiences and perspectives. That is our personal source code.
  • We get more and more magnetized as we create. This happens organically when we get down to the business of creating what we genuinely value, just like the artists in their studios.

“If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.”― Vincent van Gogh, Dutch painter

#126: Purring our way to strength

I woke up today in a deeply satisfying cat hug. My cat had installed herself on my pillow overnight, and I hugged her as I slept. As I woke up to this realization, I couldn’t help but move my hands through her silky smooth fur. Her softness is quite addictive and I have to make an effort to tone it down and not escalate the pressure, especially in response to that cute purring. So she purred and I cuddled…and the purrs became louder and consistent, like the engine of an idling SUV.

Then a forgotten fact popped into my head: cats purr for many reasons, including contentment, communication, and even to self-soothe during stressful moments. The frequencies at which they purr (25-150 hertz) are similar to the frequencies used to treat bone fractures, pain, and joint flexibility issues in humans. The thinking is that purring helps cats self-heal in similar ways.

So does this mean the more I love and cuddle with my cat, the better she can heal herself? My hugs, kisses, snuggles and squeezes make her stronger? It’s not so hard to believe, because it’s certainly true for humans.*

Another thing I notice with her: she only purrs when I give her high quality attention. It doesn’t happen when I’m multitasking. If I try to read or watch something while playing with her, her initial reactions are more muted and then she completely tunes me out. She only responds when my words, play and touch are in lockstep with her.

When I miss her subtle cues, she realizes that I’m not with her and in turn loses interest. Again, not so different from humans.

“Love is a canvas furnished by nature and embroidered by imagination.” ― Voltaire, French philosopher and writer

*People with healthy relationships and strong social connections tend to live longer and healthier lives; more here.

**Happy love day, to my Tim ― co-purrer, co-cuddler, and co-imagineer

#125: Subjective life experiences, and the value of listening

Learnings from momentum, failure, and recovery
(Read the first three in this series here: 1 , 2 and 3)

We may think that the person next to us, going through the same tumble in life at the same time as us, is having the exact same experience of ache as us. The reality is that our experiences can be similar but never exactly the same.

Our experience of ache or joy is unique, even when our day-to-day lives overlap significantly with another and we share deep emotional closeness. This holds true even when loss or reward come knocking at the exact same time for us. That’s because the moment-to-moment experience of a life lived is internal, silent, personal and subjective.

An 80-year old has lived 42 million minutes. We are shaped into unique entities over the course of these millions of moments through the constant interplay of what happens inside us (the me), what happens between us and others (the we) and what happens around us (the environment and context).

We meet the same life experience as different entities, with different histories and different patterns of sensemaking. Sure we can understand each other and empathize but the emotions and thoughts that rattle inside us, and shape-shift at a moment’s notice, carve and re-carve us differently. This is why problem-solving on behalf of another is rarely helpful but full-bodied listening is.

I used to think that listening was a passive act and I needed to come up with a helpful solution to “make their time worth it”. I thought problem-solving showed I cared. I didn’t realize that my solves might not fit them. I now see how good listening is a keystone behavior that exercises so many human virtues in a seemingly simple act.

Good listening, ultimately, is a tool for clear seeing. The listener provides attention with a beginners mind so the speaker can fully articulate. The listener brings non-judgmental curiosity that invites information and trust. The listener asks clarifying questions to gain as complete a picture as possible. The listener doesn’t add their own unnecessary color to the mix, since the goal is to uncover what’s going on inside the speaker. The listener serves as a reflection tool for the speaker so they may see more clearly inside themselves.

When we take turns doing this in the same interaction, it becomes a dialogue. An ideal dialogue is where each participant is in the service of clear seeing so that all perspectives can be understood. The conversation becomes a collective sensemaking tool.

A good conversation teaches us humility, patience, curiosity, and respect. It leaves us changed and is one of the highest uses of shared attention.

I know this is a gold-standard that we can’t always reach, and it feels even more removed from attentionally-deficient and emotionally-supercharged modern lives. But why would we strive for a standard if we don’t understand its full value?

The world each of us carries inside is singular and yet we crave to be known in that singularity, especially during our deepest aches and our highest joys. Offering the gift of listening to one another is the only way we can fulfill this craving to be known and matter. Good conversations leave both the speaker and the listener changed for the better. They are one of the most active things we can do with our attention, and a precursor to human connection.

Final note: We can only achieve something if we practice it consistently. Full-bodied listening is quite like deep abdominal strength. Just how a strong core feeds the integrity of every other physical movement, strong listening skills create integrity in every other psychological movement. And both strengths are developed through attention and repetition.

“Everyone’s music is made of their own life experiences.” ― Ilaiyaraaja: Indian musician, composer, and conductor

#121: Internal alchemy

It was my birthday this week, so I had an in-built opportunity to reflect on my life as I start another trip around the sun.

My experience of being me has silently shifted in the last few years. There is a part of me that holds back on doing the things I love because they feel selfish at some level. Engaging with them requires shifting focus away from something that I believe is serving others towards something that only seems to benefit me. This includes physical, creative and intellectual activities like swimming, dancing, traveling to a culture I really want to experience, or immersing myself in a book; instead of working, doing chores, or helping someone.

Until a few years ago I was mostly unaware that this internal dynamic was at play. I simply prioritized things that made life feel more secure in some way for myself or another. There are many psychological layers here and my goal isn’t to dive deep into them. The gist is that this suppression of self was immensely detrimental to my own well-being and my ability to contribute to others. I recall feeling little resonance with the life I was creating and how I was using time in my everyday. I remember thinking that I didn’t feel like myself, dress like myself or look like myself. I felt lonely but wasn’t sure why. I felt like something had gone wrong but I didn’t know what.  

In 2020, I started tapping into the ideas that spoke to me. I then started pursuing the activities and interests that drew me in. My everyday thoughts and actions started mirroring my deepest curiosities, interests and aspirations; creating a uniquely personal constellation within which my days started nesting and sprouting.

Over the last few weeks I’ve realized that doing this has literally produced energy within myself. I’ve noticed an increase in my mental energy for attention, absorption and problem solving; in my emotional energy for joy, resilience, and navigating change; and my physical energy for movement and recovery. And then there is the profound spiritual energy of connection: to self, to others, to all of nature’s cyclical patterns. With all these energies finally at concurrent play within me, I feel more integrated, well-resourced and joyful. My psyche doesn’t feel so fragmented. I don’t feel the need to chase every shiny object or idea. I know what I am made for and what I am not made for. My internal curiosities and nudges have led me to a level of self-knowledge I didn’t have before. This loving connection to self isn’t selfish. It is freeing, stabilizing, nurturing and joyful. It is the definition of thriving.

And I am better able to contribute to others from this place of thriving.

“This is an invitation to join your life.
Without fear or bravado.

No performance or perfection, bring the real you.
Imperfect. Evolving. Fully here.

Like a gangly wildflower, root into who you are.
Then show up for other wildflowers, just as they are.

Each of us different and unique.
Fully growing and glowing.

Just like plants.
We root down to rise up.
Whatever that means uniquely for each of us.

Underneath the surface, we are holding hands.
Reaching out and reaching back.
Feels like another’s hand is on our back.

To create societies that come alive.
Touch this invitation to join your life.

Join. Your one life.”

— Suparna Chhibber
     Written in 2021, as I was starting to tap into myself

Photo credit: Suparna, using DALL.E

#114: Recalibrating the everyday mundane

I find it easier to notice and make space for the big events in life vs. the everyday mundane. I found it easier to line up my attention with intention, and my actions with hopes when I was planning to relocate to a different country, give a job interview, or build exciting new friendships.

It’s the everyday mundane that trips me up. Where I find it harder to see how my current level of attention and action might support larger intentions and hopes. It’s harder to see how my small silent actions will add up over time. Harder to see how that one missed walk with a friend will turn into weeks, months, then years of not seeing her. How long work hours and missed workouts will turn into muscle tightness and loss of flexibility. That a weekly yoga practice will create unexpected strength for heavy gardening. That the sweetest friendship will turn into a life-nurturing marriage. That a few gangly flowers will fill the yard with blazing color all summer.

Culturally too, it feels easier to acknowledge our big visible moments of joy, loss and growth compared to the everyday delight, grief or momentum we silently gather in our pockets. We tend to acknowledge the small moments as children, and for children, but it peters out as we grow. First externally and then even internally. Yet, our experience of life—which is very subjective—is shaped by the ever-flowing quieter experiences.

A moment of misdirected volcanic-anger at a loved one followed by a vulnerable and healing conversation can be as much of a life-changer as seeing someone we love after years. Friendships lost to distance and repeated moves can be as hard on us as breakups. The slow buildup of a beloved new skill as an adult can be as delightful as painting our first full watercolor image as a child. But we’ve internalized the message that experiences capturable by cameras are the ones we should seek.

When driving, we’re only able to notice the big trees and not the small wildflowers. Speed and distance make it hard. That’s modern life in a nutshell. It feels as if we’re being forced to drive through life faster and faster. For this experience to be checked-off so we can jump into the next. It takes some practice, but we can step out of this car and walk amidst the fragrance and thorns. Into the messy field where our joy, creativity and wisdom live.

“Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”— Mary Oliver, Poet