Working Meditation

Observations on Human Connection & Contribution

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#130: The power of our “slogful” years

I’m in the middle of a multi-year slog and I can see that it is an endurance game. Working hard over a long period of time isn’t the same as working hard for an afternoon or a week. We often use the analogy of marathon vs. sprint to land this difference. The longer slog is less about a looming deadline and more about a vision that we are trying to bring closer with every step. There are a lot of steps on a “slogful” journey. There are also a lot of thoughts! Our personal state of mind is an ever present companion.

The brain is a three pound personal universe that processes 6,000 to 70,000 thoughts each day. Over 90% of our thoughts are repetitive and over 80% are negative*. So as we are slogging, we may appear silent on the outside but the inside is constantly chattering. Imagine trying to do something important while the brain is quietly whispering “trouble…fear…caution…pain ahead…trouble…fear…caution…pain ahead….” Most of this happens subconsciously.

All contemplative practices are designed to free us from this deeply encoded pattern, and you can find one that’s a fit for you. However, what I find most useful is first acknowledging that nothing is wrong with any of us. This pattern exists quite naturally in every single person. It’s just how our nervous systems are designed. The second thing that helps is to notice first-hand how our thoughts change our everyday experiences. For instance, we behave differently when thoughts of doom are replaced with curiosity before a meeting.

People who go through a long slog note that the journey changed them. Of course it did! Long-term intensity leaves a mark and the thoughts that kick around inside us have a big role in shaping us. The years of slog can be empowering when they become more than just about reaching that precious goal. They are a perfect training ground for the mind because hard times trigger even more negative thoughts.

Most of what happens inside our brain is subconscious but we do have agency. Life yanks us around during our slogful years. Not sure we can fully stop, but we can limit how much we yank ourselves from the inside. We can use the slog as a golden opportunity to become more aware internal observers.

This is important because while we are not our thoughts, in time we become our minds.

“Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.” ― Carl Jung, Swiss psychiatrist and psychotherapist

*  These numbers change depending on the study referenced but the point remains. We have a lot of thoughts and most of them are repetitive and negative.

Our negativity bias is a survival mechanism. Since the brain is designed to keep us alive, it over indexes on scanning for threats.

#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

#120: Emptying the regret-filled suitcase

It’s almost one month into the new year. Personally, this is right about when I switch from the optimism and promise of planning-mode into the reality of review-mode. I realized last year that I resisted my weekly reviews because that’s when my judgy mind would shoot regret-arrows. Every missed item became a perceived failure.

I had become really good at shoving regrets into my mental suitcase, zipping them up under pressure, and storing them in mind’s attic. To be opened at another time when I felt better resourced. Intellectually I knew that reviews and adjustments are what make plans successful and that planning is iterative, but I still found myself avoiding review time. The regrets I had saved were stealing energy from the future. 

So before doing any planning this year, I opened that regret-filled suitcase and spent time reviewing the regrets themselves.

It sounded scarier to me than it actually was. The fabric of each regret was simply dreams and hopes. Innocent dreams and hopes, might I add. Although I really had to pay attention to parse out the ones that were actually mine. Some were in my suitcase because they seemed to be in everyone else’s. Some were mine to begin with but I had outgrown them and they no longer fit. Some I kept, in case I could fulfill them in the future. No dream was left unseen. I essentially emptied the attic.

Whatever dreams I kept, I hope to hold them very lightly. Because even if I fulfill them, they may happen in a different way altogether than I imagine.

I don’t want to make superficial plans that I hold on to like a control freak. I want to orient around deeper and consistent intentions that transcend annual plans. I want to keep clearing this extra mental weight as it builds up so I can enjoy the process of doing, learning, and reviewing. Of succeeding at some things and inevitably failing at others. When regrets start stealing energy from the future, it’s time to let them go.

“Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.” — Marie Curie, physicist and chemist

Photo credit: Gio/Unsplash

#108: The emotional dust of creation

We don’t create things all at once, fully formed. Whether it’s an organization, a community, a tiny human or ourselves, creation takes time and the build is always unexpected. That’s a big reason why we subconsciously hold back from creating anything new: it feels risky to invest emotion and effort and not even have the guarantee that this thing we want will actually happen, or happen the way we want it to.

If we make a plan before starting (which is always a good idea), it’ll orient us in the right direction and help take suitable steps, but it likely won’t reflect the nuanced terrain we’ll actually walk. That’s because neither the terrain nor our creation remains static. Both respond to our actions and the events in our larger environment. Similarly, we ourselves respond and change; what we thought last week or last month will shift a bit when we engage in the work. Finally, we never build anything alone. Ever. There are others right next to us co-creating and going through the same push and pull of change and creation. So we’re changing, our creation is changing, our co-creators are changing and the environment is changing. This happens simultaneously and repeatedly. This dynamic is called emergence, and it asks for emotional flexibility. 

The work of creating something new is less like driving a self-driving Tesla on a traffic-free highway, and more like walking a dusty backroad full of brambles alongside others. It’s never a cool and collected experience of just sitting back and arriving. We all get scratched, stumble, bump into each other and kick up dust as we walk.

To make matters harder, we regularly pass through invisible gates that change the scenery and the terrain. What we did before needs to be adjusted in unexpected ways. If we were too absorbed in the work of creating, we may not even realize that we passed a gate. That’s when the emotional dust peaks―we all scramble to make sense of the new terrain, run furiously into the brambles and each other, kick up more dust, and make it harder to see things clearly. 

Knowing this, what if:

  • In addition to drawing maps, we prepare for that dusty and brambly trail with unseen gates.
  • Instead of a heroic solo journey, we note others who walk besides us.
  • Our commitment isn’t to one specific outcome but to staying on the dusty path. We develop resilience, integrity, and might I add―joy, so none of us opt-out in favor of the cushy Tesla path.
  • We invest time in creating trust: holding a hand, mending a wound, or offering a sip of water on this twisty path.
  • Most importantly, we create the capacity to be ok with emotional dust as we blind each other with it.

“The mighty oak was once an acorn that stood its ground.”― English Proverb, Author Unknown 

It may not happen.
If it happens, it wont happen the way you imagined.
If it happens, it’ll be its own thing: emergent and separate from you, uncontrollable by anyone.
Bringing it to life will dent you and others in unseen places.

So, why do it?
Because you came with these fertile seeds.
And if you hold back, first the seeds will wither…then you.
― A little ditty, by Suparna

#107: Solid jumping-off points and soft landings

I have a window above my bed that my cat, Fern, likes to sit at. This window is designed for privacy so it sits high; half of it is above my bed and the rest above my nightstand. Fern uses the nightstand to climb up and my bed to come down. If I’m sitting on my bed and in her way, she’ll meow to get me to move over so she can land on the bed. Only recently did I really pay attention to this dynamic where she uses the solid nightstand to jump up several feet and the soft bed to land.

I think all living organisms instinctively prefer this approach, both physically and emotionally. We don’t take risks or make big moves until we have a source of stability to support us. After we’ve taken the leap and done this big or uncomfortable thing we wanted to do―the hard job, the birth, the exam, the race, or something else―we hope to land back in a place of softness, ease, comfort and nurturing.

I’m also just starting to realize that soft landings are what transform into solid jumping off points for subsequent leaps. That ease and stability (known as sukha and sthira in yogic philosophy) are not two separate things but an infinity loop where one transforms into another in an endless cycle. Wisdom traditions also point us to these opposing, interdependent and inseparable qualities that help us create: rest and activity, yin and yang, feminine and masculine, receiving and giving.

Well-being occurs when there is a balance between these opposing forces because we can have too much of one thing. Weirdly, by over indexing on one side we deplete our capacity to do more of it. Too much action and not enough rest means burnout which leads to stunted future action. Too much rest and not enough action means lethargy, and resting more just depletes us further. Our goal is a dynamic balance that we constantly adjust to remain roughly at our center.

Historically, I put a lot of effort on the “jumping off”, or masculine side of this equation; hoping that more action would create stability for my next action. I created very few soft landings and often felt compelled to jump harder, only hurting myself in the process.

“Among the half dozen or so things for which a man of honor should be prepared, if necessary, to die, the right to play, the right to frivolity, is not the least.”― W. H. Auden, British-American Poet