Yesterday was one of those days: a day seemingly designed to reveal all of my weaknesses, to water the weeds and leave the flowers dry. It started when my aunt, who is also my boss at her law office, gave me a task I didn't know how to do. Rather than immediately admit this and ask for help, I sat and stewed, growing increasingly frustrated and angry with her, the work and especially myself. When I finally did ask her for help, I did so in a defensive way, as if she had given me the task to test my ability to figure it out on my own. After she helped me and I apologized for my defensiveness, I was able to complete the task and even found it enjoyable. Later, I went to handbell practice at my church. I have been playing handbells for almost a decade, so I consider myself a fairly advanced player. In one piece I have to quickly change bells with my left hand, and during a run-through last night I did not play the second bell exactly as it should be played. My director corrected me in a nice way: "Be sure to make a good circle, Emily." The next time we played that section, I played it properly and she said, "That's much better, Emily." When we took a moment's break before resuming practice, I could not stop myself from saying with an edge, "The reason I did not play it properly is because I have to do a really fast bell change there. It's a really hard part and I usually get it right. Just thought you should know that." My director acknowledged the difficulty of the part and we moved on. In hindsight I realize that my statement was completely unnecessary; in our choir and everywhere, we all make mistakes and are corrected for them. Sometimes we feel that we are justified in making these mistakes, sometimes we are angry that others' mistakes remain unnoticed when ours do not, and yet usually we have to bite our tongues, take the criticism and move on. My defensiveness in this instance did nothing but draw attention to my mistake and to my defensiveness. As these examples indicate, my greatest weakness is my pride. I dislike asking for help and, to an even greater degree, I dislike receiving it without asking for it; in other words, the only thing worse than surrendering my own pride is having it taken from me.
Here is my question: are our greatest weaknesses inevitably millstones, things that weigh us down and prevent us from soaring? If our greatest weakness is pride (and I think it is for most of us), this question is a hard one to answer. A person with no pride is a person with no sense of self, or at least no allegiance to self. If we do not take pride in anything we are or do, we have no identity, and without identity we are as good as dead. In order to answer this question, then, I think we need to reexamine the concepts of weakness and strength. We have all heard that our greatest weaknesses are also our greatest strengths, and we have also heard that strength is the opposite of weakness. Is it possible for both of these statements to be true? Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote that "our strength grows out of our weaknesses", a statement which indicates that it is possible. In fact, it suggests that it is not only possible; it is necessary. Strength and weakness are not one and the same, but strength must arise from weakness. Weakness is the only origin of strength just as fear is the only origin of courage. If there is nothing to fear, one cannot be brave; similarly, if there is no opportunity for pride, one cannot be humble. False humility is worse than pride because pride is at least authentic. True humility is the acknowledgement and subsequent overcoming of pride rather than a denial of pride's existence. The irony of false humility is that it is weakness borne of weakness. If we do not acknowledge the original weakness, it will only breed more weakness.
The key, then, is to understand one's own trouble trait well enough to know when its application is justified and unjustified. If you struggle as I do with pride, stand up for yourself when you feel you need to and swallow your pride when you don't. Ironically, sometimes humility means shutting your mouth and sometimes it means opening it. I learned yesterday (a lesson I have admittedly "learned" countless times) that asking for help does not eradicate pride; if anything, it enables it. After asking my aunt for help, I was able to take pride in the work she assigned me. Of course, we will always struggle with our weaknesses, and none of us will be able to overcome them every time they rear their heads. We are only human, after all. Let's act like humans, then. Let's apologize and forgive, never forgetting that our ability to forgive grows out of our ability to apologize.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Risking Rejection
If we wrote memoirs, we could each write a moderately long chapter on the various ways we have been rejected. It is a chapter we would rather edit out, but I am beginning to rethink its value in our stories. Rejection comes in different forms and within different contexts; they can be impersonal or acutely personal; and they tend to cause stagnancy in the context in which they occurred. Upon receiving a rejection letter for a job, for instance, most of us are not inspired to send out more resumes (but we do anyway if we really need a job). Upon being dumped, we do not feel like checking out all those other fish in the sea because we know now that they are actually piranhas. These feelings are normal and, in my opinion, healthy. There is a kind of mourning process associated with rejection - a loss of hope, of the image of the person you thought you were going to be, of the time you spent in pursuit of the goal in question. I have experienced rejection, both personal and professional, and I am very familiar with these feelings. They are old friends; I know I can count on them whenever I call on them. I'm going to stick with that metaphor.
You know that saying, "Make new friends, but keep the old"? I'm trying to think about rejection that way. Let me say up front that I strongly dislike it when people sugarcoat rejection, especially those who do so as they are rejecting you. Phrases like "I hope we can still be friends" and "Your resume is impressive, but we have given the position to someone else" are sugar in the wound. At least salt helps dry it out. I prefer to be let down in a straightforward way which does not require me to feel pitied or conflicted about being upset because the rejecter was so nice. I think most of us can admit that we have been the rejecter before and that we have done this kind of rejecting. Anyway, back to the metaphor. We all remember the first time we felt truly rejected, our first real heartbreak, and that heartbreak inevitably shapes who we are. Each subsequent time we are rejected, we revert back to those feelings we had upon our first rejection. Thus these feelings of inadequacy, anger, sadness, etc. are old friends, and we find a kind of comfort in greeting them again. We need these friends, need to experience these emotions. But we also need to make new friends (a metaphor for opportunities in general). If we are wise, we will choose our new friends with great thought and care. We will choose because we think this friend is worth the risk of being vulnerable and even being rejected. If we take this risk enough, we will find that we have more friends and that the ones who rejected us do not cause us as much pain. When a new friend does reject us, we may still call on our old friends, but at a certain point, we will call less on them and more on ourselves. Make new friends, keep the old, and, above all, be a friend to yourself.
I chose to submit an essay to two literary magazines and to sing in front of a group of about 100 people, two things I have wanted to do for a long time, because for the first time I feel prepared to support myself if and when rejection occurs. And you know what? I did these things after being rejected in an unrelated context. An added benefit of being rejected: you can create art with those emotions. And that art might just be rejected. Here's to being an artist.
You know that saying, "Make new friends, but keep the old"? I'm trying to think about rejection that way. Let me say up front that I strongly dislike it when people sugarcoat rejection, especially those who do so as they are rejecting you. Phrases like "I hope we can still be friends" and "Your resume is impressive, but we have given the position to someone else" are sugar in the wound. At least salt helps dry it out. I prefer to be let down in a straightforward way which does not require me to feel pitied or conflicted about being upset because the rejecter was so nice. I think most of us can admit that we have been the rejecter before and that we have done this kind of rejecting. Anyway, back to the metaphor. We all remember the first time we felt truly rejected, our first real heartbreak, and that heartbreak inevitably shapes who we are. Each subsequent time we are rejected, we revert back to those feelings we had upon our first rejection. Thus these feelings of inadequacy, anger, sadness, etc. are old friends, and we find a kind of comfort in greeting them again. We need these friends, need to experience these emotions. But we also need to make new friends (a metaphor for opportunities in general). If we are wise, we will choose our new friends with great thought and care. We will choose because we think this friend is worth the risk of being vulnerable and even being rejected. If we take this risk enough, we will find that we have more friends and that the ones who rejected us do not cause us as much pain. When a new friend does reject us, we may still call on our old friends, but at a certain point, we will call less on them and more on ourselves. Make new friends, keep the old, and, above all, be a friend to yourself.
I chose to submit an essay to two literary magazines and to sing in front of a group of about 100 people, two things I have wanted to do for a long time, because for the first time I feel prepared to support myself if and when rejection occurs. And you know what? I did these things after being rejected in an unrelated context. An added benefit of being rejected: you can create art with those emotions. And that art might just be rejected. Here's to being an artist.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
The Commitment Conundrum
I've wanted to blog about romantic relationships for a while, but I have this pesky issue with commitment... oh good, now I have an angle. To start, this business about certain people having a "fear of commitment" is like saying that certain people have opposable thumbs. This fear may manifest itself in different ways and degrees, but the closest synonym for "commitment" is "obligation," which implies a loss or lack of freedom, and that scares everyone. In fact, nothing scares us more than losing our freedom - hopefully this isn't the only thing keeping us out of jail, but it is a contributing factor. There are two kinds of obligations: externally imposed and self-imposed. Externally imposed obligations are generally not associated with commitment phobia. We don't avoid going to work because it directly affects our livelihood, and we (most of us, anyway) don't avoid paying taxes because doing so results in an even greater obligation. Avoidance occurs when we have a choice and the consequences of this choice are unclear. I am an individual and there is no law stating that I must find a mate or I'll end up in the big house. If I choose to commit to a relationship with someone, that relationship is a self-imposed obligation. Cue the fear music, maestro.
Before I delve more into amorous relationships, let's consider commitment phobias in friendships as a building block. We all have at least one friend who never wants to be tied down by a plan and who therefore never has one and rarely adheres to one. In the context of a friendship, this tendency, while annoying, does not necessarily cause the foundation to crumble for a few reasons: 1. we probably have other, more Type A friends to hang out with; 2. having Type A friends necessitates having at least one Type B friend; and 3. thanks largely to facebook, friendship as a construct just ain't what she used to be. When friendship can exist between two people who may or may not have met or will ever meet, the notion of obligation seems a bit ambitious. Our understanding of friendship as a context implies an understanding that commitment within this context does not require us to sacrifice much freedom. Our commitment-phobic friends do not become our enemies because they do not threaten our freedom and because they allow us to be commitment-phobic as well. And even if you are committed to noncommittal pals, you have the satisfaction of knowing that you are the bigger person. Being the bigger person means nothing in romantic relationships.
Pretty much everything else does mean something, though, and that's what makes commitment to love so damn scary. Romantic love is too big and mysterious and important to be a context; it is two people, two worlds, thrown haphazardly into a single orbit, and commitment is the only force that keeps them on the same track (notice I didn't say it keeps them from colliding or from wanting to occasionally knock the other out of orbit). Choosing to be in a committed relationship with someone means choosing commitment, not a relationship; otherwise, to quote Yeats, "the center will not hold." If we do not obligate ourselves to our partners, we cannot trust that they have obligated themselves to us, and without that trust there can be no relationship. My partner may be fully committed to me, but until I trust that he is, I cannot be committed to him. I have only recently begun to grasp the reality that we cannot love others until and unless we love ourselves; similarly, we cannot trust others until and unless we trust ourselves. Our conundrum, then, is not getting over our fear of commitment, but rather getting over our commitment to fear. Freedom can become loneliness, which we do not think we fear until we experience it. If we stop fearing loss of freedom, we will be set free. I'm working on it.
Before I delve more into amorous relationships, let's consider commitment phobias in friendships as a building block. We all have at least one friend who never wants to be tied down by a plan and who therefore never has one and rarely adheres to one. In the context of a friendship, this tendency, while annoying, does not necessarily cause the foundation to crumble for a few reasons: 1. we probably have other, more Type A friends to hang out with; 2. having Type A friends necessitates having at least one Type B friend; and 3. thanks largely to facebook, friendship as a construct just ain't what she used to be. When friendship can exist between two people who may or may not have met or will ever meet, the notion of obligation seems a bit ambitious. Our understanding of friendship as a context implies an understanding that commitment within this context does not require us to sacrifice much freedom. Our commitment-phobic friends do not become our enemies because they do not threaten our freedom and because they allow us to be commitment-phobic as well. And even if you are committed to noncommittal pals, you have the satisfaction of knowing that you are the bigger person. Being the bigger person means nothing in romantic relationships.
Pretty much everything else does mean something, though, and that's what makes commitment to love so damn scary. Romantic love is too big and mysterious and important to be a context; it is two people, two worlds, thrown haphazardly into a single orbit, and commitment is the only force that keeps them on the same track (notice I didn't say it keeps them from colliding or from wanting to occasionally knock the other out of orbit). Choosing to be in a committed relationship with someone means choosing commitment, not a relationship; otherwise, to quote Yeats, "the center will not hold." If we do not obligate ourselves to our partners, we cannot trust that they have obligated themselves to us, and without that trust there can be no relationship. My partner may be fully committed to me, but until I trust that he is, I cannot be committed to him. I have only recently begun to grasp the reality that we cannot love others until and unless we love ourselves; similarly, we cannot trust others until and unless we trust ourselves. Our conundrum, then, is not getting over our fear of commitment, but rather getting over our commitment to fear. Freedom can become loneliness, which we do not think we fear until we experience it. If we stop fearing loss of freedom, we will be set free. I'm working on it.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Writing is Ruining My Life...
... by saving me from it. The great irony of this blog is that the impetus for it, the feelings that inspire it, should be driving me to do rather than write. I find myself wishing something would happen, something life-changing, so that I will have something to write about; the event itself is reduced to fodder for this ruthless hunger in me to analyze, recreate and retell. The truth is that my writing voice speaks more confidently and more wisely than my real voice, but what if my writing voice is my real voice? Think about what you love to do more than anything else and what doing this thing does to your voice. Does it become a little stronger, a little louder, a little less afraid? Is it less or more real than your "normal" voice? When I write I feel powerful, but I am aware that this power derives largely from my ability to represent myself differently, to embellish and omit. My answer to the popular question "If you could have any superpower, what would you want it to be?" has always been invisibility, as I imagine it would be for most writers (except perhaps sci-fi/fantasy types, who are a little more imaginative); the ability to hide but still be heard and influence one's surroundings (authoritatively, as one cannot be caught when invisible) is a writer's dream.
A writer's other (and arguably less realistic) dream is to be published. Being published means that this voice exists somewhere other than in your head (or on a blog that other people kindly choose to read - thank you), and more importantly, that someone else thinks this voice should be heard. Everyone I have spoken to about the publishing process has told me to prepare for a forest worth of rejection letters, and even after that, an acceptance letter may never come. I don't know about you, but I do my best to avoid rejection, especially when it is unaccompanied by the promise of acceptance. Allow me to put on my cape of wisdom and analyze that statement: rejection without the promise of acceptance is also known as life, and life is what's up. So maybe writing isn't ruining my life after all, just as your calling, your greatest gift and burden, isn't ruining yours. Maybe our perception of life is ruining our lives because we expect it to be a promise for something greater when really it is only what we make it. Even if your calling is something that makes you feel removed from life in some way, the very fact that you feel called to do it indicates that you want to live, that you want to fill the blank page. I am making a decision, here and now, to accept writing as a major part of my life rather than as an escape from it. Could we make a deal? I would love more than anything to know what your calling is and how you are trying to answer that call when giving up is far more palatable, or what is preventing you from pursuing it, or anything you want to say about your life. If you will do that for me, I will write about us (without names), about how a group of people I know and don't know changed my life by giving me a small glimpse into their lives. I would submit it proudly, and I would cherish every last rejection letter. I hope to hear from you.
A writer's other (and arguably less realistic) dream is to be published. Being published means that this voice exists somewhere other than in your head (or on a blog that other people kindly choose to read - thank you), and more importantly, that someone else thinks this voice should be heard. Everyone I have spoken to about the publishing process has told me to prepare for a forest worth of rejection letters, and even after that, an acceptance letter may never come. I don't know about you, but I do my best to avoid rejection, especially when it is unaccompanied by the promise of acceptance. Allow me to put on my cape of wisdom and analyze that statement: rejection without the promise of acceptance is also known as life, and life is what's up. So maybe writing isn't ruining my life after all, just as your calling, your greatest gift and burden, isn't ruining yours. Maybe our perception of life is ruining our lives because we expect it to be a promise for something greater when really it is only what we make it. Even if your calling is something that makes you feel removed from life in some way, the very fact that you feel called to do it indicates that you want to live, that you want to fill the blank page. I am making a decision, here and now, to accept writing as a major part of my life rather than as an escape from it. Could we make a deal? I would love more than anything to know what your calling is and how you are trying to answer that call when giving up is far more palatable, or what is preventing you from pursuing it, or anything you want to say about your life. If you will do that for me, I will write about us (without names), about how a group of people I know and don't know changed my life by giving me a small glimpse into their lives. I would submit it proudly, and I would cherish every last rejection letter. I hope to hear from you.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Why We Need Each Other
Ideally an epiphany occurs to me before I start a blog post, but sometimes nothing matters but the conviction that something must be said about a particular topic. And that topic tonight is us: you and me and everyone we know and everyone we don't know. We're funny creatures, we humans. We make to-do lists and bucket lists and they never look the same. We buy each other gifts in December and return them in January. We work jobs that we don't like or that stress us out to pay for houses we don't have time to enjoy due to said jobs. I'm not criticizing us; most of us are doing the best we can. I'm also not suggesting that we all go sky-diving, skip Christmas and quit our jobs. I'm just trying to convince myself, and maybe help you consider, that we are all we've got, and that we'd better make the best of us while we can.
Yesterday I was an idealist and today I am not. Today I am certain that we are all destined for heartbreak and trial and that the only way we can make it through either is with each other. All my life I have tried to establish my own identity, to distinguish myself in some way, and I have resented the lack of "dare to be great" moments in my life. I have been waiting impatiently for an obstacle to overcome while those I love most could have used my support in surmounting theirs. Even worse, I have tried to create and overcome fictional obstacles to give myself a sense of contol and purpose. It is this kind of thinking which isolates us and prevents us from living more meaningful, love-filled lives. Anything could happen to any of us at any moment, but that moment is not what we should live for or fear. We should live for each other and fear the loneliness of living for oneself alone rather than the uncertainty of living without a clear purpose or identity.
Please tell the people you love that you love them, and please try to love more people, including yourself. When the time comes for you to face your obstacles, you will be glad you did.
Yesterday I was an idealist and today I am not. Today I am certain that we are all destined for heartbreak and trial and that the only way we can make it through either is with each other. All my life I have tried to establish my own identity, to distinguish myself in some way, and I have resented the lack of "dare to be great" moments in my life. I have been waiting impatiently for an obstacle to overcome while those I love most could have used my support in surmounting theirs. Even worse, I have tried to create and overcome fictional obstacles to give myself a sense of contol and purpose. It is this kind of thinking which isolates us and prevents us from living more meaningful, love-filled lives. Anything could happen to any of us at any moment, but that moment is not what we should live for or fear. We should live for each other and fear the loneliness of living for oneself alone rather than the uncertainty of living without a clear purpose or identity.
Please tell the people you love that you love them, and please try to love more people, including yourself. When the time comes for you to face your obstacles, you will be glad you did.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Knowing & No-ing
Happy new year, everyone. Now that day two is wrapping up, we are mostly recovered from our various maladies: hangovers, trashed residences and feelings of excitement and cheer. It's 2011 now, and we will be cursing it for weeks as we pay our bills, write our checks and turn in our homework. The next holiday isn't here until February (I am not even going there in this post), so we have over a month to get acquainted with this awkward new year before we celebrate again. The new year is like a blind date set up by your mom; no matter how much you want to, you just can't say no. When you think about it though, who knows you better than your mom? I think my mom knows me better than I know myself. So I'm going to approach this new year with a new attitude: I'm going to say no to saying no.
When I think of the mistakes I've made, I realize that the majority of them stemmed from my saying no. The reason we say "no" is closely linked to its homophone, "know." When we don't know the outcome of a decision, we assess risk before deciding. Sensitive people tend to be inherently risk-averse, which means that we often say no before fully weighing our options. The paradox is that we can never fully know the outcome of a decision to begin with, and when we choose to say no, we prevent ourselves from ever knowing. When I was in college, I focused so much on gaining knowledge that I forgot to gain experience; I now know that experience is the only knowledge that matters. I apologize if that statement reads as cliche and obvious, but I am truly just beginning to embrace this idea. Of course I am not advocating saying yes to everything (more power to Jim Carrey, though); I am advocating saying yes when your only fear is that of the unknown.
Perhaps you have another, closely related issue: perhaps you are ready to say yes, to embrace possibilities, but the possibilities are not readily presenting themselves. I'm right there with you. Just remember that patience is a virtue, but so is courage. And courage is way more badass than patience, and you are an introverted badass capable of awesomeness. If you have a hard time agreeing to participate in an outing or take some other risk, the thought of being the mastermind behind such an event may induce nausea. If this applies to you, I advise starting small. Of course, we sensitive folk are all over the spectrum when it comes to participation comfort levels. For me, the threshold hovers right around the "dancing among a bunch of strangers in a crowded club on New Year's Eve" mark. I did it, found it somehow both awkward and exhilarating, and now my threshold is a little higher. I still prefer more low-key events, but I'm glad I did something outside my comfort zone because I know more about myself after having done it. I find it ironic that sensitive people are the most self-aware people but also tend to know the least about ourselves - we know what we know, but there isn't much to know.
I digress... back to the idea of creating rather than waiting on possibilities. Fear of the unknown intensifies when fear of rejection is also in play. It's easier to say no than to have someone say no to you. The next time you are about to decline an offer, consider the risk the other person took in asking you to participate. Think especially hard about those people who have asked you to participate numerous times despite your repeated negative responses. I have done this more times than I care to admit, and I vow not to do it again. Once you start accepting, you will feel more accepted. Once you feel more accepted, you will feel more empowered and less afraid of rejection from others. Just remember that even if you are rejected, you are one step closer to knowing yourself. And you are still an introverted badass.
When I think of the mistakes I've made, I realize that the majority of them stemmed from my saying no. The reason we say "no" is closely linked to its homophone, "know." When we don't know the outcome of a decision, we assess risk before deciding. Sensitive people tend to be inherently risk-averse, which means that we often say no before fully weighing our options. The paradox is that we can never fully know the outcome of a decision to begin with, and when we choose to say no, we prevent ourselves from ever knowing. When I was in college, I focused so much on gaining knowledge that I forgot to gain experience; I now know that experience is the only knowledge that matters. I apologize if that statement reads as cliche and obvious, but I am truly just beginning to embrace this idea. Of course I am not advocating saying yes to everything (more power to Jim Carrey, though); I am advocating saying yes when your only fear is that of the unknown.
Perhaps you have another, closely related issue: perhaps you are ready to say yes, to embrace possibilities, but the possibilities are not readily presenting themselves. I'm right there with you. Just remember that patience is a virtue, but so is courage. And courage is way more badass than patience, and you are an introverted badass capable of awesomeness. If you have a hard time agreeing to participate in an outing or take some other risk, the thought of being the mastermind behind such an event may induce nausea. If this applies to you, I advise starting small. Of course, we sensitive folk are all over the spectrum when it comes to participation comfort levels. For me, the threshold hovers right around the "dancing among a bunch of strangers in a crowded club on New Year's Eve" mark. I did it, found it somehow both awkward and exhilarating, and now my threshold is a little higher. I still prefer more low-key events, but I'm glad I did something outside my comfort zone because I know more about myself after having done it. I find it ironic that sensitive people are the most self-aware people but also tend to know the least about ourselves - we know what we know, but there isn't much to know.
I digress... back to the idea of creating rather than waiting on possibilities. Fear of the unknown intensifies when fear of rejection is also in play. It's easier to say no than to have someone say no to you. The next time you are about to decline an offer, consider the risk the other person took in asking you to participate. Think especially hard about those people who have asked you to participate numerous times despite your repeated negative responses. I have done this more times than I care to admit, and I vow not to do it again. Once you start accepting, you will feel more accepted. Once you feel more accepted, you will feel more empowered and less afraid of rejection from others. Just remember that even if you are rejected, you are one step closer to knowing yourself. And you are still an introverted badass.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
End-of-Year Resolutions
As another year draws to a close, I find myself in familiar territory. Best & Worst lists abound, we're cranky and cold and at the mall, and we're stuck between dread and excitement about what next year will bring. Something, or perhaps everything, about winter makes a body tired and a mind uneasy. I think winter is trying to tell us something. As we struggle to find the right gifts, complaining about the unforgiving cold, the cold is telling us to seek shelter and warmth, to slow down rather than sprint to the finish line. Hibernating bears have the right idea: this is the time to think and rethink rather than act and react. When I think about this year, I feel a lot of different things. I have regrets, to be sure: withdrawing from graduate school, getting into a situation I should have known to avoid, letting certain people go and holding on too tightly to others. But I also have joys: I got promoted to a position at work which I really enjoy, I've made several new friends, I've spent a lot of time with my precious family and I've renewed my interest and involvement in musical endeavors. The trick to remembering is focusing as much on the good as on the bad, a task which seems inherently difficult for us human beings.
I have no idea what 2011 will bring, but I am more concerned about tomorrow anyway. When we make resolutions for a forthcoming year, we are robbing ourselves of what remains of this year; we are also usually fooling ourselves. For most of us, the act of formulating a list of resolutions is itself daunting and stressful; we worry that our lists are not long enough or ambitious enough, we find ourselves repeating goals we meant to reach this year. Whether we realize it or not, we are composing narratives of our failings, wish lists for a perfection that does not exist. I am not saying that we should stop trying to be better people; I am saying that one's efforts to do so should arise from an in medias res realization that one must, at that moment, be or do something more. This moment of realization will occur for different people at different times, most likely during times of crisis. Certainly none of us would put "Experience crisis which will make me a better person" on our resolution lists, and that is precisely why these lists are not very useful.
My advice for the seasonally disheartened, which includes myself, is to remember that we too have seasons. This winter, try not to worry too much about what you can't control (which is pretty much 90% of everything), forgive yourself and others for this year's faults and don't resolve to change the new year before it has a chance to change you.
I have no idea what 2011 will bring, but I am more concerned about tomorrow anyway. When we make resolutions for a forthcoming year, we are robbing ourselves of what remains of this year; we are also usually fooling ourselves. For most of us, the act of formulating a list of resolutions is itself daunting and stressful; we worry that our lists are not long enough or ambitious enough, we find ourselves repeating goals we meant to reach this year. Whether we realize it or not, we are composing narratives of our failings, wish lists for a perfection that does not exist. I am not saying that we should stop trying to be better people; I am saying that one's efforts to do so should arise from an in medias res realization that one must, at that moment, be or do something more. This moment of realization will occur for different people at different times, most likely during times of crisis. Certainly none of us would put "Experience crisis which will make me a better person" on our resolution lists, and that is precisely why these lists are not very useful.
My advice for the seasonally disheartened, which includes myself, is to remember that we too have seasons. This winter, try not to worry too much about what you can't control (which is pretty much 90% of everything), forgive yourself and others for this year's faults and don't resolve to change the new year before it has a chance to change you.
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