The art of the effort

Ever tried? Ever failed? No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better. ~ Samuel Beckett

The only way to get what you want in life is to know what you want. But how do you know what you want?

Let's say you know what you want and you lay it all out there - in a notebook, say, or in dinner conversation on a friend's patio on a summer evening (aren't those the best conversations?).

Now what? That's the rhetorical question that woke me in the wee hours this morning and tormented me until I finally got up just as the first pink was painting the horizon, made tea, turned on a book light, and wrote in my journal. Whatever it is we want, are we really prepared to have it?

I love words. I love writing and I love conversation. I love reading and reciting and pondering all those ideas that emerge in words. I understand the risk that goes into writing, as much risk in writing in a journal as there is, for me, in writing to a blog. Maybe more. I've kept a journal since I was 12 (Dear Diary - Today Uncle Harry and Aunt Red came over in their new car - a Volkswagen Beetle! It is SO CUTE!!). I wrote almost daily until I was 19. Then I got married and I stopped writing for seven years. Seven years!! Why? I had no idea - until I started writing in a journal again and my unhappiness poured out, too obvious to keep ignoring. I was 26, I had two small children and no education, no means of supporting myself: writing in my journal was a huge risk because it woke me up to a reality that scared the crap out of me.

So yes, writing is risky. But not writing was slow death.

Knowing what you want and stepping up to getting what you want are two entirely different things. I can use words to spin the fantasy that by knowing I am acting.

Bullshit.

I wonder how many of us are capable of accepting into our lives the very things we profess to want? This goes back to last night's post about taking risks. So, OK, I say I'm willing to take risks in order to have connection, to build intimacy, to sink into that sweet spot of love with another human being without the fear of drowning. Words words words.

He words me, girls, he words me. ~ Antony and Cleopatra, Act V, Scene ii

In order to have anything we really want, we must be willing to risk everything. We must be willing to fall, to fail, to rise, to fall again. Risk is a given; it is the subtext to "I want . . . ." It is the shadow self.

What if we rephrase this conundrum in a way that honors the magnitude as well as the necessity of what we want: wouldn't we then say, "I want to risk failing (feeling) in order to have  . . . ." Now we're getting somewhere.

Today I'll be in an all-day workshop on this very subject. I feel the fear deep in my belly. I feel the excitement under the fear. Turn the key in the ignition; rev the engine. I have no idea where I'm going, but I'm getting there under my own power.

Comments

[wisewebwoman]

I needed to read this today, Verna, as I desperately cling to the shreds of another career that gives me 'assurance' while my dream beckons and even recently got the assist of a legacy from a beloved aunt.
So what gives, my friend?
Why am I so afraid of the dream actually happening?
XO
WWW

[Robin Song]

The word that came to me as I read your blog was trust. It is trust in ourselves and trust that others will hold our heart gently and with respect that motivates that nerve to risk it all.

You have jumped over the cliff so often, and flapping sometimes with all you had in you, you landed on your feet. Clearly we are no strangers to change and risk taking. I think that after a time of feeling comfortable with ourselves we grow a bit insular and have a difficult time seeing ourselves in another mode. Trusting ourselves to that new image and trusting a new situation takes time. It would be insane to trust someone off the bat and not let the relationship grow into trust and intimacy.

I think the scary part is imagining the end before we have even had a taste of the beginning. We create scenarios that overwhelm us and keep us from being open to exploration. I would imagine Pema Chodron would urge us to stay in the moment, empty our cup and don't rush on ahead to see what the ends going to be.

This is all well and good for me to say, but it is the standing in the moment with the empty cup that scares me, and how many times have I jumped off the proverbial cliff???? Time is not as much a friend as it was (and neither is gravity for that matter!). What's a woman to do? Let me know what you have learned at your workshop.
Love you,
R

[Gail Storey]

Like Robin, I'll be interested to hear what you learned at your workshop. For me, effort and trust combine in the simplicity of "just do the next thing." Usually we know (with our inner knowing) what the next thing is, and we can relax into it. I find a huge relief in asking what does awareness want, what wants to happen?