When the system shakes, don't fight it
I’m about 4 weeks late on a proper 2022 recap, but I think I needed the time. 2022 was undoubtedly one for the books. (Or ~the book~ to be specific). And it's part of the reason this blog needed to take a hiatus. But now, I'm ready to come back.
This year filled me with more self-understanding than I could have ever hoped for, and more writing fodder than I ever expected. As with all things in life — just when you think you’ve got it ~all figured out~ -- the cosmos throw you a curveball.
And that’s how 2022 started for me. It started out as so many chapters of profound personal understanding do: with a most awful heartbreak.
Awful because you know it’s right.
And awful because you wish you were wrong.
So yea. That happened last February.
But then, what happened next, was wonderful.
Picking up the pen: to write, re-write and re-re-write again
When something changes the assumptions for how your life will play out, it makes room for new perspectives, whether you ask for it or not. In my case, it meant that the astute (and terribly annoying) literary agent of my life stopped holding back all of her hot takes.
Intuition snatched a Sharpie off the shelf of my psyche, and started scribbling some SMALL, CASUAL, SUGGESTED EDITS, LIKE THIS in the margins of my mindset.
I got the hint.
Because what Intuition was really trying to tell me was this: it's time to radically re-write again.
And so, with a massive rubber eraser ready to fight inevitable foibles, and a freshly sharpened Ticonderoga that only half-trusted the shaky hand holding it, I did. In doing so, what I really learned this year is how much power we have to radically edit our lives. And quickly too — if we're bold enough to actually fake being brave enough.
We just need to be open to the often unsolicited yet nearly always necessary “suggested edits” of Intuition. Or, the universe. Or, <insert your guiding deity of choice here>.
Interestingly though, to change your life dramatically, actually doesn’t need to be ~dramatic~. You don’t need to stew and suffer and labor. You just need to listen, and "try" -- a deliciously low-stakes version of "do", that often ends up delivering all the benefits of "done" when you try long enough.
And that last part is key really.
Because it’s not enough to just ~skim~ through your editor's monologue of critical comments and "possible" pursuits. You need to actually action them. Sure -- Intuition will make chicken-scratch copy edits here and there to let you know which filler words might be fogging up the fulfillment. She’ll even callout the bigger messier bits of your manuscript that lack a cohesive theme. But don’t expect her to actually pick up the pen and re-work the plot line of your life. In spite of all that ~mighty clairvoyant power~, not even she’s authorized to make those changes. She's the editor, with a gift for giving pointed feedback. Important -- but incomplete. The heavy burden remains on the writer.
And so sometimes, it can feel like crap-work -- writing and re-writing our lives.
But also, there’s really no other option.
To ~not~ consistently commit, and try and edit and experiment with your life is actually kind of unacceptable. And I don’t say that lightly. It implicitly submits that your life is meaningless. Static things without self-expression don’t typically serve a purpose — like a stationary carousel at an abandoned carnival.
They just take up space.
And to be honest, they’re just kind of sad.
And so, it’s motion that makes things feel meaningful. And it’s the difficulty of self-improvement that make us feel alive -- a deep sense of peace and power all wrapped up in one that I think we crave at the most primal levels.
But, because it's hard, we like to convince ourselves that it's unnecessary -- No really, I'm content! -- or premature -- Absolutely, and I promise I'm ~almost~ ready!
We bias for stagnant behavior -- the precise thing that provides no new information on life. It's easier to subscribe to any rationalization that lets us delay picking up the pen. And so, we keep our existence a draft of daydreams. Half-baked ideas and incomplete self-improvement. All because you didn’t discover, dare and -- most importantly -- suffer through the "do" part. But, you can't leave the manuscript for your meaning pouting on the shelf for 3 years. Life is too precious to tolerate stagnance -- which I'm convinced is just another word for "fear."
It’s motion that makes things feel meaningful.
So this year, I was committed to making waves.
Being in motion. Literally and figuratively. I doubled-down on doing things that felt different and uncomfortable. Not because I necessarily always "wanted" to. But because I was willing to bet that I wouldn't regret it. Because I had a theory that we're not really longing for some abstract concept of "purpose." We're really just longing for something surprisingly practical: progress. And the deep incomparable sense of pride that comes from proving that to ourselves.
For me -- that shape of personal "pushing" took many different forms in 2022. For example, I hopped from place to place with about 24 hours of forethought, intentionally saturating myself in foreign cities, cultures and social settings -- almost always alone. I started walking and running and lifting with more consistency, just to quench the curiosity of knowing how it would make my body feel. I forced myself to attend random events on things even when I was exhausted, just for the possibility of serendipity -- which I indeed, often stumbled into. I reached out to talk to people that I admired from afar, even though the thought of “networking” makes me want to puke. But I always learned something new and invaluable, that paid dividends later in ways I didn't ask or expect it to. And, if I liked someone I met even fleetingly -- romantic, or otherwise -- I scribbled my number down on a napkin and shoved it into their hands. With (fake) cool, (fake) casual, and (fake) calm composure.
This all, of course, glazes over many more mundane parts of my working days. And it's not lost on me that there's still privilege implicit in all of this. But the only thing more criminal than being blind to your privilege, is knowing it's there and still regressing to an attitude of apathy -- or even more unforgivable, complaint -- for one's life. Rather than thanking ~the powers at be~ that granted it, and honoring the heck out of it by building upon an already blessedly robust foundation.
And so, with all of these micro-actions, I was attempting to do that. Slinging cement and stacking pieces of myself, brick by brick without fully knowing what I might be building. And what I found was this: from all of these micro-actions were opportunities for growth and joy that I didn't realize were all around me. Waiting for me to put in just some work before they felt comfortable revealing themselves. And when they did, those seemingly small actions actually ended up changing my life in tremendous, unexpected and wonderful ways.
I fell in love with places, and pursuits and of course, people.
And that’s what I realized in 2022. I’m not here to merely ~live my life~ -- casually dating it until something better comes along. I'm here to push progress for the long-haul. Which means, I’m here to fall in love with it. Learning what that means, every day and in new ways.
And as with all relationships — it requires work.
But when you do it, you wonder how you could have possibly lived life any other way. You fall in love -- not merely with a "person" -- whom like any human, is subject to lapses and blunders and disappointments. But rather, you fall in love with the endurance and progress in your partnership. You fall in love with the life that you've built with someone.
And all the better when that "someone" is you.
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