Confessions part 1, or Standing Out in the Open
out in the open, Central Park, photo by Meg Brothers, www.megbrothers.comSince this week's journey through the journal is partly about the things that we regard with judgment ("uninteresting", "unimportant", "too unspeakable to write"), it seems fitting to do a brief series of confessions here to go with it. The next post will feature a page from my own copy of Take Me with You.
But, in the spirit of Go Big or Go Home (as my husband likes to say), here's one to start us off:
When I got the email saying the Squam 2010 class descriptions had gone live online, I couldn't even open them. Now, granted, I had other things on my mind at the time, but even so this was a moment I'd been regarding with trepidation for months.
The new classes weren't easy to plan, to describe, or to send to Elizabeth. She even called one day to talk me off the ledge when I was feeling nervous about committing to so much so far ahead of time, and doing it publicly nonetheless.
"There's this book I've been working on, and I think it should be a class, and I hope you aren't disappointed because it's not really a writing class," I said, and then I told her about my emerging project that didn't even have a title but seemed something like a care-and-keeping-of-artists-kind of manual.
"I trust you completely," was her reply. And then she gave me everything I needed to move forward: understanding, permission and space to be in the emerging and unknowing between now and June.
The classes alone aren't my problem. The first problem is the audacity of my intention to write and publish companion books for all the classes I teach this year. (I'm teaching in the Spring, the Fall, and at Squam by the Sea.) I'm compelled to do this, but I have no idea how I'm actually going to pull it off. The second is the voice that is always waiting in the wings for its cue to jump onstage and declare while pointing to my chest, "Who do you think you are to do such a thing? What you know is so small compared to all that you do not."
And it's true. I do not know many things, and anything I have to give I can only offer with humility.
So perhaps the two problems are really just one thing in disguise: fear. Fear that I'll publicly fail to deliver all that I've promised, or that my work will be found wanting, which for me always boils down to the fear of not being loved. These things are with me always, quietly humming in the background, but these next projects have them shouting and gesticulating and hogging the stage.
So I'm taking my own advice about courage, and recognizing that bigger leaps need to be solidly rooted in bigger love. I'm trying to let love in more deeply than I ever have before, folding my hands quietly and handing things over to a more abiding trust than I have ever practiced, and confessing my fears so that courage can find me out in the open and not have to search for me under a rock.
Even though standing out in the open like this feels small.
What could you confess, in your journal or here in the comments section that would help courage find you?
"I see you just as you are, and just as you are not, and I have nothing but love for you." --Fortunes
Tuesday, January 12, 2010 at 7:00AM | Share Article 14 Comments | Email Article Print Article | Permalink | in Squam Art Workshops, Take Me with You: A Journal for the Journey, courage
Reader Comments (14)
I am standing in a place that feels familiar and unknown all at the same time. I am alternating standing quietly hoping to hear my heart tell me what is next and railing at the stillness grabbing handfuls of my clothes while jumping up and down spitting mad. At this point I do not know which side of me will win but I am determined to stand right here until I figure it out. I do know that retreating in fear and petulance is not an option. I will stand right here until I either finally tire myself out and surrender to the silence and listen or accept the silence willingly. With no clear vision of how this inner fight is going to end, for now I am standing struggling, mightily hoping that this a necessary step to move me towards greater courage and deeper faith.
This is so gloriously gorgeously true ... and so incredibly resonant for me RIGHT NOW ... thank you. It is so hard for me to overcome that voice screaming that what I have to offer is so meager, so weak - it's reassuring to hear that someone who talents I esteem so highly can have the same doubts. Not that I wish these doubts on you at all - but to know that even you, whose gifts are so transcendentally obvious to me ... well, it makes me feel less crazy.
Thank you!
I. see. you. clearly. Your contributions open invisible doors to others (including me) about our voices and that our stories do matter. You. are. a modern. day. prophet. Tell those gremlins that they can say what they want but then they will be silenced. While. you. do. your. important. work.
I. believe. in you.
Trish
My one little word for this year is BRAVE - and yet I am afraid that I'll be found out, be exposed as a fake. I'm teaching two college classes this semester, and I'm afraid they'll find out I don't really know all that much. And there's always the fear that I'm not a "real" writer and that everyone's going to find out.
However, I think there's something here - courage and love intertwined. And I believe in you, Jen. So much.
Today, I am worried that I am not as loved as I love others.
But: I know that you can do it, Jen Lee, and that the little "monsters" are the ones standing in your way. It is true that we all do not know everything. And many things are opaque to us, which is part of what makes Living worth doing, because if we knew everything, what would be left to discover?
In the meantime, you teach those classes. People will love them, and you have so much to share. I know this from listening to your podcasts and reading your words here. Go forth, go forth...
aaah the care and keeping of artists... it amazes me what I need for keep me going - kind company adventues good food good books and how I keep on forgetting that I need them !
I confess that I am more in need of love and have more ugliness than I believe I can share. But I am starting to think differently. Now I have to get over the fear of not saying it right.
Is it my imagination, or has your writing taken a turn recently? It is so clear to me today that what we are each best able to offer comes right from where we struggle the most. Your clear exposure of your struggle with silencing yourself, perfectionism, and feeling afraid of not being loved is so powerful. That bravery is really what makes good writing, and you're doing it.
I've been holding all these words and thoughts as they've come in today. There's a way that pulling fear and struggle into the open invites us into a place where hope is possible, and a way in which letting ourselves be seen helps us believe that the love coming to us can be trusted.
I'll be lighting a candle tonight, and trusting that love and hope will find us all in our own way. Isn't it better to be together than to journey alone?
Standing out in the open like this is anything but small. It's going big. It's going home.
I keep finding that taking my own advice about courage or anything else is absolutely the hardest and also most consistent thing on my path. I dole out encouragement and support and witness and trust, and struggle over and again to apply these to my own process.
And that is why we do it together.
i'm terrified that this little agnostic/atheist is finding faith. i'm terrified that i'm beginning to believe in my dreams enough to actually take responsibility. i'm terrified of working hard for something i love, because what happens when i max out? when someone tells me i can't keep going because i'm not good enough for the next level? i'm terrified because while i know so much is out of my hands, having courage is not. and that is why i have committed myself to 365 days of daring. i'm terrified of failing myself, but going for it anyway. i have everything to lose if i don't. i'm terrified of lose, but even more terrified of accepting loss...because then there are no more excuses for not appreciating my days, for crappy moods. my terror is rooted in my fear of failing if i take responsibility--not being enough. accepting enough, talented enough, smart enough, sensitive enough, political enough, dedicated enough, passionate enough. there's a lot of terror in this young heart. but my favorite quote right now is this, in audre lorde's amazing essay "the transformation of silence into language and action"
"We can learn to work and speak when we are afraid in the same way we have learned to work and speak when we are tired. For we have been socialized to respect fear more than our own needs for language and definition, and while we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will choke us."
i'm trying my best.
thanks, jen. i think there was some serious standing out in the open that i needed to do. you're brave & beautiful. i really appreciate you & what you're doing. thank you.
I'm afraid of success, of breaking free into the "unknown" and pursuing my passion, food and music. After ending a relationship I thought was going in a certain direction, I've had some major "lightbulb" moments over the last 48 hours. I've neglected me for the past four years, I put him first in everything and I've suffered the consequences. And for this I am ashamed. But there is a light ahead of the tunnel, I do have hopes and dreams, and my faith does not reside in human form. :) Reading everyone's confessions is comforting, it's nice to know we are not alone.
Thank you Jen for your radical honesty. It's refreshing in every sense of the word.
I appreciate your trust in us and this space.
What I'm afraid of is success and truth. I have so many ideas swimming in my head right now and I have to say they are GOOD ideas, now the next thing is how am I going to do them and will everyone look at me and say how can she do this? Who is she? And will people like it, will they like me? Can I pull this off and can I do it well?
I am also afraid of no one supporting me in my efforts. Why do I need someone to support me? Can I do this alone and be ok with it. Will my expectations of others be too much?
I also yelled at my kids last night and had a fight with my husband..I've really wanted to get that out in the open since the middle of the night.
thank you for the space.
i'm learning to acknowledge that writer = artist. i have a hangup on the word 'artist' and what that means, what it stirs in me. all of that is wrapped up in fear and in the entire "who do you think you are anyway?" mentality. and so i come here, again and again. and today i see you writing of fear. it's all so very human and good for the spirit.
thank you.
i had my first solo gallery show last spring, and to this day i have never ever read the published bio on the gallery's website or in print. i wrote it, and i submitted it to them. but i don't know if they edited it or if it's accurate or not. because i couldn't bring myself to read it. your words here give some anchor to my feelings - which i likely could not even have identified before reading this post, but which now seem so obvious to me that i don't know how it's possible i didn't know before.
i'm wishing i was on your journal journey.