Which open door is the right door?

Yesterday a Facebook friend posted this on her wall:

This is an honest question, something I’m pondering, and I’m curious to hear others’ thoughts on the topic. It has generally been my approach to accept opportunities that unexpectedly fall in my lap or doors that swing open without too much effort on my part—I tend to take that as an indication that it is the right path for me. But I wonder…should one bypass those open doors and strive for something bigger sometimes? Where does a disjointed series of open doors lead? Is it like a dream deferred? And if there isn’t a clear alternative to the door that is open….hmmmmm. Generally the doors that open aren’t the ones I hoped would open! Sometimes I put a lot of effort into prying open doors that stay shut.

Over the years, I’ve found that opportunities tend to appear whether we’re actively seeking them or not. Sometimes there may be a dry spell, but then something will pop up, sometimes to our surprise. When I’ve been surprised by an opportunity that seems good, or at least reasonable, sometimes the temptation is just to jump on it before it slips away. And I’ve done that with things that seemed possible for me to do, that might bring in a little money, and that sounded at least somewhat interesting. So I’ve accepted some of them, and done them for awhile, and then moved on. But I don’t think this is really the issue my friend is touching on here.

Just because something appears unexpectedly without our making any effort, does that mean it’s necessarily the right thing? It depends on what we mean by “the right thing.” I happen to know that the friend who posed this question is a person of considerable and varied talents who often finds herself in jobs that have nothing whatsoever to do with her talents. Sure, I know we all need to earn money, but let’s be careful that we don’t confuse the need for a “day” job to keep us going while we develop our talents, with the real and genuine need to bring out and utilize our talents to the fullest—to make our dreams come true and do what we really LOVE.

I’ve been confronted with this dilemma my entire life, and I can’t say things have turned out exactly the way I would have liked. But I refuse to give a “day” job the importance in my thought that I give to my dream. And when it comes to picking a job out of the various opportunities that present themselves, I do take the time now to consider whether my choice will be manageable or whether it will suck my soul away and keep me away from my dreams. We all do the best we can when it comes to taking care of our basic needs, but we need to be alert to protect ourselves, especially if we are creative types.

I must say that when it comes to my dreams, even if I’ve tried to pry open doors that have stubbornly remained shut, even if I’ve been rebuffed and ignored, that still won’t stop me from nourishing my dream, working at it, loving it, valuing it, seeing that it is deserving, respecting it, protecting it, caring for it, appreciating it, offering it.

If it seems as if there’s no alternative to the doors that are opening to the “day” jobs, just keep cherishing the dream. Those doors don’t open to the dream, so they don’t really matter all that much. Keep them separate. Isolate them. I believe that our true job is to know that the gift we’ve been given comes with its own fulfillment, and if we’re patient and diligent, eventually the real doors will open to us.

The secret is not to identify ourselves with the jobs that we may have to do along the way to sustain ourselves. This doesn’t mean we don’t do our best at them or that we approach them with a negative attitude. It’s kind of like cleaning the house. It’s something that needs to be done, even though we may not feel like doing it. So we do it as cheerfully as we can, but we’re not thinking the whole time: “I’m a house cleaner. This is who I am.” Our identification should always be with our God-given gifts, no matter what other things we may have to do along the way to keep ourselves going. This is where we belong.

Doing nothing

Are you one of those people who always has to be doing something? Does the idea of doing nothing make you uneasy? Well, you’re not alone, I’m sure. Even with all the current popularity of meditation, there are still lots and lots of folks who just can’t stop their perpetual motion, not to mention the constant static going on in their minds.

I used to be one of those people, and sometimes I’ll still have a wakeful night in bed when I just can’t seem to turn my “thinker” off. And after a lifelong habit of being convinced I always had to be busy otherwise it meant I was lazy, only recently have I come to the conclusion that rushing around like a waiter covering a dozen tables really wastes time and doesn’t accomplish much of anything.

I read a book awhile back that encouraged doing nothing from time to time. The book was aimed at artists like myself, but I really think it applies to everyone. I know some fellow musicians who practice every single day and transcribe solos from jazz records while they’re riding on the bus or eating lunch, and I guess that’s OK for them, but I’ve found that taking breaks provides openings for your creative intuition to get in, while constant activity tends to shut it out.

There have been periods during my life when I’ve stopped playing music altogether (one time for seven years), and when I came back I was not only fresh and full of new ideas, but I seemed to be playing things I had never played, or even thought of playing before. It was as if all the things that were going on in my life during my absence from music had actually contributed to my store of creative fodder, ready to spring into action when I was ready to go back.

Those of us who were raised with the so-called “Protestant work ethic” or something similar, have been programmed to feel guilty if we’re not always doing something, always producing. Even during vacations or entertainment breaks, we feel that we have to be busy at something every single minute. It took me decades before I was finally able to sit down in a chair and do absolutely nothing for a period of a half hour. No book, no laptop, no iPod, no food, no cell phone, nothing. After getting into this new habit, I discovered that there was a freshness, a newness to my thought, as if I were opening a door into something much broader and deeper than my limited little thought patterns. If you’ve never tried this, I highly recommend that you do. You don’t have to meditate on a mantra or even say a prayer. Just be still. Be quiet. You’ll like the results, I promise.

Breaking out

Have you ever felt that you’re not moving along as quickly as you’d like in some area of your life—that you’re not making the progress you’d hoped for?

I’ve felt this way many times, and I’m sure others have, too. Sometimes there are things in our lives that feel like stumbling blocks, and we just can’t seem to see any way around them. We feel stuck.

When this happens, it’s tempting to think that if we just push harder, or maybe take a big leap forward in spite of our hesitations and fears, that we can make that breakthrough we’re longing for. But often that doesn’t work out, and we end up even more afraid and sometimes so discouraged that we don’t feel like making any more efforts at all.

So what can we do?

I think there’s an example in nature that can help us. It’s been used as a metaphor many times, and I think it’s a very good one when we’re feeling trapped between pushing too hard and doing nothing at all. It’s the baby bird inside the egg. Have you ever seen a baby bird spend his whole life inside his egg? Of course not. But I bet you’ve never seen one just crack open his shell with one blow, either. The baby bird is a perfect example of patience, persistence, and common sense. He pecks at his shell a little at a time—peck, peck, peck. Then maybe he stops for a bit, but soon he’ll start pecking away again. And after a while there’ll be a little hole. He sees a tiny ray of light. So he keeps on pecking. And you know the rest of the story.

Why can’t we be like the little bird? Well, we can, of course. Whatever we’re faced with, we can patiently peck at our own shells until we see that first ray of light, and then finally the full splendor of freedom and accomplishment.

Is it because I’m creative, or am I just a slob?

Today I was remembering my college English professor, Emily Brady, who used to tell me that it was like pulling teeth for her to stop herself from going into to her kitchen to wash the dishes when she knew she was supposed to be writing. More often than not, though, she’d force herself to the typewriter, and the dishes would keep accumulating in the sink.

Then an old friend, Hartmut, came to mind. He’s an German architect in his 70s who’s been living in Brazil for many years. The last time I saw him he was still very active, jumping into the ocean for a swim every morning, playing in the bands in the Carnival parades, and always working on some architectural project, for profit or not. He lives in a tiny apartment in Copacabana that looks as though it’s never been cleaned. And Hartmut is blissfully unaware of the filth. Aging dust bunnies occupy every corner of his living room, and the one time I went into his kitchen he was cooking something in a pot that was encrusted with years of previously cooked meals, on top of a two-burner stove that had never been blessed by the touch of a scouring pad.

As I thought about this, I realized that I’m a lot like these two people. Well, probably more like Emily (is it because I’m a woman?), because I’m often tempted to go clean something or empty the garbage when I know I’d be better off practicing the piano or writing something. I don’t really think I’m a slob, and as I look around my apartment, I see that it looks more or less orderly. By that I mean that there’s not a lot of clutter around, magazines thrown on the floor, clothes hanging from doorknobs, stuff like that. But I also know that even though it doesn’t look like a mess, I couldn’t say it’s actually clean. I rarely wash the floors (although I’m often tempted), so I have to clean my feet in the bidet before I go to bed (I like being barefoot).

See, it’s really dirty where I live. I’m on the third floor with a big window overlooking a very busy street, and all the black dust, mixed with ocean spray, comes in the window and sticks to everything. Sticky, nasty black dust. Yeah, I know it’s just an excuse, but seriously folks, I have more important things to do than run a rag over my dirty floors every other day (which is about how often I’d have to do it to keep them clean).

As I was pondering this pressing issue, I recalled an incident from when I was a teenager. I had gotten a job doing some house cleaning for a friend of a schoolmate’s mother. She had me dust and vacuum every day, and wipe off all the surfaces in the kitchen with a damp rag. I thought it was really dumb to do that every day, because nothing was ever dirty. I mentioned this to my schoolmate, and what did she do? She went and told her mother’s friend what I’d said, the little snitch. How did I know this? Because the next day at work, this lady said to me, “You know, if you clean up every day, then you don’t have to deal with a lot of dirt. It’s much simpler.” Well, I was relieved that she didn’t scold me, but secretly I still thought it was dumb.

I thought, “Why should I waste my time doing this when there are better things to do?” And then I realized the truth of the matter: I actually like to clean things when they’re really dirty. For instance, I like to tackle an encrusted stove and scrub through layers of embedded grease until it’s all bright and shiny again. I find that much more satisfying than mindlessly running a rag over a surface that’s already clean. I guess that’s pretty much my philosophy about housekeeping. Or maybe it’s just another excuse. I don’t know. But I know that if I don’t stick to my guns about it, then I’ll be tempted to grab a broom or a dust rag every time I know it’s time to sit down at the piano or the computer and do something creative. Housekeeping is creative you say? Well…you’ll have to explain that one to me. I have nothing against it, and there’s actually something kind of appealing about the mindlessness of it—it can even be relaxing. And that’s where the temptation lies, at least for me.

Right on, C.S. Lewis!

My friend Rhonda posted this on Facebook today and I just have to share it:

Why don’t people use their talents? … continued

Yesterday I posed the question: Why don’t people use their talents?

Apparently the answer is a complex one. There could be any number of reasons why someone doesn’t pursue something they’re good at. One commenter pointed out that it could be fear of failure, perhaps because they think they’re not good enough, or the opposite: fear of success.

But another commenter reminded me of something I’d overlooked: sometimes we’re really good at something, but it simply isn’t our heart’s desire, doesn’t resonate with us, so we don’t pursue it. I think that’s often the crux of the matter for certain people.

Some folks are good at lots of different things and are able to pursue a number of interests without feeling undecided or conflicted. Others, though, have a burning desire to do one particular thing but are constantly distracted by all the other things they’re good at — especially if those things are an easier source of income than their true desire. And even if they do end up pursuing their real dream, sometimes they let themselves be influenced by other people as to exactly how they should be living that dream — you’ve got a great singing voice? Then why are you wasting your time singing in a choir when you could get yourself out there as a pop vocalist? Um, hello? Because I love singing in a choir!

I’ve always had a knack for doing a variety of things. When I was a kid I was so super-organized and detail-oriented that I told my mother I wanted to be a secretary when I grew up. I was also good at sewing and cooking, and I wasn’t half bad at drawing pictures and painting. And as I got to be a little older I really loved to write poetry. But the one thing that really made my heart sing was playing the piano. Nevertheless, even though that was my dream and passion, I found myself pursuing some of my other talents over the years, often out of financial necessity.

So, it’s no easy matter to find your “thing” and then just focus on that. Also, that thing can undergo permutations with time. I think we just have to be listening closely all the time to our intuition, and follow that as best we can. What do you think?

Why don’t people use their talents?

I’ve noticed something strange.

I have several friends who have special talents, but they don’t seem to pursue them. Some not at all, and others half-heartedly. Or they these skills and abilities as just hobbies and don’t take them seriously.

I see these people as successful — if they would only develop those talents.

I don’t know why I’m surprised, though. I myself have done exactly the same thing at times, and this is a theme that I’ve explored in this blog in different ways, and also in my book. It seems to be a pretty common phenomenon.

On occasion I’ve talked to some of these folks and tried to convince them that they could do something really worthwhile with their talents. Sometimes they’ve said, “Yes, you’re right,” but then have done nothing. As Ben Franklin said, “A man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still.”

But what on earth would make anyone just shove their talents under the rug and not want to pursue and develop them? Writer Steve Pressfield calls it “Resistance.” (See his book, The War of Art). I know in my own life that there seemed to be a million distractions, some of them legitimate (like raising my daughters), that kept me from devoting myself to my music as much as I could have, but check out what Pressfield has to say about that: “Tolstoy had thirteen kids and wrote War and Peace. Lance Armstrong had cancer and won the Tour de France three years and counting.”

Apparently there really are no excuses. So I figure the best I can do to help my friends see what a precious thing they’ve got in their hands is to develop my own talents and abilities the best I can and not be a slacker. If you’re familiar with the story in the Bible about the man who buried his talent in the ground, you’ll know what I mean. (Matthew 25:14-30)

Becoming who we are

“Our job in this lifetime is not to shape ourselves into some ideal we imagine we ought to be, but to find out who we already are and become it.”

                                    – Steven Pressfield, from The War of Art.

Some of you may have read between the lines here and figured out that a guiding theme in my upcoming book, “Getting Down to Brass Tacks,” is the awakening to how I could have found my heart’s desire without making so many detours, how I could have done things differently, perhaps lived in a more expansive way, developing my talents better, recognizing them more clearly and appreciating and honoring them more.

It was a subtle thing, but I actually reached a point in my life where I thought that mediocrity would keep me safe. I hope you never reach that point. It won’t keep you safe, and it’ll just try to take you further down if you believe that it will. Even if that does happen, though, sooner or later your wonderful self won’t settle for being trapped in such a strait jacket.

So, can you really just become who you are and let everything else fall into place, or do you have to make special efforts to validate yourself by “putting yourself out there?”

Jazz pianist Bill Evans, in the documentary video “The Universal Mind of Bill Evans, said that he once wondered how he could get his career started as a jazz musician. He said, “Ultimately I came to the conclusion that all I must do is take care of the music, even if I do it in a closet. And if I really do that, somebody’s going to come and open the door of the closet and say, ‘Hey, we’re looking for you.’”

Even though everyone I know seems to be promoting what they do in the social media (including myself), I take Bill’s words to heart, because I’ve found it all too easy to be tempted to put myself out there before I’ve really taken care of the music.

I’m on my way, I don’t know where I’m goin’…

I’m 70 years old and just quit the job that’s been supporting me for at least the past 10 years.

Why did I quit? Because it was killing my soul. It had been for a long time. Why didn’t I quit sooner? FEAR.

But the point is, I got OVER the fear. How did I do that? Because I finally woke up to the fact that I am being watched over.

Yep, that’s right. I believe we’re all watched over, that there is a GREAT PRINCIPLE, or whatever you prefer to call it, that not only watches over us, but actually loves us and shows us what to do and how to be happy.

Maybe you don’t believe this. Maybe you say, well, that’s fine for you but it sure doesn’t look like anything or anybody is watching over ME. What I say to that is that if we don’t believe and understand that we’re being watched over, then it will certainly seem as though we’re not. Everything will seem random, even cruel sometimes.

It doesn’t cost anything just to spend some time thinking about the possibility that our lives (and the whole universe for that matter) are actually part of a big, harmonious WHOLE that has always existed, whether we seem to know it or not.

It has been my experience that the more I grasp about this WHOLE, the more harmonious my experience is. Then I ask you, what if everyone did this? Do you think anything would change? I think it would.

And this is why, even though I’m on my way and don’t know exactly where I’m going, I’m not afraid any more and I’m ready to roll up my sleeves for whatever comes next. And if I should fall into the ditch of fear again, I’ll do my darndest to remember that I really am watched over and loved.

Artist or pragmatist?

I had thought of myself as an “artsy type” from quite an early age. I loved music, drawing, painting, reading, and so on, and wasn’t fond of things like sports and mathematics.

I had a friend in junior high school who to me epitomized what it meant to be “artsy.” Even her name, Damaris Low, sounded artsy to me. Both of her parents were artists, and Dandy, as she was called, was very different from the other kids at school. Back then, in the fifties, most of the girls had medium to short hair, usually permed. Dandy had long, silky blond hair that she wore in a tightly pulled back pony tail that hung below her waist. She wore circular skirts, ballet slippers and tights. Tights! Nobody wore tights back then, especially under a skirt! She was such an original, and since I felt pretty different myself, it seemed to me that we had a lot in common.

One day after school I went to Dandy’s house for a sleepover. Her parents had gone out somewhere, so she was there by herself. Her mother had left her a casserole in a pyrex dish with instructions to heat it up in the oven so we could have dinner. Dandy put the pan in the oven, and when it was ready, she reached in to pull it out as she was rattling on about one of her favorite artists. But her hands slipped, and it fell to floor. The pyrex dish broke into pieces. She called her mother in tears. I don’t remember what the outcome was, but I do remember that I thought, “How could she be so careless and distracted?” And as I think of this today, I realized that I reacted exactly as my mother — a practical, pragmatic non-artsy woman — would have.

Then there was the time when Dandy challenged me to try to interpret a painting. She knew a lot about art and I didn’t know much, although I thought I had an “eye.” I looked at the painting, which consisted mostly of what looked like a bunch of matchsticks in cross-like shapes. I had no idea what it meant, so I sort of hemmed and hawed, and she finally said in exasperation, “It’s a CEMETERY, silly!” At that moment I didn’t feel artsy. I felt dumb.

As the years went by, I started to realize that, in spite of being a musician and having a great affinity for the arts, I also had a rather stubborn practical streak. I was sure that I was more like my father, who was definitely an artsy type, but I had to admit that I also seemed to have inherited my mother’s practicality and pragmatism. Carrying what seemed to be these opposites around inside of me actually drove me nuts for years. It always seemed to me that my practical side interfered with my artistic expression, and that my artistic side made some people view me as a “loose cannon.”

But much later in life I discovered that being a musician actually involved a lot of grunt work that demanded practicality and attention to detail. It wasn’t just about being creative all the time, with my head happily in the clouds. Composing music, for instance, involved getting the stuff down on paper, or later on into the software notation program, where there were endless details that had to be fiddled with. Then there was the business of promoting oneself, which rarely involved anything remotely creative. I discovered that to be a musician, unless you had a secretary, you had to be down to earth and practical as well as creative and intuitive.

I remembered when I was a kid and used to help my mother with work she’d bring home from her office. One day I was busily filing cards into a little metal box, and I said to her, “You know what, Ma? I want to be a secretary when I grow up!” Only a few years later, I forgot about that and decided I wanted to be a jazz pianist.

So now, instead of tearing my hair out because I’m not a “pure” artist, I’m grateful, because I honestly think that both my creativity and my practicality have served me well.