avoiding myself

I spent the better part of today working on one project in order to avoid working on a few others. Alongside three of our sons, I cleaned their room, dusting, vacuuming, dragging and disposing. The room looks great, and once I find a home for an old "kid" piece, will be a bit more usable for a while.

Oftentimes when I have a deadline or a due date for something, I find myself cleaning instead of getting to work. When I was taking my college classes and had a big paper due every five weeks, a new room was organized and squeaky clean with each submission. I'd like to say it's because I want to have the order to clear my head and put forth my best work. But I know it's a matter of avoidance. 

Until tonight, I didn't really think about why I was avoiding; why I tend to put myself under pressure to finish. I always put it down to an unavoidable tendency to procrastinate since I am an Aquarius. Tonight, though, as I considered the projects -- for church, for the team, and for professional reasons -- I admitted to myself that I kind of like the feeling of importance running up against a deadline gives me. I'm glad it's not an everyday thing. My sensitive skin couldn't handle that any better than my heart could! But there is a little bit of "needed" attached to deadlines.

And there's another reason that was even harder to admit.  A quieter, older and more uncomfortable reason. If I put off doing or making, and the finished product is a flop, I have an excuse. The hard truth is, I have a difficult time feeling worthy, capable, talented. I know that I am (which may or may not sound arrogant to you. It's not meant to be. I am; therefore I am worthy and have been given talent that I am capable of cultivating) and yet, no matter how many times I think I have, I just can't shake that niggling doubt.

I put things off because I'm afraid to succeed.

If only I knew why. The best I can come up with right now is that I still have some me to learn about. I've come a long way, but I know there are questions I still don't know how to ask. Or have the nerve to ask. There are still things I don't know how to say. I know because I can see them, hear them, feel them inside my head, and in my heart. I know that's progress because I've never had things bounce around my heart before, trying to get out.

My list is made, and in the morning I will systematically attack each project. I'm looking forward to it. I know I won't finish them all before the weekend is over, but I'm armed with a bit more knowledge of who I am and how I tick. And that's a good lesson learned. 

turnips and kumquats

Lent has been quite a subject lately, for very obvious reasons, and has led to some conversations I've never had before, at least outside of my own family. Lent is something I've always had a tough time with, starting back in elementary school religion class. Fr. O'Brien would come in to talk with us before Ash Wednesday, trying to impress upon us the importance of giving up something significant to us as a Lenten sacrifice. And he always promised us suggestions. Unfortunately, the suggestions were always the same: to "give up candy, gum and pop."

As a kid, my first problem with this was that in our family we never called it "pop." A really, really minor problem, even in my kid mind, but it still made me just want to snicker at the whole idea. My second, and bigger problem--heck, my legitimate problem--was that I didn't like gum in the first place, and we hardly ever had candy or soda at our house, anyway. For a few years, I gave up candy, gum and pop simply because he suggested it, and he was our pastor, and so, in my mind, he must know what's best for us. Besides, if success is guaranteed, so are the associated blessings, right? (Remember, I was a kid in elementary school! I could have used some more personal guidance, I think, but I had no idea that I could ask about these things.)

At some point, I realized my flawed logic, and started to try discerning something more "right" to give up. Generally what happened was that I started thinking kind of late, and didn't really have a nebulous idea until about the Monday after Ash Wednesday, at which point, I would wonder if it was worth it if I'd already missed so many days, so I'd second guess what I'd chosen, and try to double up for the rest of the Lenten season. As a result, I usually ended up frustrated, both by my procrastination and the resulting unreasonable expectations of myself. In high school, I gave up whatever bad habit I may have developed in the previous months.

Then I went away to college, and when a friend asked about Lent, another friend and I declared that we were giving up slapping each other on the back. For whatever reason, we had developed the habit of slapping each other by surprise, and we both knew it hurt. It was probably the most difficult -- and beneficial! -- Lenten sacrifice I've ever made. Since then, there have been others that were hard to keep, but did not change me quite as much as a person: the year I gave up saying the words "Stop it!" to my kids; the year I gave up half-n-half in my coffee, and as a result nearly had to give up coffee.

The other day, I was involved in a quick conversation with a friend who said that perhaps his plan for Lent was a bit more than he could handle, so he was thinking of cutting back a little. Honestly, inside, I agreed, as I know through experience how much time he was committing, and how necessarily busy his life is. However, I also know my own track record with Lent, so I told him I'd been in his boots. I usually make my personal pledge, then worry that I've bitten off more than I can chew. Then I find myself negotiating with God to modify every week. In the end, Easter shows up, unexpectedly somehow, and I feel more guilty than purified because I just couldn't make up my mind.

A few years ago, in a homily or a discussion, the idea of doing instead of (or in addition to--sometimes, I admit, I hear what I want to use. I'm working on that!) giving up was presented. I've done much better with that. Instead of avoiding, or denying, or feeling the need to explain, I must find the time, make the intention to do something specific each and every day. These sacrifices of time have changed me each year since. Some stick more than others over the course of the year, but I feel more thankful for the effort for 47 days (that's another story, too! I don't do the whole "Sunday doesn't count" thing. These things I do, I intend and hope will become habits.....don't get me started!) Over the course of the season, I still find myself wanting to negotiate a bit, but I'm more able to tell myself that I should stay the course; that I do have the time and the energy to do what I've set out to do, if I just do it, without making it a production; just be true.

if at first you don't succeed, so what

Once upon a time, my mother told me, rather bluntly, that trying was a waste of time. I was a teenager at the time, and I have no idea what the circumstances were, but, as teenagers tend to do, I got mad , and was offended, and asked what on earth she meant by that. Her response was something to the effect of "you'll never get anywhere by trying.When you try, you allow yourself to fail." It gnawed at me for many, many years: the 'fact' that my own mother didn't believe in my efforts. Then one day, it hit me--

I can't get anywhere if I try. Especially if I try really, really hard.

Finally, I understood that there was some truth in what she said. I don't believe one can never get anywhere by trying, but I am beginning to think that with the things one does regularly, frequently, or with an abundance of emotional or physical energy, it is quite possible to muck it up by trying too hard. I've seen it in myself when I run, when I am frustrated, and even when I'm dancing. But these are small things that really only have any bearing on myself. What about when someone else is counting on me? When I need to be patient, it's easier to lose my head and blame it on "trying to be patient" than it is to "be" patient. And yet, the times when I allow myself the luxury of being, the resulting harmony is almost palpable.

Tonight, I watched as a team of young men tried, in unison, again and again. They didn't fail, but the trying was so clear. As the mother of one of those young men, I started to become discouraged--I can only imagine what they may have felt. At the time, I didn't make the connection; even though "they are trying so hard" could be heard throughout the stands. They really were trying with all their might to play well.

I didn't make the connection when my friend told me about her son on that same field who was trying so hard to write his college application essays, and, despite his marvelous use of language in his everyday speech, couldn't make his own voice shine through. Instead of putting 2 and 2 together, I mentioned some of the flaws with the way kids are taught to write, about the need to "make it good" and get it done the first time, or maybe the second. We tossed around some ideas that might help. Although it was on the tip of my tongue, I couldn't quite figure how "trying" applied.

Something changed in the second half of the game. The boys played. They played, and it looked good. There were still things that could have gone differently, plays that didn't go off as planned, but on the whole, they were one united team. They Played, and there was no more talk of them "trying hard" in the stands. It's a subtle difference, and one that not everyone would notice or even understand. I'm so proud of those boys I could burst, but I still didn't make the connection with trying.

It was after the game was done, we'd greeted our boys coming off the field, chatted briefly with other emotionally spent parents, made our way to the car, and even stopped for ice cream that I realized: They stopped trying to play against that team. After half-time, they played because that is what they went there to do, and that's what they do. Our team scored twice against a team easily twice the size. A team that has an O team and a D team, plus what looked like at least one of each in reserve. Most of our guys play both sides of the ball, and many have to be ready to play multiple positions within those parameters. I can't help but be impressed and proud. But truly what awes me is when they just stop trying and play.

I have no idea what the coaches told them, but I know what I have seen. Trial and error is good. Trying new things is good. But when you are about to do something that you know matters to you, just let go and do it. Write your essay, or jot down notes and stick them all over the refrigerator, or record your thoughts and go back later to write them down--exactly the way you've said them. Play your game, trusting that your knowledge, your practice, your perseverance won't let you down. Tackle those dance steps, lead or be lead, and enjoy the movement and the music. Run until you just plain can't anymore. Be yourself. Believe in yourself.

And shine.