The Writer In Me

“We can spend our whole lives fishing only to discover in the end it wasn't fish we were after.” -Thoreau

The barn is burned down now, I can see the moon.” -Masahide

This past weekend my fourth grade son was in a children's theater musical production with forty other kids ranging in ages from four to eighteen. I was blown away by their budding talent but struck even more by how uninhibited these kids were. Dancing, acting, and singing their hearts out. Not one kid appeared to be held back by fear or self doubt. I know that most of them, my son included, envision acting as a major part in the rest of their lives.

When I was in fourth grade I dreamed of being a writer. I also wanted to be an artist, actress, singer, mother and doctor of psychology. I remember writing my first short story for school. It began with a mother preparing a breakfast of bacon and eggs for a young girl while she lay in bed and let the comforting smells awaken her. (This is interesting to me because I have no memory of either of my parents cooking me breakfast. We were more of a cheerios type of family.) My teacher praised the writing for its descriptive language. I recall how satisfying it was to put words on paper and capture a moment that someone else could relate to, how good it felt to construct a universal connection and have something to say.

I want to become a writer before I die. This buried longing revealed its face when I resurrected the Samadhi newsletter one year ago but the truth is that the writer in me had been crying out for expression ever since I was that little girl in fourth grade. Every time my muse tried to emerge she had been forced back to the bottom of the ocean by perfectionism, denial and intense self criticism. I never believed that I could write anything worth reading. I have always been a good reader and am acutely aware of all the amazing writing that exists “out there.”

These days I call myself a writer even though I have not been published in anything more than local magazines. More significant than the label I give to myself is that I have given myself permission to let the muse flow and trust my written word. It might not be much but I have chosen to carve out one hour twice a week to devote to my dream. This is a realistic and compassionate chunk of time. Twice a week I must begin. Twice a week, no matter what, I must face the blank page. I must face the faceless and unknown. For the past year, every time I sat down and stared at the wide open page- I felt fear. “Do I actually have something worthwhile to say? I am not qualified. I am fake. I am doubt.” I consider getting up from my chair and do anything else; clean the crumbs from out of the toaster, polish my sunglasses, or paint my toes.

Conquering resistance is taking that first step out the door that confines you. It is taking that first step on the wooded path of your morning run or taking that first breath linked with reaching your arms up to the sky as you begin your Sun Salutations. Conquering resistance is saying no to the junk that clutters your path; fear, aversion, busyness or just plain sluggishness. My mind prefers that I never begin. It begs me to divert. Do something useful. My inner critic uses her bitchiest tongue, “Shouldn't you be switching a load of laundry right now instead of trying to be something your not? You are no Joan Didion, that is for sure.” Many times this voice is enough to choke my muse and I quit. I go do something else. That something else is anything but want my heart wants me to do. My heart wants me to put down some words-any words- on the blank page. My wisest self begs me quietly to pursue my dreams to live a big life. The life I really want. Not the life created by diminished belief or the expectation of others. I want to determine my own life. To write. To create. To live and love from my soul.

On my yoga mat, I know how to let my practice and my body unfold breath by breath. But getting started isn't always easy. When I first spread out my yoga mat, I have various reasons why I should just roll up my mat and go home. The room is too cold or too hot, some skinny chick took my usual spot, my nose is stuffy, my body is too stiff, too tired, or too fat. Oh and lets not forget that my yoga pants are falling down and I forgot my hair tie. Then I breathe. I take that first sacred and holy breath. Sometimes the first breath requires courage. Courage to stay and face my own self no matter what state my mood and body is in. For approximately one hour there is no place to go. No place to hide. I must live with the bare truth of who I am.

As I allow my first inhale to fill me and my first exhale to empty me; resistance, anxieties, judgment and fear begin to release their teeth. Soon my body is moving. Sometimes the first few movements feel like punishment but then something shifts and it all becomes easier. My muscles, bones, and connective tissue begin to warm up and respond. They open and receive whatever is coming next. My yoga mat becomes a friendlier place. My mind becomes clear and energized. My body becomes fluid and awake. Finally there is no judgment. I lose track of time.
When I am finished with my yoga practice, my body and mind feel glorious. I often ask, “Why do I resist something that clearly makes me feel so good?”

To begin to create what we truly want in life is like that first breath. We can be afraid of what will happen next. We can come up with many good reasons to delay. We are experts at making excuses and psyching ourselves out. Yet we can't let ourselves turn away-we must dive in. And when we do, it can be miserable if we don't let ourselves breathe and warm up. We need to give ourselves permission to take it slow, make mistakes, and have periods of self doubt.

Sometimes in our own lives we are the apprentice and sometimes we are the master. But no matter who we are, if we want to open up to our dreams, we must trudge onward. We must begin. We must be fearless examples to our own children and show them how to stay true to their hearts desire by staying true to our own. We must let ourselves be vulnerable and burn down the walls of perfectionism. We must believe in our own selves and sanctify time each week to put aside for our own dreams. No matter how small that chunk of time might be. We must take that first breath and plunge. This is how we sing and dance our own hearts out. This is how we flow.