The End of the Beginning

Fifty days from today is Sunday, March 22. Assuming all goes as planned and I have the opportunity to write a post each day between now and then, that will be the day on which I publish #1,000.

Between 2007 and 2015 I wrote more than 300 posts. The following year I selected my favorites and published a collection under the title, “A More Daring Life.” I continued my intermittent writing habits for a couple more years until in mid-2018 I read a Seth Godin piece in which he encouraged bloggers to get into the habit of writing every day.

I took him up on it, deciding to write each day for one year. When that anniversary arrived, I kept going, in large part because “1,000” was less than a year away and achieving that nice round number was a goal too enticing to pass up.

Now that I’m within 50 days of it I have given myself permission to let March 22 mark the end of the beginning, the date after which I no longer write and publish every day.

There are other things I want to do, other projects to explore, new work opportunities to invest in. I want to make those investments wholeheartedly. I will still publish “Poem for a Sunday Morning” and perhaps one or two other selections during the week that emerge from my experience. I just won’t do it every day.

To mark the occasion and to complete this daily practice in a way that I feel great about, I have compiled a list of “50 Ideas Worth Fighting For” and will write about them each day between now and the third weekend in March.

Since Sunday has become “poetry day” on the blog, I will begin the countdown tomorrow with idea worth fighting for #1: Read More Poetry.


hello march printed paper on white surface

Photo by Bich Tran on Pexels.com

 

Too Many Trails

I watched a hiking documentary the other day. It’s called, “Figure It Out On the Hayduke Trail.” That led to my watching another hiking documentary, this one called “Mile, Mile and a Half.” It’s about a film-making team’s trek down the John Muir Trail. (Both are available on Amazon Prime if you are so inclined.)

But this isn’t a movie review. It’s simply an opportunity to state the realization that I had in watching these adventures unfold in two dimensions: I want, no, I need to be out there, too.

So I asked a loaded question of a small group I was working with today. I asked them, as a way to kick off our conversation, what would they be doing if they weren’t doing “this”? And by “this” I mean, “this job,” “this career,” “this pattern or path of the life they find themselves in.”

My answer: I’d be outside, on the trail, among the trees. I turn fifty years old this year and I plan to spend a whole bunch more time on the trail than I have so far. I’m a little late getting started on this aspiration and there are too many trails to walk. But I’m not too late and I don’t need to walk them all.

I just need to walk the next one. And then the one after that.

I read somewhere that’s how you get to where you want to be. That it’s how you build a life.


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Pacific Crest Trail near Mt. Eddy (California)

Happy (just not enough)

Walt Disney created and invited us to the “happiest place on earth.” Do you think he believed that the place itself – the castle and the rides and the well-manicured grounds – was the source of that happiness? Or do you think that he delighted in providing a backdrop, a scene onto which we could project our own visions of happiness with and around the people we love, the relationships that are the real source of our happiness?

Whatever Disney has become, I like the romantic idea that Walt attempted to live into the latter question, that he was simply creating a new environment, one never before imagined, within which we could stimulate and reenforce the best of ourselves and the best of those we love. That he could build an empire on that premise might have, but probably didn’t surprise him.

Walking down Main Street this morning, I carried a sense of opportunity that Walt and Mickey’s playground could and would provide that very stimulus for me and my family. That walk remains magical to me, a few moments of suspended reality and appreciation for an extraordinary vision superbly brought to life.

As the day advanced and the spring break crowd grew larger, I appreciated something else that Walt in all his genius could not possibly have imagined: that it wouldn’t be enough for us; that no matter how creative and fanciful, how daring and surprising, this island of fantasy and adventure could never stand up to the onslaught of the mobile device.

The happiest place on earth is real. The catch is that it only exists when and where we allow it to. And it seems, more and more, that we are not willing to do that. With every glance at the phone we are reminded of what and where and with whom we are not, rather than what and where and with whom we are. That kind of dissociation from the present moment, even at a place as remarkable as Disneyland, makes Disneyland less than remarkable.

Because it’s not about the place. It is always and only about the people. And when the people are present, curious and engaged with one another and their surroundings, that place – any place – feels magical. And when they are not, there is no amount of window dressing that can do a thing about it.

No one has taken the magic from us, we’ve done that to ourselves. And we alone will have to decide if we’re willing to take it back.


DAVID BERRY is the author of “A More Daring Life: Finding Voice at the Crossroads of Change” and the founder of RULE13 Learning. He speaks and writes about the complexity of leading in a changing world.

The Hardest Thing

“We suffer more often in imagination than in reality.”
{Seneca}


Sharing difficult feedback. Public speaking. Expressing empathy. Learning to play a musical instrument. Becoming fluent in a foreign language.

These are all “hard” things. And I have to put “hard” in quotes because right now you might be saying to yourself, “I don’t think ___________ is that hard?”

Maybe you play an instrument really well or love giving talks or have developed solid skills for giving tough feedback. You probably don’t see those things as hard anymore. You appreciate the work it took to get to your current level of confidence but “hard” no longer means what it once did.

My guess is that before you became competent you told yourself a story about just how hard it would be to get there. And that story – your imagination – depending on how richly it was detailed and how expertly it was crafted, stood in the way of your getting started.

I’m a beginner at the piano. I have not yet had a lesson (that’s coming soon) so I am using my daughter’s early lesson books for exercises to train my fingers and some “easy” songs to aid my learning. I have been at it for one month. In that short time my attitude has shifted from a lifelong belief that “piano is hard” (and therefore not for me) to a present sense of very pleasing satisfaction that I can already do things that I never imagined being able to do.

Until I decided to sit down at the piano for 15 minutes a day, I was living under the shadow of “hard” as an imaginative device to prevent me from starting. I now experience “hard” as an aspirational device to feed my curiosity and help me add one small brick at a time.

The piano is, of course, an objectively hard instrument to master, and mastery is the domain of a very few. But mastery isn’t my goal. Learning to play some songs I love is my goal. Connecting with my kids through music is my goal. Filling the house with Christmas carols is my goal. After six weeks of daily practice, those things no longer seem hard. They seem possible, exciting and a lot of fun.

What changed? I suppose I got old enough and just a little bit wise enough to realize it was time to stop suffering in my imagination and time to start succeeding in my reality.


DAVID BERRY is the author of “A More Daring Life: Finding Voice at the Crossroads of Change” and the founder of RULE13 Learning. He speaks and writes about the complexity of leading in a changing world.

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There’s a line in a David Whyte poem I come back to again and again: “anything or anyone that doesn’t bring you alive is too small for you.”

It’s worth considering what you’re hanging onto that no longer serves you. That habit, that mindset, that behavior, that relationship…it’s familiar and understood. It’s comfortable.

If you let it go, what will you be left with? What will take its place? The great adventure is to let it go and find out. The great terror is to let it go and find out.

I’m reminded of the understory of a forest. If it doesn’t burn periodically nothing new has the space and light to grow.

DAVID BERRY is the author of “A More Daring Life: Finding Voice at the Crossroads of Change” and the founder of RULE13 Learning. He speaks and writes about the complexity of leading in a changing world.

 

When Motivation Becomes Habit

“Motivation is a lot like showering. It’s useful, but it doesn’t last, so you need to repeat it often.” – Zig Ziglar

I hope their employees are in the habit or they might read this euphemistically. Scary. (Barnes&Noble bathroom)

I hope their employees are in the habit or they might read this euphemistically! (Barnes&Noble bathroom)

I made three very specific commitments for Lent this year. One month later they have all become habits. That should satisfy the “28 day” folks. It really works.

Yes, I was motivated to get started. You need motivation – a feeling that it is no longer optional to move towards your cause, purpose or goal. I was deeply motivated, as a matter of fact, both personally and professionally to break new ground on some long-held beliefs, fears and wants.

Without that energy for a new way forward I can certainly see how the gap between motivation and habit would be very hard to jump. If you don’t have a burning drive that you are ready to be honest about – for me, dependence, capacity and production – then this is not for you. If you do have that drive and you’re hanging back out of fear, it’s time to snap out of it and get moving. Really.

Lent was convenient timing. I happen to be a person of faith and I am grateful for the invitation to dedicate six weeks to renewal, reflection and re-orientation that my church provides. That, of course, is available to us any time and all the time. Lent is just a construct, like everything else we’ve invented.

What’s more accurate and more honest is that I was sick of myself. I was tired of thinking about it, wondering about it, getting frustrated about it, on and on. I was done with that phase and ready for a new one. Maybe Lent was divine intervention, the right opportunity at the right time. I won’t argue that as a very real possibility. It’s also true that, living in the first world as we do, we have choice and I made a decision to exercise mine.

It’s my turn. And it’s your turn, too.