This isn’t the blog on my schedule to write.
I actually wrote two blogs over the holiday week on topics that are important to me, but when life hijacked my thoughts today, I felt compelled to share them with you, as they are, because the space between wake and sleep revealed something important to me, something I think the world needs.
In the modern dance class I took last semester, we had various reading assignments. One of my favorite readings was by dancer Hanya Holm whose perspective on dance might as well be a perspective on training, generally, or of life. She wrote:
Art is living… it is not craftsmanship, it is the flow of love. there is that meeting place in the body and the soul and the spirit. You must be humble, and you will find that one life is never enough. You will want to have several lives in which to discover what there is to discover. Operate within your own ability. Do not try to conquer things which are too far above you. Never think that you are better than anyone else. It is the nature of our existence on this earth that no one is better than anyone else. Your [expression] must be built from something within yourself… your body is your language. Cultivate your language. be able to say what you want. The more you know, the humbler you become, if you really know it.
I was struck by the simplicity of her sentences, which sounded like truisms—and truths. I suppose it’s easy to forget that each of us is on our own journey, and that the struggle for excellence is as individual as our fingerprints.
What happiness and success might mean for one person (a house, a large family with lots of children or money, lots of money) might not be happiness and success for someone else. And that is OK— it is OK to follow your dreams and your own individual expression of the various ways that you manifest yourself in the world.
For a long time, I admit, I felt really judged. I don’t know why—maybe I have always been egotistical and insecure—but it wasn’t enough to throw my name in the ring and to see how it came out in the drama of a race. I had to podium and if possible, win. I can’t even tell you how many times my ego shattered along with my bones (stress fractures), tendons and other parts of my body in service to this bizarre compulsion to perform a kind of life that, looking back on it, I’m not even sure I really wanted.
This isn’t a story about being better per se, it’s about how I somehow felt inadequate enough in my “normal” life to need some other way to articulate who I thought I was as a person. A six-minute mile stood in for all that was wrong with my life. And while that kind of thinking seems harmless enough, it isolates you from cultivating relationships with other people, and particularly, from being able to empathize with others, which forms the basis of human connection and community.
So I woke up today on another unremarkable Friday with this crazy desire to go back and to visit the people I used to work with. Even though I experienced frustration when I was there, after this crazy year, I’ve come to appreciate that I am capable of frustration and forgiveness, and all of that really had more to do with me than anything else. I also started taking an online class from writer Neil Gaimon and literally one of the first things he said was: “Going back is brave.”
His example recounted a day in which he took his children walking through the garden and he was attacked by wasps. The attack itself required zero bravery (though taking on a few stings from wasps is certainly no tea party), he said going back to the site and making sure that the wasps no longer called that spot home was an act of bravery. Ergo, bravery is what you do when you know what’s coming—the pain, discomfort and all of that— but you decide to face it anyway.
I left my last job on not the greatest terms. I actually really miss a couple of the people there, but I just assumed they hated me because, honestly, why not? I’m pretty hatable. Anyway, I just decided that what I will call “magic” (a.k.a.: the good things in life) will never happen unless somebody’s brave— unless you create that magic for yourself and others. It’s like Santa Claus— there’s no Santa unless you get up early to wrap the presents and place them under the tree. (It’s not like your elderly parents or your kids are going to do it.) So, you make the magic in your life and the magic in the lives of those around you.
Anyway, I went back to the office where I used to work. I really expected to be thrown out or to receive a stern talking-to. I felt like I was an auto-pilot, not thinking really about one moment or the next. I just bought an arrangement of white flowers— lilies, roses, mums (no olive branches, alas, but there really should have been)— and prepared myself to be thrown out.
But, I wasn’t.
*
I think we need to be brave, and to create more magic in the world. I think we need to surpass our weird boundaries or limits and to foster connections rather than silence. This really falls in line with why I wanted to ride the CCC this year, and why I wanted to do my best to raise funds. Sure, I’ve never done it before, but also: it’s important to be a part of a community and it’s important to help each other out. It’s important to cultivate your own expression, whether it’s through a perfectly executed sprint, a movement pattern or a painting; it’s important to give the gift of kindness, empathy and gratitude to those who deserve it.
In this particular historic moment, it’s so easy to spread negativity. It’s easy to name “bad guys". It’s easy to say “I was right and this person was wrong.” But, what if this is the year to exist within the world as yourself, to accept where you are, to accept others as they are, and to build on that, gaining knowledge and skill along with humility?
*
Once upon a time, I was a mediocrely fast cyclist. I had a handful of podium finishes and they defined my life. I shut everyone out so that I could train. I trained in the morning. I trained at night. I trained at lunch. I could never make your (insert social event here) because I was training. Some days I could not even speak your language because all I knew was training.
And then one day that world—my world of training—shattered. It fell around me in sharp shards, cutting my face, chest, arms and legs. I thought I would bleed to death from these little wounds, but I didn’t. As the fog lifted, the arena I thought was around me (filled with imaginary spectators)— turned out to be empty and not an arena at all. There had never been any spectators to begin with. I was by myself, alone.
And so, I started to study dance. And I met Hanya Holm on the page. And here I am: just me. I don’t know if anyone will love me or care for me or even watch me on this journey, but damn if I’m going back to being an asshole.
*
I know nothing I write or do or say, ultimately, matters. It’s terrifying to know that in a few years I’ll die, and that I’ll be forgotten. But if you do anything this year, take that extra step. Be magical. Somebody has to be. 2020 is your year to make it magical. Or, at least, that’s what I’m doing this year.
Join me!
Here’s how:
Continue to follow my journey here. If you’d like more info about me or Team Carter, check out my fundraising page (where you can also make a donation to help Carter and other children like him.) Thank you for following me— it means a lot, especially in this special time of year so focused on gratitude.