Flights of Fear

I love tastings! Call me yuppie, or uppity, or shee-shee, or whatever - I love enjoying little bits drink and food arranged and paired in such a way as to emphasize the experience of taste and texture rather than the mere satisfaction of animal hunger. I'd rather have a wine and cheese pairing that brings me ecstatic awareness of sensational joy in my capacity of scent, taste, and felt than a huge meal prepared to satiate my physical hunger and induce a food coma. I'd rather have a beer flight than a pint of my favorite stout.

Recently I introduced a group of jobseekers to the concept of "flavors of fear." They ate it up! It wasn't quite 31 flavors, but it was about 18 more than most of them were aware existed. Not that they hadn't experienced them - not at all. Everyone recognized the feelings of awe, concern, horror, reverence, and dread - they just weren't aware that all of these were aspects of fear. We did some exercises around bringing up these different feelings/emotions and "tasting" the fear in them. We appreciated that more often than not these were blends that may even include other feelings/emotions which we have been taught to believe are separate from fear - love, care, anger, arousal. Like fine wines, to consciously experience emotions and their associated biochemical cascades is to notice notes and aromas we don't expect - like leather, tobacco, and apricot from rotten grapes and old wood.

I love turning people on to fear! Fear alerts us to what is important and arouses us to interact with a challenge. Our greatest fears as individuals are our greatest challenges as a species - fear of the unknown, fear of the "other," fear of abandonment, fear of annihilation. Our challenge is to slow down and practice interrupting our reactions to fear so that we may taste what is moving through us. When we can become aware of the flavors of fear we can make choices to respond rather than just react (and there are way more than just fight or flight responses!); we can appreciate what this fear has to tell us rather than just stuff ourselves until we fall asleep.

Embodying Irony Sucks

OK - so I'm writing a book about fear and transformational learning. I know this stuff inside and out; in fact, I researched and wrote a dissertation on this stuff! Still, I'm sitting here staring at the page for chapter two about shadows in the classroom, and I'm almost paralyzed by fear.

Yes, the "fear expert" and "transformation specialist" is suffering from fear that she's not good enough, that she's bullshitting her way through this, and that she really doesn't have anything to say that anyone wants to hear. Stories and admonitions swirl through my consciousness that tell me I don't have enough experience, or the right kind of experience, or that what I'm writing about is useless to "real" educators.

The thing is - I know all that is wrong. I know that people get lit up just talking about this stuff with me and that icons of adult education have encouraged and praised this work as both necessary and worthy. I have taught people in classrooms, workshops, and retreats to overall positive reviews. I have been almost ordered to write this book by people I love and respect and I am, ultimately, the only one that can do it.

So - WTF?!

Well, I'll just write about not being able to write. That's the kind of weird thing writers do.

Part of this could be called laziness. Writing is hard! It doesn't appear that way to observation - indeed one person I allowed to witness how I write quipped, "It just looks like you're wandering around and staring off into space." Regardless of how many times I explain that the work is internal, that the vast majority of writing happens before anything gets on a page, people who don't call themselves writers just don't get it. And I'm tired of my own brain repeating this crap over and over - that I'm not really writing unless I'm putting words to a page (hence, this blog post to get that part of my brain to shut the hell up!).

Part of this is being isolated from others with whom I can talk about this topic in a way that will light up my thinking. While I know other folks get lit up when I talk about this in an introductory way, it has been a long time since grad school and talking with people who light me up. Being an expert (in the "I know more than those around me" way) in something is fine for the ego, but it sucks for really creative and dynamic work.

Part of it is being creatively "out of shape." It has been a very long time since I wrote in this way for this long. My writing muscles are sore and complaining about the sudden upsurge in activity. Perhaps this post is way to back off and keep going...

I still need to write this chapter and book. I can write whiny blogs, I can run errands, I can go back to bed, I can dink around on Facebook, but I still have to write this book!

Ultimately, I will write this book in whatever way it happens. This is my process. Yes, it's self-absorbed. Yes, it's weird. Yes, it's almost completely invisible to the naked eye. And, yes, I can create and deliver something of value as a result - regardless of how long it takes.

Even though I don't want to, and I'm scared, and the irony of the situation is so very painful.

The Taxman Cometh

I saw "The Iceman Cometh" some years ago at the Ashland Shakesperean Festival and was very unimpressed, to the point that I really don't remember the play at all except for the overall feeling of dread every time I hear the name.

I have been dreading 2009's tax judgment for a few months, ever since I committed financial heresy and cashed out all my retirement accounts to get out of consumer debt and get my money away from the Casino on Wall St.

In this moment (an hour or so have hearing the news), there are a few things going on with this:

1) My priorities have radically changed since my mid-twenties (when I opened the first account) and I resent being penalized for growing and changing, i.e., I no longer want to put off my life until I can afford to live it and the United Banks of America do not like that kind of thinking.

2) Somehow, through the squirrelly world of tax laws, I owe more taxes on money I didn't make last year. Huh? The accountant (yes, I employed a professional to navigate these treacherous shoals) rattled off some numbers the "proved" why I "made" way more money than I ever saw, but that did nothing to bring sense to the matter.

3) I knew this was coming and have semi-prepared for it; I still resent it and am too awful of a liar to try to get away with anything.

4) The money that I now owe my government is money that I got to work with last year to float me through bouts of unemployment, divorce (that's another thing: I'm penalized for being single), and multiple relocations. It's money they didn't get to have to do stupid stuff I don't like for one year. Good.

Now I'm all amped up and anxious about how I'm going to pay this huge amount given that I just got laid off and have no immediate prospects.

But, really, that's just an old game my head is playing.

I've lived through my own worst nightmare and thrived in the hereafter. I have resources and assets the government can't touch - friends, family, intelligence, health, creativity, ingenuity, and strength forged through some serious shit. I have savings that will see me through multiple months of no employment, and this kind of situation is exactly why I've been stashing money away!

So, yes, any one of my "untouchable" resources could go away tomorrow, but my ability to keep creating more, to continue to engage with others and life will not go away. Life is in flow...and ebb, like it feels right now. Still, my experience over the last four decades assures me that life, including my own, personal life, finds a way. This is far more important and vital than any amount of government script.

Fear and Dandelions

OK, it may be spring fever or it may be cosmic insight - your call - but it occurred to me this morning that we treat fear and dandelions very similarly and they have a lot in common.

Dandelions are the poster children for what is "wrong" with your yard/garden. They are to be eradicated at all costs because those spiky leaves and shaggy, yellow blooms shout "Inept! Failure! Sloth!" to all who see them poking through your carefully tended lawn and garden. They are seen as wholly negative and even those who otherwise profess a reasonable environmental awareness will resort to the most toxic herbicides to keep those nasty weeds at bay.

We do the same with fear. There is nothing good about fear. To show fear is to shout to the world "I'm weak! I'm incapable! I'm stupid!" Even those who value emotions and have great competence when dealing with anger, joy, love, and grief will do all they can to avoid, quash, and deny fear as wholly negative. Fear is something that is only whispered as something to be gotten rid of as soon as possible.

The thing is both dandelions and fear are good for us! Dandelion greens are better than spinach, their blossoms make great wine and fritters, their roots a fine coffee-like beverage - all of which are rich in minerals, vitamins, and healthful tonics. There is a very good reason the colonists brought them here (yes, they brought dandelions here on purpose!) - they are one of the best sources for vital nutrients and they are hearty in many, many environments.

Fear is also good for us. Different aspects of fear can keep us from physical harm, alert us to imminent threats, inspire us to move or connect in new ways, and bring our attention to what is vitally important in moments of confusion and chaos. As with dandelions, one can access great bounties of nutrients by learning a bit more about how to use this gift of the gods (yes, the gods/God gave us fear on purpose).

So go ahead and eat the weeds! Engage with fear! We'll all be better for it!

Dancing on the Edge

Sounds rather cliche and a bit crazy, doesn't it? Still, "dancing on the edge" is an appropriate and powerful metaphor for navigating fear and change.

Regardless of the style, tradition, or level of accomplishment, dancing is ultimately about balance and grace (yes, even popping has grace). Often we think of these aspects as evidencing in quiet and stillness, but that would be a rather tedious dance. Balance happens in dynamic movement, in strength and awareness of the web of influences one is playing upon and being played. The balance and grace of dance happens in passionate movement attained over time and practice - on the edge.

To dance at one's edge means to stretch a bit farther than is comfortable and known, to leap rather than step, to allow the music to sweep you away beyond your control. This is learning, this is change. Whether or not you can - I recommend that you do if at all possible - dance, learning about and how to dance can be a very powerful tool for activating the potency of change and fear.

Think about it - which is more scary: talking in front of a crowd (often cited as the number one fear) or dancing in front of a crowd? (I don't even think they surveyors asked about this one.) Accomplishing this feat, surfing this fear can bring you powerful insight into other challenges and fears. Engaging your body in emotional and psychological efforts means you are using more of your mind, which is definitely not limited to the capacity of your skull.

Bill Buxton, one of Microsoft's top innovators, advises: Always be bad at something that you are passionate about. So perhaps dancing doesn't tap that for you - fine - but find something that engages your whole body - yoga, kayaking, gardening - and brings you passion and an edge. It needs to be something which draws you a bit out of your comfort zone, something in which you could make mistakes and even - gasp! - fail. Experiencing, not just "knowing about," the emotional and psychological events of physical endeavor is how adults, and others, learn best.

We need to remain in awareness of the shared value of "dancing on the edge" as we embark on our adventures: balance and grace. Both are gained through strength and practice; both are illusive unless complemented by mistakes, falls, strains, fear, and passion.