I think we all know that any REAL risk will push our comfort zones, but I’ve realized in the past few weeks that some zones are more uncomfortable than others.

Consider my January daily audacious goal to write or edit a poem five days a week. I was excited about it, many of you were kind enough to be excited with me, and some of you even participated with your own daily audacious goals. We all celebrated in February when we reported back; while we may not have made our goals EVERY day, we still accomplished a lot.

But do you know what I’ve realized since then? Sure, my poem-a-day was a great goal, but it was also a relatively easy goal because it was mostly within my comfort zone.  I mean, I’m not afraid to write poetry; in fact, I’m in my element when I’m writing poetry. Regardless of how a particular poem turns out, I know some things about writing poetry. I know how the process affects me; how it works into my priorities and impacts my family. I know the let-down of a rejection from an editor; I know the elation of an acceptance; I know the pure joy of the creative process. I know I can carry a poem in progress around in my purse to pull out when inspiration strikes or opportunity unfolds. I know I can obsess over the right word in the back of my mind all day, and still get other things done. In short, I know how writing poetry fits in my life.

Fast forward to today, when I’m midway through an online course on Benedictine Spiritual Practices from the Abbey of the Arts. If I were getting a mid-term progress report on this course, I’d probably be staring at a big fat “F.”

The premise of the course is that I’m supposed to be having a time of meditative reading and prayer every day. Only 20-30 minutes a day. How hard could that be, especially after my success with stepping up to the poem-a-day challenge?

Excuse my colloquial speech, but it ain’t happening.

Photo courtesy donzeladef, www.sxc.hu

To be fair to myself, I have managed to do the readings and meditations about 30% of the time. And a couple of those sessions have resulted in some good, insightful, “I get it” kind of moments.  I also continue to read my text that accompanies the course, although I’m a bit behind schedule.  But what’s most significant is that many days I’m just blowing off the commitment. I’m not showing up to click on my email, find the reading, light the candle, or go to that contemplative state. And I’m not even feeling very guilty about it. So what’s the deal with that?

Here’s what I’ve decided: Although I’m undeniably drawn to this spiritual practice and the wisdom or insight it may bring, I’m more concerned – in a mostly subconscious way – about the changes this practice might ultimately bring to my life. I’m afraid, at some deep level, that I’m going to somehow meditate my way into – I don’t know – quitting my job, moving to the country, converting my wardrobe exclusively to tie-dye, learning to play the upright bass, raising chickens in the backyard, and opening Kory’s School of Poetry and Tabernacle of Creativity. And all of that doesn’t sound so bad (well, I’m not sure about the chickens), but then what pops in my mind is, “How could my husband and family possibly tolerate that much change? How could I, even?” And I have to remind myself:

I’m a believer in the grace of gradual change.

In the first few years after I started writing and experiencing a bit of success with publishing, I was so eager to hit the big-time and publish a great American novel.  Now that my first book – a slim volume of poetry – is out, I find that I could spend all my time on the business side of writing. And I’m here to tell you, convincing bookstores why they should put my little book on their shelves is not nearly as much fun as writing, and spending time with my writing friends. So, although I’m still adjusting to my new destination as a published poet, I suddenly value the ol’ journey much more than I did even a year ago. And, my youthful impatience for “success” aside, the career shift that I made so gradually now seems like such a blessing (I also migrated from software development to corporate communications at my “real” job while working on my novel and poetry). I haven’t crashed into a new place; I’ve evolved into it.

As a former Sunday school teacher, I’ve taught so many books from the “Christian living” genre that they don’t appeal to me a lot anymore. However, the writing of John Ortberg has stuck with me for many years. His book If You Want to Walk on Water, You’ve Got to Get Out of the Boat is about taking spiritual and emotional risks in order to discern and follow God’s calling for your life. One thing he says in this book is that any new calling will still honor your existing obligations. I often reminded myself of this in the early part of my writing career, and I think it’s something I need to remember now.

Sometimes, of course, we experience drastic change due to circumstances or choice. But at other times we hold change – or a calling – at bay. Because of mind games we play with ourselves; because we don’t quite trust God or the universe; because we’re worried what we’re going to learn about ourselves in the process.

Photo courtesy MeiTeng, www.sxc.hu

So today, as you all are my witnesses, I’m going to try that meditation again, with the faith that if it leaves me with an uncontrollable urge to immediately acquire an incubator full of baby chicks, I will somehow deal with it.

I ask you: Like me, are you subtly – or not so subtly – sabotaging a change you sense you want to make in your own life?

Thanks for sticking with me – today’s post was long, but I hope it resonates with some of you. Next month: You know that business of promoting my book that I mentioned? I don’t particularly like doing it, but with your encouragement, I know I can put myself  “out there” and do better!

Kory Wells would like to say she brazenly tossed aside her twenty-year career as a software developer to forge a lucrative career in poetry. She’s content to report that she now writes poetry, prose, corporate communications, and the occasional snippet of software code in a life-work balance that functions pretty well most of the time. Author of the poetry collection Heaven Was the Moon, she’s been recognized by Ladies’ Home Journal for her “standout” writing in the anthology She’s Such a Geek. Visit Kory's website.
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