Has anybody ever said to you, “You know, you really ought to be a “brain surgeon” or “ballerina” or “actor“ or “writer”? The possibilities are endless, it seems for things that others can suggest for us. And it just seems so…I don’t know…risky.
I was asked to write a prayer for a specific group and I was frozen for about two weeks. Nothing like a deadline to get the juices flowing. And so with two days to spare, I wrote the litany. And the thing is, I enjoy praying, and even praying aloud. But the idea of writing a prayer for others to say, made me freeze. It was terrifying and felt like it was waaay outside my comfort zone.
What is it that brings our muse to a screeching halt when we are encouraged (from an outside source) to do something that we –ourselves–probably genuinely love doing?
I think one response is that the doing of it for ourselves is very different than the doing it for others. The private muse has much more freedom than the public one. When it’s a matter of the heart, a private matter of the heart, it is life-giving, a joy to do. But when there are outside folks involved (read: audience) then it seems as though everything seems to shift. It’s too much. Too scary. For instance, my first professional job was as a Music Therapist. And what I found after about six months was that because I sang and played my guitar for other folks for my job, I no longer wanted to sing and play for myself. It took me a long time to differentiate between the two. And that learning taught me the difference between “performing for” and “sharing with.” It seems to be something that still stretches me (see above paragraph about the prayer).
So, when someone says to you, ”You know you really ought to . . “ don’t be afraid and immediately retreat. Instead consider the risk. Your choice. You’ll probably learn something, and it will probably be affirming.
So may there be for you in the next little bit of time, some encouragement (read: permission) to say “yes,” or “why not?” the next time someone tells you something that is privately your truth (or wish, or hope). Risk following your muse – and lean into what you’ve been all along.
Lesley Brogan is tethered to her village. The middle daughter of a middle daughter, she and her partner co-parent two boys (11 and 8) with their two dads. Life rarely seems easy, but in it, there is energy and wisdom -- and, it seems -- just enough humor to get the village through their days.
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enjoying the ride! Thanks for the nudges again and again. You ought to be a minister.
This post speaks to me. When I was making pottery for me only I always had a long list of pot I wanted to make and techniques I wanted to try. Now that I’m selling my pottery I try to figure out (guess) what other people will want. Even though I sold lots of pottery that I made for the pure joy of making it thinking about making it for the public causes me to freeze. Whenever I remember to create the pieces I want to create everything flows. I love the challenge of “you ought to…” because it causes me to stretch but often my first instinct is to back away.
Thank you
Lesley, I really like this awareness of the distinction between sharing with and performing for . . . praying for others is a real responsibility and it calls up something different from within you . . . suddenly you are praying from a universal heart and not just your own with all its idiocyncracies . . . loving to do that says a lot about the ease you have connecting with what it is we all feel that is the same . . . a comfort with the universal heart and soul that makes yours stretch and grow lovingly wide. I like that !
Yes, Lesley, Yes! So often, when I hear “you ought to…,” I bristle and want to tell the other person why what s/he is saying is wrong. You remind me to, instead, breathe into the suggestion and try it on as a “whisper” or “flirt” from the Universe!
I, too, have bristled when I hear “you ought to…” But when I really think about it, I only bristle when the context of the situation is them judging me.
When the context is them seeing something in me that I maybe take for granted, or maybe don’t even recognize…some gift or talent…instead of bristling, I have tended to shrink back, as if I’m not worthy of their praise.
Well, no more of that!
Next time, I’ll take your advise and lean in.