#122 | Not doing it
“Sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside — remembering all the times you've felt that way.” — Charles Bukowski
as the poems go into the thousands you realize that you've created very little. it comes down to the rain, the sunlight, the traffic, the nights and the days of the years, the faces. leaving this will be easier than living it, typing one more line now as a man plays a piano through the radio, the best writers have said very little and the worst, far too much.
— As The Poems Go by Charles Bukowski
I don't know when I planted this seed in the back of my mind.
Was it when I said I would pass my professional qualification and then failed? Or when I said my first company would be success, and it wasn't? It could be when I attempted to run some filthy mountain ultra in Romania. But I turned my ankle and limped down the mountain.
I could go on for many pages of failures, but a seed was planted at some stage. And the seed grew into the story: I'm the type of person who talks about things and never does them.
I hold on to this narrative. With it, I'm led to shying away or, conversely and more often, over-committing. Usually, I commit to so many goals that I overwhelm the odds of circumstances not turning out. It’s counterintuitive. Both my approaches are unhealthy.
Any limiting story — whether it's "I'm not enough", "I'm not loveable", or "I'm not blank" — haunts and holds us back. It pops up when we're brittle. It creates and reinforces itself.
One of the more nourishing things I did last year was a retreat in the Netherlands. At the outset, twelve of us gathered and shared why we were there.
When holding the 'sharing stone', each of us spoke somberly of our doubts about ourselves.
We had all gotten stuck in a story: We lack something, and our lives are incomplete. Work didn't nourish one of us; the next felt uncomfortable in crowds, another felt distant, and the next was unhappy in and out of relationships.
The stone reached me: I was in relationship straits then; work was formidable, and I was homeless! I'd found myself analysing my horoscope. I was sure my answers were in the stars. How bad could it get?
Alfred Adler wrote,
"Human beings live in the realm of meanings. We experience reality through the meaning we give to it; not as itself, but as something interpreted."
Adler explains why two people can experience the same event, but leave with different perspectives. For example, siblings with traumatic childhoods are often left with divergent stories. Adler's insight is that our entire worldview is an interpretation; it's hollow, it's fugazi.
"Fugayzi, fugazi. It's a whazy. It's a woozie. It's fairy dust. It doesn't exist. It's never landed. It is no matter. It's not on the elemental chart. It's not fucking real."
Sharing, with the sharing stone, helped me orientate myself. It helped me to open up. That said, the consistency of how much doubt we had in ourselves, as a group, gutted me.
Each beautiful person in the circle had forgotten how beautiful they were. Their characters glowed like the sun. But, from individual perspectives, there was a solar eclipse; a tiny moon (made of ‘not enough’) blocked it right out. We could not see the warmth we radiated. The sun is so big can hold within it 64.3 million moons; it’s amazing to think that a tiny moon can blacken the sky. I felt deep compassion at that moment.
I for one forgot I was fed and warm and had friends, health, optimism, and good luck. I was conscious; I could write, think and laugh. I had it all.
For some of us, this feeling of not being 'full' keeps us awake at night and takes us to Mcdonald's or the pub. It stalks our interpersonal relationships. It blinds us. It stops us from opening and loving.
Repeatedly opening, and being vulnerable, is our escape. Confronting the discomfort takes work (of course). We must find the space to shake out the rug under which we hide all those bitter feelings and dark doubts.
I'm advocating for sharing circles on the tube, on Wednesdays and Fridays.
My week in books
DMT: The Spirit Molecule by Rick Strassman. A quote:
“I thought I had died, and that I might not ever come back. I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden, BAM!, there I was. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Need I say more?
Alfred Adler: An Introduction To His Psychology by Lewis Way. Five years ago I read The Courage To Be Disliked and loved it. This weeks book, which was published in 1956, never made it to the internet, so can’t be linked to, was a further dive into Adler’s philosophy, most of which is excellent. A quote:
“It is the individual who is not interested in his fellow man who has the greatest difficulties in life and provides the greatest injury to others. It is from among such individuals that all human failures spring”
Live well,
Hector