Tiny Buddha

Tag: fail

  • I Might Fail, but Time Won’t Just Pass Me By

    I Might Fail, but Time Won’t Just Pass Me By

    “It’s not about time, it’s about choices. How are you spending your choices?” ~Beverly Adamo

    You hit a point in life after which choices seem to become less and less reversible. As if they were engraved in stone.

    No matter how many motivational posts about following your own timeline and going at your own pace cross your Instagram wall.

    No matter how much you try to convince yourself that it’s never too late to start a new career, move into a new house, or find the right person. It’s not that you don’t believe it—it just does not work for you. It’s okay for other people to follow their dreams and dance to their own rhythm. But not for you.

    You feel like you’re in school again, falling behind.

    The more you tell yourself that you don’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations, the more you realize the only person you’re afraid to disappoint is the one looking back at you in the mirror.

    I used to listen to this song that goes,

    I wake up in the middle of night

    It’s like I can feel time moving

    And I did. I did wake up at 3:00 a.m., haunted by question marks.

    And to think that I was doing everything right! I had graduated, moved in with my boyfriend, and started working as a teacher. I had a spotless resume.

    Still, I was obsessed with the idea of time moving. Of time unstoppably reaching the point after which I simply would’ve had no choice but to stop seeing my situation as temporary and resign to the fact that no greater idea had come to my mind—and that I was stuck with that.

    With my daily life in the classroom.

    Now don’t get me wrong. I am not one of those people who ended up teaching because they couldn’t get a better job. On the contrary, teaching has always been my passion. It still is.

    The classroom, on the other hand…

    There was not a single day in my four years as a teacher during which I really thought this could be a good fit for me in the long run. Not once.

    There were bad days, good days. “Easy” classes, tough classes. Small victories, daily failures. Parents who wanted to sue me and students who wanted me to adopt them—one of those end-of-the-school-year letters still hangs on my fridge. But each and every one of those days, I knew I wanted this to be temporary.

    I didn’t want to stay in the classroom forever.

    It’s hard to pin it down. All I wanted to do was to be myself and teach something I love. But, as a teacher, you and your students don’t exist in a bubble. You’re very much intertwined with the complicated, emotionally loaded context of the classroom. So, you’re forced to impersonate the role of the Teacher.

    Unlike me, the Teacher was able to come to terms with the pressing matter of relevance. I knew that most of the curriculum I had to teach, and the way in which I had to teach it, was so far removed from the reality of my students that no amount of interactive lesson plans and student-centered methodologies could help me get the point across.

    As the Teacher, I was supposed to feel comfortable in the role, to identify myself with it rather than question it every step of the way. I just didn’t feel at ease. As a facilitator, as a guide, as a tutor, I’d always felt whole—not as a teacher. As much as I admired and respected those who did, I couldn’t do the same.

    I really, really did everything I could to solve my issues.

    I tried to fake it ‘til I made it. I read all the books. Attended all the courses. Shared my thoughts.

    Every time I told someone how I felt, they would reply with all the right things.

    That it’s just the first few years, until you get used to it, and I’m sure it is true—for me.

    That you’re actually really doing something for the kids, that you’re making a difference—and I don’t doubt that teachers do make a difference. Just not me.

    That you need to come to terms with the fact that, no matter what your job is, it is not supposed to be fun or fulfilling. But, as whiny as it might sound, that’s what I needed it to be.

    Maybe not perfect, maybe not idyllic, but please, please, please not meaningless.

    And then the intruding thought: “What, ‘cause you’re special? ‘Cause you’re too good to just get by, day in and day out, like everyone does?”

    I’ve always worried about being difficult, and I really wanted it to work, so that sensation of having to crawl into someone else’s skin every day when I got into the classroom—I just tried to push it aside. To swallow it down and get myself together.

    Still, it was there, and the only way to stop it was to think that it could be temporary after all.

    Just until you find a better job.

    Just until you come up with something else.

    Just until you find out what the hell is wrong with you.

    The only thing that managed to distract me was studying. I would come home and study, trying to keep my mind alive, trying to keep it dreaming, trying to keep it learning.

    I invested time and money, draining all my energies. I was constantly tired from the effort of basically being a full-time student on top of a full-time job. Luckily, I had the support of my boyfriend—later, husband—who had no idea what it all would amount to but could see that I needed it.

    It’s not like I had a project, though. I ached for meaning. I needed to learn something that felt real to me.

    That’s how I started to dig into languages. Here was something that felt relevant, immediate. You could learn it and use it straight away. You could communicate—something I just wasn’t able to do in my classroom teaching.

    I passed exams. I passed more exams. I kept piling up certificates and prayed that one day it would all start to sort of look like a plan. Before it was too late, before I had to admit to just being an overachieving, overqualified teacher.

    I knew the danger—some people, when they’re unhappy, just give up and become passive. Others, like me, do the opposite. They keep spinning their wheels because, as long as you’re busy, you don’t have to face the reality of how you feel.

    That’s what hit me every time I woke up at three am. How much time did I still have to change tracks? How long before it was too late for me?

    It’s like I can feel time moving…

    I wish I could tell you that I finally found my way and that this is a story of success. The truth is, I don’t know if it will ever be.

    Last Christmas I suddenly realized my personal hourglass had run out of sand. I just knew that if I set foot again in the classroom in September, it would no longer be temporary. I felt this was my last chance to try and do something different before giving up for good.

    I stopped waiting for the universe to reveal its mysterious plans and took my fate into my own hands. Teaching outside the classroom was something I had always vaguely dreamed of doing but never dared to.

    What if I’m not good enough?

    What if I don’t earn enough?

    What if it feels even worse than in the classroom—and would that mean that the problem was really just me all along, no matter what I do and where I do it?

    What if I messed up my plan B, too? What then?

    I just finally said, “To hell with it.” There must be a bit of truth in all those Instagram motivational posts, right?

    As of now, I am trying to build a career as a tutor and language teacher for adults, and I have no idea if I am going to make it.

    I closed my eyes and jumped right in, expecting the water to be icy cold, but it wasn’t. I braced myself for the anxiety this new uncertainty would bring with it, just to find that I actually feel at peace.

    There are plans to make, problems to solve, no financial stability, and no guarantee of success—something my perfectionist self can hardly manage. And still, it feels far less daunting and menacing than time slowly gnawing at me.

    I wish I could tell you that this story has a moral.

    That you should stop listening to good advice and common sense and just follow your gut, and that you may be surprised by how much unexpected support you receive or how little you need.

    That you shouldn’t try so hard to be something you’re not.

    That there are many ways to find meaning, and no one can tell you how to do it for yourself.

    That sometimes giving up takes more courage than sticking with something that doesn’t fulfill you.

    But, to tell the truth, I don’t feel like it was brave of me to change paths. It wasn’t about choosing the easiest or the hardest thing—it was about choosing the honest thing.

    I wish I could tell you I no longer wake up in the middle of the night, but the truth is, I do, because I’m so caught up in this new adventure that I really can’t stop jotting down ideas and looking for job opportunities.

    I know I don’t have to prove myself to anyone, and I also know that I can’t help but feel like I should, and that’s okay too.

    I know I might fail, and I’m not so bold as to plainly say I don’t care if I do. I actually do care, a lot.

    But one thing’s for sure—I no longer live in the fear of time passing me by.

  • 4 Tips for Failing Better in Your Spiritual Practice

    4 Tips for Failing Better in Your Spiritual Practice

    “Ever tried, ever failed, no matter. Try again, fail again, fail better.” ~Samuel Beckett

    I felt an enormous sense of relief when I discovered that he was a total mess! I’m talking about one of the most revered Buddhist monks of our time. I learned this from a short autobiography, A Mountain in Tibet: A Monk’s Journey. It was written by the current abbot of the Kagyu Samye Ling Tibetan Buddhist monastery in Scotland (UK), Yeshe Losal Riponche.

    Having escaped from his war-torn home country (Tibet) and after much other trauma, he found himself in the West, entirely immersed in the sex-drugs-rock’n’roll culture of the 1960s. “Selfish and full of pride,” “surly and miserable,” is how Yeshe Losal Riponche describes his younger self in the book. He didn’t part with this way of being until his late thirties despite having grown up in, and having been surrounded by, the Buddhist culture his whole life.

    I too have had an intense period of being “selfish and full of pride,” “surly and miserable” recently.  I was overworked, stressed, snappy, judgmental, critical, disappointed with myself, and constantly blaming others. With zero daily practice to carry me through the inner and outer chaos.

    Why is it still happening to me? After years’ worth of pursuing a different way of being. After years’ worth of seeking a life free from craving, aversion, and the usual human insanity. Why do I have to go through this never-ending cycle of feeling more mature and more at peace, and then hitting a low point when my mind is as unruly as that of any random person who’s never been exposed to any dharma whatsoever?

    The autobiography was a timely gift. It reminded me that I was not in it alone.

    We all, every single one of us, travel the same path. With its “ups and downs.” And this whole thing is called life. Ram Dass says that aiming to stay on a spiritual “high” all the time is not just unrealistic. It is a form of spiritual materialism. I become a consumer who wants this one thing (being high and holy) and has a tantrum every time she doesn’t get the goods. The more you fight it, the worse it becomes.

    Ram Dass shares the most hilarious and uplifting stories of enjoying (?!) seven hours’ worth of sexual fantasies while pretending to be in deep meditation. Or spending the first nine days of his thirty-day silent retreat watching tv for twelve hours a day. While it’s fun listening to his confessions, one can feel how utterly painful it would have been for Ram Dass to observe himself engage in such behavior.

    His advice? Simply keep watching but do it with compassion. This too shall pass.

    Even if I’ve failed to learn much else on the path, I think I have managed to figure out this one thing. It is not about getting holier each day moving in a neat trajectory. I’m not sure what it’s all about. But it’s not about that.

    Now, when I catch myself sleep-walking through life, I no longer feel deflated, discouraged, or dismayed. I am much more at peace with it. And that weakens the power of the monkey mind. Non-resistance is a great source of strength. I could never really understand Mooji’s call to “be at peace with a chaotic mind.” I now know that it is definitely possible.

    You can watch yourself do mental acrobatics with self-righteous guilt and blame, and think, “There there…this too shall pass.” Once the child has exhausted itself and collapsed after the tantrum, it’ll naturally calm down. And the Buddha is waiting on the other side. There is nowhere else to go. There is no escape from our Buddha nature.

    This is not to say that discipline doesn’t matter, that sustained whole-hearted commitment is not necessary, or that “anything goes.” But I strongly believe that neither lack of discipline nor commitment, nor any other force under the sun, as Christians put it, “not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love.” (Romans 8:38, NLT) The Buddha’s heart overflows with compassion for me; his faith in me and commitment to me is unshakeable. Nothing can ever change that.

    All of the above is just to say do not be discouraged. Ever. If you are reading this, rest assured, you’ve been trapped! You are secure on the path. You may get off track, do a U-turn or whatever, but you simply cannot choose another path. The path has chosen you. You are safe.

    What follows are a few simple tools and suggestions to create an environment and a lifestyle that continue to remind you that you are a student, a disciple, a pilgrim. Always. Even when your life is filled with anything but peace, contentment, and equanimity.

    The Environment

    I like to draw living water from out of the well that is fed by the rivers of every tradition. I am quite eclectic in my spirituality and my home reflects that. Among my precious possessions are

    • a small statue of Ganesh, the Elephant God, from an ashram near NYC,
    • a beautiful Orthodox icon Mary and the baby Jesus (that reflects my cultural heritage),
    • incense sticks from London Buddhist Centre that I pop in for puja now and then,
    • a string of beads from the London Self-Realisation Society,
    • an audio-Bible on my phone,
    • an e-version of Ekchart Tolle’s The Power of Now on my laptop,
    • a magazine on spiritual accompaniment on the bedside table…

    The list goes on. The point is, my flat and my environment in general are flooded with reminders of where I’ve been, what I’ve heard, who I’ve met, and what matters most to me.

    Sometimes some of these reminders become like fridge magnets and I stop noticing them. Then I may introduce something new. But most of the time, these things are not wallpaper. I’ve given them a function. They are meaningful. They keep reminding me of who I am.

    What does my weird collection represent to me? It reminds me that my past has been filled with spirituality, and so is my present and my future. No area of my life is free from meaning and purpose, as every moment in time and every place in space are part of my practice. I am never alone.

    I am surrounded by fellow pilgrims even when I don’t have anyone physically present next to me. Behind the awe-inspiring diversity of beliefs and practices, there is unity and oneness underneath it all. Every one of us is part of the lineage. May we continue practicing in gratitude to those who came before us and in guarding the tradition for those who are yet to come.

    Does your environment reflect your path, your identity, your truth? How can you make small changes to your bedroom or workplace to introduce a few things that would remind you of who and where you belong?

    The People

    Life is forever dragging me into some human drama where people and situations trigger me, and my behavior acts as a trigger for others. There’s no sense of perspective or wisdom or equanimity in my life. No one models any of that to me, and I fail to model it to others.

    Without spiritually significant others in my life, I’d be entirely lost, thinking that the grown-up world really is just about bills and “commitments.” In the more balanced periods of my life, I may have a more stable relationship with such people (e.g., taking part in a meditation group regularly). At other times, I still try to make sure that these people are still in my life even if I’m not in regular contact with anyone in particular.

    The longer you stay on the path, the more fellow pilgrims enter your life. Then there’s other people who are just naturally joyful, or naturally perceptive or compassionate. Talking to them reminds me to seek after what’s true and beautiful, and to not just stay a passive participant in the rat-race of life.

    It’s important that I get an occasional email or message from those people. It’s vital that they get to hear from me once in a while. This infrequent contact isn’t too heavy to maintain, yet it punctuates one’s life with tiny reminders of who one really is, or rather who one isn’t.

    If you are able to, just pop into any spiritually meaningful place that’s local to you. Even a five-minute chat with someone there would help you to feel like you’re on the right path again.

    Send a quick “hi, how are you” to someone you met on a retreat or someone that you’ve connected with in another way, watch a YouTube video with someone who has been a long-term teacher or source of inspiration for you, or attend a live talk, online or in person.

    Even a random one-off visit and a very occasional catch-up with someone who is after the same thing as yourself does miracles. This is especially so because you get to see how other people fluctuate between the states of being spiritually awake and asleep. They too occasionally fall asleep without falling off the path.

    The Doing

    It’s good if you are able to do things “properly” (e.g., you meditate once a day every day; you are part of a community where people deepen and grow in their practice together, etc.) But chances are, you want to do these things, but half the time you can’t get yourself to do much or anything at all. That’s fine. Just do something.

    Pretty much anything goes. Watching inspirational videos, listening to thought-provoking podcasts, journaling, walking, doing mindful coloring, listening to relaxing music or sacred chanting, meditating, or sleeping. Anything that adds color to your life counts (e.g., a heart-warming film or a powerful theater performance, or enjoying a nice meal or learning the basics of self-massage).

    You are in a classroom, so every life experience is part of the path, part of your practice. Just try and have a brief moment of mindful appreciation for whatever it is that you are doing. Give thanks. And just relax, enjoy it, have fun.

    Remember also that rest is resistance in a world where we’re expected to do more, better, faster. So, be rebellious. Do nothing.

    The Timing  

    Yes, that is the most annoying and painful question. Just when do I get the time to stop and do anything vaguely spiritual?! I’d say this is about being creative and generous in your interpretation of what counts as spiritual practice. If your daily routine allows you to have a five-minute cup of tea or coffee first thing in the morning, that’s an awesome start to the day. That’s your practice.

    When I can’t do it (most days), I make myself a cup of coffee at work and try to not turn my work laptop on until I’m done with my cup of coffee. At the end of the day, when I’m too tired to meditate, pray, read, or do anything else, I just turn on the pretty fairy lights and curl up on the little sofa for ten minutes. Just staring into space.

    My other mindful pause is while air-drying my hands at work. It takes a little longer than doing it with a paper towel and gives me a couple more seconds of peace and quiet in the bathroom. Occasionally, I’d stand up and stare outside the window in my office. Two- to three-minute-long micro-breaks are powerful tools for grounding yourself in the moment.

    Naturally, some days are so full-on, I don’t even have the luxury of taking the time to dry my hands properly. I just do it when I can. When I remember. Bringing attention back to the breathing is something that I find relatively easy and very helpful as this is how I meditate anyway.

    Little but often is certainly best. In my books, “occasionally” and even “very occasionally” are still better than “not at all.” If you can take one mindful breath a day—even once a week—this is still a precious moment of mindfulness. It counts; it does make a difference.

    No matter how much or how little “spiritual stuff” you manage to do on any given day, it’s the intention that counts, as the old saying goes. It really does. While the intention is there, the flame is burning. So, just keep it burning by taking those micro-breaks and filling your life with mini reminders to ground and strengthen you. In conclusion, let me remind you of my precious mantra:

    Ever tried, ever failed, no matter. Try again, fail again, fail better. (Samuel Beckett)

  • Daring to Fail: Uncovering the Hidden Strengths in Our Struggles

    Daring to Fail: Uncovering the Hidden Strengths in Our Struggles

    “Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly.” ~Robert F. Kennedy

    How do you define failure?

    When something doesn’t go as planned?

    When someone tells you they don’t like what you’ve made?

    When an outcome doesn’t match your expectations?

    I find it increasingly important to define failure. Which seems like a weird thing to do because we’re all trying to avoid it. Even talking about failure feels like it has the power to bring about failure.

    No one wants to be labelled a failure. And it’s because of that underlying fear that we end up stuck, miserable, and afraid of the very actions that will release us from that doubt.

    Here’s a glimpse into a story I often find myself repeating. I come up with an idea, I get feedback, and I start building. I’m acting from a place of creative excitement where my juices are flowing. I’m swept away by the belief that this idea could change the trajectory of my life.

    And then… the outcome doesn’t match my expectations. It doesn’t reach as many people as I thought it would. Or it isn’t as profitable as I thought it might be.

    It bloody guts me.

    I grasp what I think is the issue. I ruminate on what should have been. I get pissed off because it feels like I’m back at ground zero.

    Am I doomed for failure?

    That depends on the choice I make next.

    Do I give up?

    Then you best believe I’m a failure.

    Because the life we want reveals itself by taking another step forward.

    As Winston Churchill said, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

    You’ve heard of the Fortune 500, right? It’s a term that gets thrown around a lot, especially in business circles.

    The Fortune 500, an annual leaderboard published by Fortune magazine, ranks the 500 most revenue-generating companies in the United States. It’s a snapshot of business success. Yet, a glance from 1955 to 2019 reveals only 10.4% of companies remained on the list.

    This stark turnover underscores a crucial lesson: Success is fleeting without continual adaptation.

    And therein lies peace of mind.

    The point isn’t to climb the peak and stay there. These places that feel like destinations are nothing more than sandcastles, eventually washing away with the tide.

    The point is to use what you’ve learned and apply it to your next adventure.

    So how do we decide which direction to take after a “failure”?

    How can we know which choice will lead us to the best possible version of our lives?

    Failure = feedback.

    We can only tell where something is in relation to something else.

    Putting in the effort means we have something to compare and contrast it to.

    There’s a tendency to focus on what the tiny sliver of companies did to succeed, but far more can be gleaned from what the majority didn’t do and why they disappeared.

    What did they stop doing?

    What did they foolishly ignore because they wanted to be right?

    Why did they stop asking questions?

    Why couldn’t they see their blind spots?

    Whether it’s a failing business, someone who has plateaued with their health goals, or a parent who can’t connect with their teenager, they all share one commonality that led to their failure: They stopped seeking feedback.

    Meaning they no longer put in effort. The one and only action that gives us clarity.

    I remind myself of this when I’m hyper-focused on the outcome. I feel like a helpless failure because I’m ignoring the actions that will change the outcome: the inputs.

    Thomas J. Watson, a former chairman and CEO of IBM, identified fear of failure as the reason we don’t experience momentum in our lives: “Would you like me to give you a formula for success? It’s quite simple, really. Double your rate of failure. You are thinking of failure as the enemy of success. But it isn’t at all. You can be discouraged by failure, or you can learn from it, so go ahead and make mistakes. Make all you can. Because remember that’s where you will find success.”

    Don’t like the taste of your spaghetti bolognese sauce (the outcome)? Change the ingredients (the inputs).

    Here’s the lesson I’m still learning: This takes time. The most effective way to change the outcome is by changing one input at a time. If I switch out all the ingredients at once, I’m back to playing a guessing game.

    But if I try San Marzano tomatoes instead of diced tomatoes? Oh, hot damn. We’re cooking up something delicious, and now I understand what brings me one step closer to the outcome I want.

    In the context of my creative pursuits, instead of discarding a project, I engage in more discussions to understand what isn’t working. I ask: Have I offered a valuable solution to a widespread problem? Have I demonstrated how my solution works? Then, did I adjust the project and clearly convey the changes to those who provided feedback? This keeps me on track without guesswork, acknowledging that the first iteration, untested, often fails.

    It feels a hell of a lot less daunting to approach failure like an experiment.

    Transform failure into a laboratory. Each misstep is an experiment, a finding. Adjust one input at a time, observe the change, and inch closer to your desired outcome. This week, change one ingredient in your strategy, whether at work, in relationships, or in personal goals. Observe, learn, iterate.

    Life is a constant iteration, a series of experiments where failure morphs into feedback, driving us closer to the life we envision. Remember that every step forward, no matter how small, is a step boldly taken toward your dreams.

  • How I’m Overcoming Perfectionism and Why I’m No Longer Scared to Fail

    How I’m Overcoming Perfectionism and Why I’m No Longer Scared to Fail

    “Perfectionism is a self-destructive belief system. It’s a way of thinking that says: ‘If I look perfect, live perfect, and work perfect, I can avoid or minimize criticism and blame.’” ~Brené Brown

    I struggled with trying new things in my past. I learned growing up that failure was bad. I used to be a gifted child, slightly ahead of my peers. As I got older, everything went downhill.

    Whenever I tried out a new activity, I would quit if I wasn’t instantly perfect at it. If there was the slightest imperfection, I would get extremely frustrated and upset. I would obsess over the same mistakes in my past over and over.

    This made me procrastinate and avoid trying new things, fearing failure. I would simply tell my friends “I’m not interested” when they tried to get me to grow outside my comfort zone.

    I tried out various passion projects, solely focused on the results. Sketching was a fun hobby of mine, but I was slowly losing steam. “All the drawings I’m doing aren’t good enough! Argh!”

    I attempted public speaking competitions. “I didn’t get any prize? This is such a waste.”

    And even stopped having an interest in sports when I was dominated in a match by my friends.

    I didn’t know it at that time, but this was a clear case of unhealthy perfectionism.

    Growing up, I thought I was good at everything. I embodied this identity with pride. But when I did something that contradicted this identity, like failing at something, I did everything I could to not feel that pain again. Even if it meant I didn’t pursue my passions and feared failure my whole life.

    Now that I’ve grown internally more, I’ve realized that perfectionism is really about control—trying to control how people see you. Perfectionism is, at its core, about earning approval and acceptance.

    “Perfectionism isn’t striving to be our best or working towards excellence. Healthy striving is internally driven, perfectionism is externally driven with a simple, all-consuming question: ‘What will people think of me?’” ~Brené Brown

    Studies show that perfectionism actually hampers the path to success and leads to anxiety and depression. Achieving mastery is fueled by curiosity and viewing failures as opportunities for learning. Perfectionism kills curiosity.

    When I was struggling to reach my own high standards, I learned that it’s better to move on and figure out how to thoughtfully bridge the gap between where I was and where I wanted to be over time, rather than spinning my wheels and being stuck in place in an effort to get everything perfect today.

    Curing my unhealthy perfectionism and letting in authenticity, I believe, mainly came down to grace.

    I gave myself the acceptance and grace to be where I was that day, and to enjoy the process rather than the result. I allowed myself to make mistakes, be curious, and experiment. This was a major turning point in my life. I didn’t want to live with fear anymore, so I vowed to live authentically and be free.

    I stopped putting pressure on myself and let my childlike curiosity out. I became adventurous and started trying new things. Every time I did something outside my comfort zone (and a little scary), I wanted to jump with excitement. I felt truly alive and present.

    This is what it means to be successful—growing from failures and enjoying the journey instead of trying to do everything perfectly.

    I practiced mindfulness, self-love, and gratitude to further improve my mental state. I realized that I badly craved approval from the outside world, even though I used to deny it and have this “I don’t care what others think of me” attitude. I used to be wary of how others would judge me, so I focused on developing my relationship with myself and loving myself exactly as I was.

    But of course, the change wasn’t immediate, and it took me some time to fully cure my perfectionism. I started slowly changing my thought patterns by speaking kindly to myself, as if I was my younger self. I imagined myself as a young child who just needed love and acceptance. I forgave myself when I made mistakes, let go of the past, and moved on.

    I encouraged myself to keep improving and I continued to work on my passion projects—showing up every day. Now, it has led me here, where I can share my guidance and love with those who need it. I am more fulfilled and happier than ever.

    And I now know that failing doesn’t mean I’m a failure. It means I’m someone who’s brave enough to try new things, and that’s the identity I now embody with pride.

  • How I’ve Redefined Success Since ‘Failing’ by Traditional Standards

    How I’ve Redefined Success Since ‘Failing’ by Traditional Standards

    “Once you choose hope, anything is possible.” ~Christopher Reeve

    When I was a child, I wanted to save the world. My mom found me crying in my bedroom one day. She asked what was wrong, and I said, “I haven’t done anything yet!” I couldn’t wait to grow up so I could try to make a difference.

    At fourteen, I joined a youth group that supported adults with disabilities. We hosted dances and ran a buddy program. I helped with projects at state institutions and left saddened by the conditions for the residents. I planned to work at a state institution.

    As a senior in high school, I was voted most likely to succeed. It was unexpected, like so many things in my life. I hoped to find meaningful work that helped others.

    My first year at Ohio State, I fell head over heels in love and married the boy next door. A month after my wedding, newly nineteen, I started my first full-time job as manager of a group home for men with developmental disabilities. I never finished college.

    At twenty-three, I was officially diagnosed with depression after my first baby, but the doctor didn’t tell me. I read the diagnosis in my medical record a few years later. I grew up in the sixties with negative stereotypes of mental illness. I didn’t understand it, and I thought depression meant being weak and ungrateful. I loved being a new mom, and I wanted the doctor to be wrong.

    I was a stay-at-home mom with three young children at the time of my ten-year high school reunion. The event booklet included bios. For mine, I wrote something a bit defensive about the value of being a mom since I didn’t feel successful in any traditional way.

    At thirty, I experienced daily headaches for the first time. I tried natural cures and refused all medication, even over-the-counter ones, while the headaches progressed to a constant mild level. I kept up with three busy kids, taught literacy to residents with multiple disabilities at a state institution, and barreled on. I thought I understood challenges.

    At forty, I went to a pain clinic at Ohio State and received another depression diagnosis. This time it made sense. The diagnosis still made me feel vaguely ashamed, weak. Still, I rationalized it away.

    Which came first, the depression or the headache? Maybe it was the headache’s fault. Anti-depressants were diagnosed for the first time, which managed my depression. Until…

    When I was forty-two, I fell asleep at the wheel with my youngest daughter Beth in the passenger seat. She sustained a spinal cord injury that left her paralyzed from the chest down. I quit my job at the institution to be her round-the-clock caregiver.

    Beth was only fourteen when she was injured. However, she carried me forward, since between the two of us, she was the emotionally stable one. She focused on regaining her independence, despite her quadriplegia. I let her make the decisions about her care and her future. Sometimes we need someone strong to lead the way.

    Every day, every hour, every minute of our new life felt impossibly uncertain. New guilt and anxiety merged with my old issues of chronic pain and depression. Increased doses of my anti-depressants did not prevent me from spiraling down. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. No hope of light.

    I put a tight lid on my feelings, which was a challenge by itself. I didn’t want to give the people I loved more to worry about. I also felt that if I gave in to my emotions, I wouldn’t be able to function. And I desperately needed to help Beth. That’s what mattered the most.

    I started counseling several months after the car accident. At the first session, I thought I would find a little peace, with more ahead. It wasn’t that simple. I felt like a failure, and thought I failed at counseling, too, since I didn’t improve for some time. I should have reached out for help right after Beth’s injury.

    Weekly counseling helped me, along with my husband always being there for me. However, Beth was the one who showed me how to choose hope. I watched her succeed after failing again and again, over and over, on her quest to be independent.

    Beth and I shared unexpected adventures, from our small town in Ohio to Harvard and around the world. She has had the most exciting life of anyone I know. She’s also the happiest person I know because she finds joy in ordinary life, and that’s the best kind of success.

    Since I was voted most likely to succeed in 1976, I learned that success encompasses so much more than I originally thought. Things like being married for forty-five years to my best friend. Raising three great kids. Working meaningful jobs and helping others. Volunteering and mentoring. And learning meditation to better cope with chronic pain.

    Today, my depression is mostly managed with prescriptions, which also feels like a kind of success. I’m no longer ashamed of my depression. It’s part of who I am, and I know for a fact that I’m not weak or ungrateful. There’s light at the end of the tunnel, a bright light.

    Hope is an incredibly powerful thing. And if you never give up? Hope wins.

  • The Best Way to Deal with Dissatisfaction (It’s Not What You Think)

    The Best Way to Deal with Dissatisfaction (It’s Not What You Think)

    “Trying to change ourselves does not work in the long run because we are resisting our own energy. Self-improvement can have temporary results, but lasting transformation occurs only when we honor ourselves as the source of wisdom and compassion.” ~Pema Chodron, The Places That Scare You

    In my late thirties, I was a yoga teacher and an avid practitioner. I lived by myself in a small but beautiful studio apartment in Tel Aviv, Israel, right next to the beach.

    Every morning I woke up in my large bed with a majestic white canopy and said a morning prayer. I meditated for an hour and practiced pranayama and yoga asana for another hour and a half.

    When I was done, I prepared myself a healthy breakfast and sat at the rectangular wooden dining table, facing a huge window and the row of ficus trees that kept me hidden from the world. I ate slowly and mindfully.

    Since then, my life has shifted. I found love, got married, had a child, started a new business, and moved to live in the US. I stopped having the luxury of a two-and-a-half-hour morning sadhana. But my morning prayer stayed with me all this time:

    I am grateful for everything that I have and for everything that I don’t have.

    I am grateful for the opportunity to live.

    I love myself the way I am.

    I love my life the way it is.

    I love all sentient beings the way they are.

    May all sentient beings be happy and peaceful, may they all be safe and protected, may everyone be healthy and strong, and know a deep sense of wellbeing.

    I created this prayer because I wanted to be grateful for life, but I was not. I wanted to love myself, but I did not. It was sort of “fake it till you make it.”

    I borrowed this principle from the metta bhavana practice. In this practice you send love and good wishes to yourself, then to someone you love, then to someone neutral and eventually to someone you have issues with.

    When you send love to someone you hate, you connect with your hatred and resentment. You can witness how hard it is for you to want this person to be happy and well. But the more you do it, the easier it becomes. The hatred dissolves and you become more authentic with your wishes.

    Similarly, I assumed that if I kept telling myself that I was grateful, I would eventually become grateful. If I told myself that I loved myself, I would eventually love myself.

    Today, I can say that I do love myself and I do love my life, a lot more than I used to when I created my morning prayer. But the more I am happy with what I have, the harder it is to say that I am happy for everything I don’t have.

    Right now, for example, I am dissatisfied with my business income.

    I could reason myself out of my dissatisfaction.

    I could tell myself that I only started my business three years ago, just before COVID. I am still not making enough money, but I am making money and my situation keeps improving.

    My husband makes enough money for both of us, so my life is pretty good as it is. I know I am fulfilling my purpose, and it gives me great satisfaction to serve and inspire others. I get many affirmations that I am on the right path.

    I could also count my blessings.

    I have an honest and deep, loving relationship. I have an out-of-this-world connection with my son. I have a charming old house in a city that, for me, is heaven on earth. I have great friends and a strong community of likeminded people.

    I could compare myself to many other people who do not have any of these gifts.

    This is what most of us do when we feel discontent or dissatisfied with our lives. We sweep our lack of satisfaction under the rug. We remind ourselves of all the reasons we should be content. We convince ourselves to stop complaining and be happy.

    But when we fake our gratitude, when we reason ourselves to be happy, or focus on our gifts rather than our sorrows, we do not increase our happiness, we get further away from it!

    Let me explain.

    Behind our dissatisfaction there is pain.

    There might be childhood wounds, there might be weaknesses. When we ignore our frustration, we miss a valuable opportunity to work with these themes.

    When I delved into my discontent, I realized a lot of it was rooted in my childhood. My father was a banker, and my mother was an artist. My mother loved art and different cultures. She wanted to travel to many places. She worked hard at raising three children, but she did not get to travel because my father thought traveling was a waste of time and money. My mother had no say, since she was not the one who made the money in our house.

    Because of this, as a child I promised myself that I would never be financially dependent on anyone. This decision motivated me to study accounting and economics, and to have a successful financial career. My work did not fulfill my purpose, but it brought me financial security.

    For me, not having a sustainable income equaled being weak, like my mother was.

    When I understood that, I could work with it. I could remind myself that I was not my mother. That I was a good businesswoman. That I’d made some good investments. That I was strong.

    We are afraid to experience dissatisfaction and pain because we fear they will bring us down. But in truth, depression comes from not dealing with the pain! You can only suppress your discontent for so long. At a certain point, everything you swept under the rug comes out, and you discover that in its dark hiding place it grew bigger and bigger.

    After my mother died, when I was eighteen, I decided to live life to the fullest. I was very grateful for being alive, and I thought my gratitude should be expressed with constant happiness. For few years, I forced myself to be happy, and pushed all the pain, hurt, and loneliness away.

    I lived like I was on top of the world, until one day I crashed to the ground. I got so depressed I could not get out of bed or stop crying for months.

    At first, I did not even understand why I was depressed while my life was so “perfect.” It took me years to open my eyes and see all the things I refused to acknowledge before.

    Since then, I’ve come a long way. I stopped running away from my pain. I turned around, looked it in the eyes, and said, “let’s be friends.”

    Even though I have so many reasons to be grateful, I am still allowed to be dissatisfied. I am not going to judge myself for that. I am not going to tell myself to stop whining and snap out of it. I am not going to deny this pain or try to modify it and shape it into gratitude.

    Befriending your pain and dissatisfaction is not an easy process.

    Our natural tendency is to fear these feelings, to avoid them, to deny them. It requires us to go against our instincts.

    On the first slope I ever skied, my instincts told me to lean back to prevent falling. But leaning back is exactly what makes you fall. You need to lean forward, into the downhill, in order to slow yourself down and ride the slope well.

    Leaning into your dissatisfaction works exactly the same. When you accept your dissatisfaction and allow yourself to be dissatisfied, you work with the situation. You make it your teacher. You appreciate the wisdom of it. Only then, transformation occurs, and you become content.

    So why do I keep saying the same morning prayer?

    In his book Infinite Life, Robert Thurman quotes Ram Dass, who once asked his guru “’What about the horrors in Bengal?’ His guru smiled to him and said, ‘Don’t you see, it’s all perfect!’ Ram Dass then said, ‘Yeah! It’s perfect—but it stinks!’”

    According to Thurman, there are two perceptions of reality that we must hold together. There is the enlightened perception in which everything is perfect, and the samsaric perception, in which we experience pain and dissatisfaction, which must be acknowledged and worked with.

    In my morning prayer I hold the enlightened perception. But when I start my day, I remember to lean into my true deep feelings, especially when I feel pain, frustration, and dissatisfactions. It makes me so much happier.

  • How My Dad’s Advice to Let Someone Else Shine Created My Fear of Success

    How My Dad’s Advice to Let Someone Else Shine Created My Fear of Success

    “Sometimes what you’re most afraid of doing is the very thing that will set you free.” ~Robert Tew

    Everyone has fears. It is not an emotion that is only for a chosen few. One’s fear may seem irrational to the outside world, but I guarantee to that person it is debilitating. So much so, that it shapes their perspective and how they see the world. My fear is of success.

    I know what you’re thinking. “That doesn’t make sense at all. Who doesn’t want to be successful?” Well, let me explain what I mean.

    You see, I am an introvert, so I don’t really want to draw attention to myself at all. My “success” is a personal gain, not a flashy show of pride to the world.

    I wasn’t quite sure where this fear of success began until this year when I was talking to my wife. Our discussions brought up a memory that I am sure started this fear.

    When I was twelve years old, I loved basketball. It was my all-time favorite sport. You had to be good individually but also as a team.

    Being introverted, I had to work hard at the latter, but it was a challenge I was willing to take on because I loved the game so much. I practiced all day every day. My grandma even brought me a basketball hoop to put in her driveway so I could practice. (This was a big deal because she loved her yard and thought the hoop made it look less appealing.)

    Nonetheless, I got good and made the basketball team. So now I could work more on the team aspect.

    One day I was at my cousin’s house, and we were playing basketball. A teammate lived across the street. After my game with my cousin, she came over and challenged me to a game one on one. I agreed

    As we were playing, I noticed she became more intense and aggressive. I didn’t pay much attention to it and just kept playing. When I won the game, I went toward her to say, “nice game.”

    She threw the ball at me and ran toward her house crying. I was so confused. My dad saw and made me go with him to her house, where she was sitting on the porch.

    He asked her what was wrong. She said, “Why does she have to be so good? She always wins. I’m not even a starter because of her.”

    My dad pulled me to the side and said, “You don’t have to be good all the time. Why don’t you let her win sometimes?” 

    I remember being confused. My twelve-year-old mind couldn’t understand why my dad would want me to lessen myself so that someone else could achieve, even though I worked hard. But he was my dad, and she was crying.

    Later, I found out that the girl was the niece of my dad’s future wife. I guess he was trying to impress her. But that’s a story for a different blog.

    From that time on I questioned the results of my success. If I succeeded would people be upset? Would I be taking someone else’s spot? Would this person hate me? Should I not try my best?

    This fear of success became a big deal in my twenties. At that time, I decided to make good on a goal I set for myself when I was in high school—to become a poet like Maya Angelou and Nicki Giovanni and a writer like John Grisham.

    At that time, I was working at a tutoring center, and there was this nice older gentleman name GW. He always saw me writing in my journal, and one day he invited me to an open poetry mic night that he held on Fridays in a barn.

    I didn’t think much of it. When I went home, I looked up the guy and learned that he was a famous poet. So, I decided to take him up on his offer to attend.

    It was great, everyone was kind and just wanted to share their work. After a couple of visits as a spectator, GW asked me when I was going to share my work. The thought was scary for me.

    It took so much for me to even attend. I told him I was just enjoying being there. He then said something that I hold on to even to this day.

    He said, “When you are a writer you have to become two people: the author Nesha and the regular Nesha. The regular Nesha can be afraid and introverted. But the author Nesha needs to be strong, confident, and want success, not fear it.”

    He then told me he was going to feature me as the poet of the night, where I would do a set of my poems for fifteen minutes for everyone. I reluctantly agreed.

    It took so much for me not to cancel. I had to constantly tell myself, “This is author Nesha.” I had to work on being in a room where all the attention was on me. It was a lot, but I’m glad I did it

    This fear of success is tough to deal with, especially as I continue to pursue my writing career.  I feel as though I have multiple personalities. “Author Nesha” wants success. I want to be a famous writer with people reading my books.

    “Regular Nesha” is introverted and just wants to write because I love it. “Regular Nesha” is afraid. I am afraid that I will get successful, and everyone will criticize my art that I worked so hard on.

    Will people say I shouldn’t be where I am because I am not good enough? Will I be taking someone’s spot? Will people want to meet me, touch me, speak to me?

    This fear of success has also morphed a bit into social anxiety. When I do open mics (which is rare because of my fears) I need to have my wife by my side.

    I remember one time I did an open mic, and as I was speaking, I noticed this woman crying and staring intently at me. My mind began to swirl with so many questions. Why is she staring at me? Does she think my work is bad? Will she want to talk to me?

    When I was done, I walked to my seat near my wife. The woman came and sat behind us. She touched my shoulder, which brought fear to my heart. I turned around. She was still crying.

    She said, “Your words brought me so much joy. I am crying because I recently lost my mom and your poem reminded me of her.” It was happening! Someone was talking to me!

    All I could think was, this is going to spiral into a full-blown conversation. All I could muster up was “I’m glad you liked the poem, and I’m sorry for your loss.”

    That night was difficult and exhilarating. Difficult because so many people came up to me and wanted to talk and shake my hand, and I was so afraid and had so many thoughts flying through my head. Exhilarating because OH MY GOD! People liked me!

    This battle between “Author Nesha” and “Regular Nesha” is something I deal with daily. Not only in my pursuit of being a writer but in other aspects of my life.

    I am an English teacher by day. In my staff meetings, I’m afraid to share my ideas because what if I succeed and some people like them? Will they expect me to always have good ideas? What if others are upset at me or think less of me because of my ideas?

    But then again, I want to share my thoughts because I worked hard on them and feel like they are worthy to be shared.

    I know you’re thinking, how do you survive? Well, first, I had to acknowledge that what my dad did when I was twelve was not right. He may have thought he was doing the right thing, but he should never have told me to dim my light so someone else could shine.

    Second, I try to do things out of my comfort zone. For example, in my staff meeting we were discussing how to improve student motivation. Usually, I don’t speak, but I pushed myself to share what I do in my class, and they loved it.

    Of course, I couldn’t help but question If they really loved it, or if someone was upset about my idea, but I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on what I can actually see and hear.

    Finally, success is relative. My idea of success may not be someone else’s idea of success, and that’s okay. By learning these things, I can now follow through on things that scare “Regular Nesha,” and that is me facing my fear of success.

  • How I Stopped Procrastinating and Started Creating the Life of My Dreams

    How I Stopped Procrastinating and Started Creating the Life of My Dreams

    “Better to do something imperfectly than to do nothing flawlessly.” ~Robert H. Schuller

    Here’s a confession: I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was thirteen years old when I first discovered the magic of words.

    Here’s another: It was only at the ripe old age of twenty-six that I could truthfully call myself a writer.

    Why did it take me so long?

    I often think about that. Even today, when people ask me about my writing, I struggle to say that I am a writer. I am both proud and horrified, and I constantly wonder, what will I tell these strangers if I fail?

    It doesn’t begin like that, of course. As a teenager or as a child, the confidence you have in yourself is unnerving. For instance, I remember reading Agatha Christie and thinking, I could do that. Talk about confidence!

    Then, of course, comes the growing up bit. Being surrounded by comparisons, either by parents or teachers or peers, chips away at this faith in yourself. And there are discouraging comments, with their implications…

    “No one’s ever done this before” (so how will you?)
    “Most turn into failed writers” (as will you)
    “What do you want to write? Oh that? How will you earn a living with it?” (You will NOT)

    It was this kind of thinking that distanced me from my dream for a long time. I grew up in an environment where being financially independent was highly valued, and I just didn’t see how writing could help me achieve the same.

    Years went by, and I hardly wrote. There was the occasional poem, or a short fictional piece, but never anything substantial such as long posts or stories. It seemed I had all but given up, focusing instead on a steady, sensible career in engineering.

    Engineering was so far away from the pages that I never gave writing a second thought. I knew something was missing in my life, but I just didn’t know what!

    And then, something wonderful happened.

    Restless, I moved to a marketing career. Not only marketing but digital marketing. Here my first job was for a technology business, handling their blog, writing daily.

    Suddenly, I was back to my childhood dream. I was writing, editing, researching, and while I still had no answers to how I could sustain it, and what lay ahead, I knew one thing.

    I was enjoying it, even if nothing ever came of it.

    That was over five years ago, and since then I’ve taken step after step in the direction of my dreams.

    Here’s what I learnt:

    1. Don’t overthink it.

    If you’re anything like me, you probably spend a lot of time researching before actually starting anything. It starts with good intentions (to look before you leap), but before you know it, you have spent days and days on research without writing anything.

    I looked up everything: How to become a blogger? What should a writer look out for? Top five things new writers should know, etc.

    But ultimately, the only way to get writing was to write. And there was no way around it. In fact, if I had skipped overthinking it and just gone with the flow, I wouldn’t have ended up in what turned out to be a big waste of my time and energy.

    2. Detach your identity.

    For a long time, I didn’t pick up the pen because I was scared to try. You see. if I tried and it didn’t work out, I would become that failed writer.

    Without trying, I at least had the dream of being a talented, wonderful writer, albeit one that never wrote anything. It went on for some years, until I realized that time was passing without a single word from me.

    And each year that went by meant lesser time for me to be any kind of writer. And that scared me more than any of the reasons holding me back!

    I told myself, I will write. Now that doesn’t make me any kind of writer, it just makes me a person who writes. Who I am and what I have achieved isn’t defined AT ALL by my writing.

    With this statement, I detached my identity from the task, taking off the pressure and letting myself simply…write.

    3. Permit yourself to suck.

    The idea of what kind of writer I should be and how my style should evolve kept me off my desk for a while. Every article I researched felt wrong and when I did write, I never seemed to like the output.

    The problem? I was too wrapped up in who I should become and what should be said instead of being okay with mediocrity.

    It was only after multiple attempts that I realized that I sucked because I had hardly any experience. BUT that I could become better.

    All I had to do was accept that I sucked and work hard.

    Only by giving myself the approval to write poorly did I finally allow progress in my work.

    4. Block out the negative.

    Imagine you’ve finally gotten off the couch when a negative friend comes around. Oh, this? They say it will NEVER work. What if this friend comes around routinely?

    This friend can be an actual person, or it can be your own stressed, scared mind, throwing up objections and fears at you.

    In my case, it was my anxiety-riddled brain, torturing me with “You’re not good at this” thoughts. Just like with a toxic friendship though, you have to shut this narrative down.

    I did it simply—every time I started getting a thought like this, I would:

    a) Either distract myself OR
    b) Say “NO!” and cut it off before it took hold of me.

    Eventually, these thoughts become fewer and fewer until they stopped bothering me too often. Similarly, steer clear of negative friends who are likely to make you feel bad about your dream. It’s your dream—you must guard it with your life!

    5. Let go.

    A popular quote by Arthur Ashe reads:

    “Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”

    The most important tip of all? Don’t worry about what you cannot control. If you’ve done basic research (not too much) and taken the time to make up your mind, act.

    There will always be things outside your power—the future is not something you can foresee. The only thing you can control is your sincere effort, so jump in!

  • Why I Gave Myself Permission to Suck at New Things

    Why I Gave Myself Permission to Suck at New Things

    “Never be afraid to try new things and make some mistakes. It’s all part of life and learning.” ~Unknown

    A few months ago, I was warming up for a dance class. It was a beginners’ class, but the instructor was one of those people who have been dancing all their life, so movement came easy to her. This was the ninth week of a ten-week term, and we’d been working on a choreography for a while now.

    Then, the reception girl came in with a new student. She introduced the new girl to the instructor. “Hey B. This is Nat. She is new to the studio, and I offered her a trial class. Do you think you can take care of her?”

    “Of course. Hi Nat. We have been working on this “coreo” for a while, but I’ll explain each move as we go. I promise I’ll go really slow. Besides, everyone here is a beginner.”

    A little uncertain, Nat came in and took a spot at the back of the class. You could see she wasn’t very comfortable. But everyone encouraged her to stay, so she did.

    The truth is that the cues were confusing and the moves were hard to perform. Even though we were all beginners at that particular class, many of us had taken other classes before. Besides, we have been working on this choreography for eight weeks.

    Unable to follow the class, Nat burst out of the room in tears after only ten minutes. And on her way out, she said, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I’m clearly not good enough.”

    Have you ever been through anything like that? Feeling out of place and inadequate?

    I know I have. You see, I’ve never been what you call an athletic kid. Mostly because I never had the opportunity to become one.

    In my school, during PE classes, only the talented kids were chosen to play. Everyone else stayed in the sidelines. Watching.

    Also, I never participated in extra-curricular sports activities because my parents couldn’t afford it. So I grew up believing that I was not good with sports. Just a scrawny girl, uncoordinated and awkward.

    And that was my belief until my late twenties. But then, something happened.

    When I was twenty-eight, I decided to give the gym another try. Because I had no previous experience, I carefully chose classes that I believed I could follow. But apparently, the universe has a sense of humor.

    Through a mistake on the timetable printout, I ended up on an Advanced Step class.  Oh my. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my whole life. I was so bad at it that one of the ladies stopped following the class to try teaching me how to do the basic moves. I was mortified, but… I stayed until the end.

    At the end of the class, many of the ladies came to talk to me. I explained how I ended up in that class and was repeatedly apologizing for my lack of coordination. But the truth was that no one cared about my inability to perform the moves.

    I was welcomed into their group and encouraged to come again. They assured me that it would become easier with practice.

    Long story short, I was the one doing all the judging and criticizing. Nobody else. I was feeling inadequate because I believed that making mistakes would make me look bad in front of people. As if I was only allowed to do things that I could do well.

    But hey! You only learn through practice, right? And before you become good at something, chances are that you will suck at first. Or were you born knowing how to ride a bicycle?

    Anyway, that experience changed my life. Even though, it was “traumatic” in some ways (I still blush when I think of it), I learned so much from it.

    Before, I thought that I needed to be perfect at everything that I did. I had this belief that making mistakes was shameful and that people would think that I wasn’t good enough. Consequently, I shied away from trying new things, just in case I, well, “sucked.”

    The truth was that this misbelief was holding me back big time. If I wasn’t allowed to make mistakes, that meant that I was stuck with whatever I’d learned when I was a child. But I haven’t learned everything I wanted just yet, have I?

    No. I wanted to learn more, to become better, to grow. I was curious about lots of things but at the same time afraid to fail. Can you relate?

    I was at a crossroad. Be perfect but still, or imperfect but moving. So I chose growth. I chose to see mistakes as part of the process of learning. I chose to live a life of discovery and excitement rather than perfection and dullness. 

    The experience at the group class showed me that I was my worst critic, not others. And if I could be kinder to myself, I would find much easier to navigate the world.

    When I stopped taking myself too seriously, I started enjoying life more. Taking more risks and getting bigger rewards.

    Because of these learnings, I had the courage to continue my fitness path and become a personal trainer. Even though I was never an athletic kid. And despite my lack of coordination. (Which got better, by the way. With practice.)

    To remind myself what is to be a beginner, I often take classes that push me way out of my comfort zone. I call them my “vulnerability” classes. I step into these classes with no expectations to perform. In fact, I give myself full permission to “suck.” To look lost, to feel goofy, to not understand the instructor’s cues.

    It’s my way of being comfortable with feeling uncomfortable. The more I challenge myself, the stronger I get. This works not only for the body but also for the mind.

    So go ahead. Give yourself permission to “suck” and jump into that Zumba class you’ve always wanted to try. There is nothing shameful in being a beginner. No matter how old you are.

  • How I Created Opportunities in a World Full of Obstacles

    How I Created Opportunities in a World Full of Obstacles

    “I really want to, but I can’t because [add semi-valid reason here].”

    That’s a template sentence to let yourself off the hook.

    It’s not copyrighted, so feel free to use it any time you want to let go of your dreams and not feel bad about it.

    Honestly, it hurts me every time I hear someone say it. I see it for what it is—an excuse.

    Every single one of us has ambitions, hopes, dreams, and goals. We fantasize about them on our commutes to work and before we sleep. We talk about how we will one day achieve them, but when it comes time to put them to action, we use that template sentence.

    I had every reason to use the template sentence. I live in a third-world country in the Middle East. We suffer from a lack of water, electricity, security, and opportunities—especially for girls.

    In the Western world, if you want to learn a new skill, you sign up for a training course, get a book, find articles online, or join a club. It’s different here. Here, we don’t have training courses, libraries, or clubs, and the internet is slower than a snail crawling through peanut butter.

    During my teen years, I felt stuck in my life. I wanted to learn so many things and achieve my wildest dreams, yet I couldn’t. How was I supposed to impact people when I would only leave the house to go to school on the weekdays and grocery shopping on the weekends?

    I read stories of kids my age winning science fairs and inventing devices to solve the world’s leading issues. Yet, there I was, wasting my time at home, waiting five minutes for a single webpage to load.

    I had always imagined what my life would be like, and this is not what I had pictured. Time was passing me by, and my talents and ambitions were going to waste.

    I wanted to have an impact, but I couldn’t because I didn’t have the opportunities to learn and gain experience and feedback. (Notice the template sentence.)

    This way of thinking was eating away at my soul. Day after day, I found myself sinking into a pit of misery. I would spend my days lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. There was nothing I could do to change my life, so why try?

    One day, I had had enough. I had been lying in bed for days. It had been years since anything amazing had happened to me. I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t accept the fact that this would be my life. There was an itch under my skin to make my life worth living.

    “Life is too short to waste it moping about the hand of cards life had served me,” I thought. I didn’t care what it would take. I would do whatever I could to get myself out of the hole I was in.

    I decided to use the resources I had to create the future I dreamed. “Bloom where you are planted” became my life motto. What I had access to at the time was the internet.

    In order to get out of the country I was in, I concluded that I’d need a scholarship. I set my mind on getting the Japanese Monbusho Scholarship. I found blogs, articles, and books online to become fluent in Japanese. I practiced day in and day out. I tried a plethora of different methods to learn new words and perfect my grammar. In a few months, I was able to hold a simple conversation in Japanese.

    I also realized that I would need money. I wasn’t allowed to go out and get a job. This was an obstacle I had trouble accepting. I tried to convince my parents to let me work, but they refused for my safety. My mother introduced me to the concept of passive income and showed me blogs that were making six figures every month!

    I set out to build a hedgehog care website. Every day, after school, I would research hedgehogs and write detailed articles about how to feed them, groom them, play with them, and anything else one would need to know. I went on like this for 3 years, studying Japanese and writing about hedgehogs.

    I’m sure you’re expecting a spirit-lifting ending where I travel to Japan and live off my flourishing website. That’s not how this story ends.

    I didn’t get the scholarship. The fact is, I didn’t even get the chance to apply. I ended up studying in my third-world country. I was crushed. I didn’t want to, but it was either study here or not study at all. Unwilling to accept the facts, I started an online university the next year. I now study at two universities simultaneously.

    As for the hedgehog website, it made me a total of $60 for the three years of work I put into it.

    I can stand here and tell you that I tried, but it didn’t work out. That’d be a lie. It did work out—just not the way I expected.

    I’m not in Japan, but I know how to speak Japanese and have met many interesting people along the way. I learned from them and gained experience just as I hoped I one day would. And instead of one major, I now have two, both of which I enjoy learning about.

    My hedgehog website didn’t succeed, but I created a new one that’s even better with the expertise I gained. I interact with my readers often, helping them find ways they can live their dreams. I love hearing their stories and learning how I helped them build better habits or make their goals a reality.

    I still live in the same country I did before. I still have to wait five minutes for a webpage to load. However, I know that even though the obstacles are always there—and always will be—they have nothing to do with happiness, fulfillment, success, peace, and satisfaction. Some people have it better than others, and some have it worse, but every single person, regardless of circumstance, can control their mindset.

    I didn’t let my obstacles stand in my way, and I created my own opportunities when I found none. In an instant, anyone can decide to embrace the cards they’ve been dealt and create their own unique way to shuffle, redistribute, alter, or mold them into a winning hand.

  • Why It No Longer Matters to Me If My Job Impresses People

    Why It No Longer Matters to Me If My Job Impresses People

    “Do not let the roles you play in life make you forget who you are.” ~Roy T. Bennett

    Wherever I go and meet new people, they ask me, “What do you do?”

    I love talking about what I do because I love what I do, but It’s not what I’ve always done, and it certainly isn’t all of who I am. It’s part of who I am, but there is so much more.

    When we’re young, we’re asked to decide on a career. You know, the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The problem is, does anyone in high school truly know what they want to do for the rest of their lives? I’d venture to say that many high school kids don’t even know who they really are yet.

    When I was growing up, I was a straight-A student, a star athlete, a perfectionist, and an overachiever. I learned at a young age that performing well was my ticket to feeling good about myself. My accomplishments garnered the praise and admiration of many and gave me what I needed to feel good.

    Validation.

    As a senior in high school, it was natural that I chose to go to college for aerospace engineering. I was interested in aviation, but more importantly, when I told other people what I had decided on, they nodded their heads in approval. A smart girl should choose a “smart career,” right?

    Validation and approval drove me forward.

    When I got out of college with a BS in aerospace engineering from the University of Minnesota, I went to work for The Boeing Company in Seattle, Washington. I didn’t love it. Part of it may have been homesickness, or the dreary Seattle weather, but a huge part of it was that the corporate cubicle life was not for me.

    I thought there was something wrong with me. After all, I had worked so hard to reach this point in my life. I should love it, right? Hadn’t I finally arrived?

    I struggled with it so much because on one hand, I dreaded going to work. On the other hand, when I told people what I did for a living, they leaned in and listened a little harder. Even my own father was proud to talk about my engineering career and the fact that I worked for one of the top aerospace companies in the world, but I’ve since moved to less impressive pursuits, he has never once asked me about those endeavors.

    My career looked awesome and interesting and impressive on paper, but I was quietly dying inside.

    My husband and I ended up moving all the way across the country to Savannah, Georgia, where I worked for another top aerospace company—Gulfstream Aerospace. I didn’t really feel any different about my position there, until I transferred into a group called Sales Engineering.

    In this area, I was able to interact and collaborate with sales and marketing to create the technical data they would use to pitch Gulfstream’s fleet to potential customers. I enjoyed the challenge, but I really enjoyed the collaboration with other people that weren’t buried in their computers all day. It was here that I first got a glimpse that I loved connecting with other people.

    When my first child was born, I left the aerospace industry. We had just moved cross-country again to Los Angeles, and it made more sense for me to be a full-time mom since I wasn’t the family breadwinner, and we didn’t absolutely need a second income. Plus, I wasn’t enamored with the whole engineering gig either, so in a sense, it was a way out.

    Quitting the career that I didn’t love was, on one hand, so freeing. But on the other hand, without that thick layer of validation that kept getting piled on every time someone asked me “What do you do for a living?”, I felt naked. I felt inferior. I felt like I was a failure who couldn’t hack it in the real world.

    My identity was wrapped up in my career that looked so good on paper but didn’t feel good in my soul.

    My ex-husband is an attorney, and we’d attend events with lots of other attorneys and highly educated people. At these events, I dreaded the question “So, Kortney, what do you do?”

    My response was always a little timid, almost apologetic.

    “I stay at home with our son.”

    There was typically a slow nod, with a bit of feigned interest, as if they weren’t really sure what more to say about the occupation stay-at-home mom.

    Because I also had a side-gig photography business, I’d quickly add, “and I’m also a photographer.”

    That tended to garner a bit more interest.

    “But I used to be an aerospace engineer,” I’d tack on, in a final effort to gain the nod of approval I so desperately sought.

    Bingo. Alarm bells sounded. The crowd cheered. People were reeled back into something more exciting.

    That good, old familiar friend, validation was back.

    I struggled for a long time to find my identity without all the “stuff” on the outside. It wasn’t until I got divorced and had to figure out how I would financially support myself after my spousal support ran out that I even scratched the surface of “Who am I, really?”

    Who am I without my career, the accomplishments, the external validation?

    All those years, I lived with one foot in the world of wanting to love myself for who I am rather than what I did and one foot in the world of doing more, doing better, doing it ALL.

    I lived in between the worlds of self-validation and external validation. 

    I knew I wanted the former, yet I craved the latter.

    In doing the work of figuring out who I really am, learning to love myself fully, and being able to validate myself without any help from the outside, I realized that I was asking myself the wrong questions all along.

    As a society, we ask the wrong questions.

    Instead of asking our kids, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, I think we should be asking them, “Who do you want to be?”

    I asked my eleven-year-old daughter this, and she looked at me in her quizzical mom-why-are-you-asking-me-such-a-weird-question way and said, “Umm, I just want to be me?”

    Yes!

    Shouldn’t we all just want to be who we are? 

    Instead of pursuing goals that are impressive because they bring us accolades and attention, what if we were to pursue our goals because they lit us up and we were truly passionate about them?

    What if we started asking our kids questions about what lights them up? How do they want to feel? What things do they like to do that make them feel that way?

    Even as adults, we can ask ourselves these questions.

    If you’re in a job that doesn’t feel right, you can ask yourself, “How do I want to feel?”

    What’s authentic to you? How do you want to show up in the world? What jobs or careers would allow you to show up that way?

    This is the work I did after my divorce. I’m in a completely different career now, and believe me, as much as I fought going back to a job in the engineering industry, I had to do a lot of work on my thinking about not having a “smart job” like being an engineer. The validation I craved and was so used to was like a drug.

    Through this work, I learned how I want to feel in my life and that guides everything.

    I discovered that I want to feel freedom, ease, joy, and meaning in my life. 

    Going to a cubicle every day didn’t allow me to create those feelings. I want to show up in the world authentically—I want to be able to be a human being who makes mistakes and can share myself with other people. Corporate life didn’t allow me to be that authentic person that I now so deeply love.

    Some of you reading this may have corporate jobs and love them. You may be able to create the feelings you want to feel and show up authentically with that type of career. That’s awesome!

    The goal is to be able to feel the way you want to feel. The goal is to be able to show up in the world in a way that is true to who you are. 

    Because how you show up to do the things you do in the world is what really matters.

  • Where Our Strength Comes from and What It Means to Be Strong

    Where Our Strength Comes from and What It Means to Be Strong

    “Strength doesn’t come from what you can do. It comes from overcoming the things you thought you couldn’t.” ~Rikki Rogers

    A friend recently asked me: Andi, where does your strength come from?

    It took me a while before I had a good enough answer for her. I sat contemplating the many roads I’ve traveled, through my own transformational journey and the inspirational journeys of all my clients who demonstrate incredible strength for me.

    I moved to a different country, alone, at eighteen years old and have changed careers, battled a complex pain diagnosis with my child, and lost loved ones. I am now living through a global pandemic, like all of us, and most recently, I am recovering from a traumatic, unexpected surgery. Life has many surprises for us, indeed.

    So where does strength really come from?

    I wish I knew the precise answer to this question so that I could share the secret sauce with you right now, and you could have full access to all the strength you’ll ever need to achieve whatever it is that you really want. (Even the deeply challenging stuff and the tremendously scary stuff. All of it.)

    I do know this:

    Strength is a personal measurement for a truly unique, subjective experience. It’s entirely up to you to decide what strong means for you.

    And I also know this…

    Strength comes from doing hard things. It comes from showing up despite the pain or fear and going through the struggle, the endurance, and then building on that, to keep going forward and upward.

    Strength comes from taking the time to notice and acknowledge what you have managed to do and accomplish until now. So much of the time we go through things without realizing what massive effort something took, and we minimize the entire experience because we only focus on the end result and not the process.

    Strength comes from paying close attention to the small but significant steps and wins and incremental gains along the way. Strength comes from tracking progress and celebrating it one tiny bit at a time.

    Strength comes from within—from moments of activating your highest faith and belief. Knowing why you do what you do, even when it’s not easy.

    Strength comes from aligning with your core values and living with integrity even when no one is watching, and you aren’t in the mood. When we connect to what truly matters to us, we are stronger. When we believe there is a bigger plan and are hopeful about an outcome, we feel stronger. Even if we don’t know why.

    Strength comes from without—by surrounding ourselves with people who lift us up and see our worth, even when we sometimes forget. It comes from choosing to envelop yourself with kindness, inspiration, motivation, and gratitude. It comes from selecting role models and learning from them. It comes from seeing ourselves through others’ eyes—especially those who see our greatness and light when all we see is our flaws, weaknesses, and shortcomings.

    Strength comes from grabbing lessons and blessings, often dressed up as awful mistakes and painful failures.

    Strength comes from collecting moments you are genuinely proud of and taking the time to truly recognize these events for what they are and what they enabled you to accomplish. Don’t overlook them. You get to use these strengths in countless ways and in other areas of your life as much as you want to.

    Strength comes from knowing yourself. As you begin to discover and unmask more of you, you get to make choices that honor more of you, and you get to live your purpose and be more of who you really are. When we know better, we do better.

    The strongest people I know have had insurmountable trials. They know what to say yes to and how to say no. They know how to be proud of themselves with humility and honesty. They know how to pick their circles wisely and accept help, compliments, and advice.

    The strongest people I know cry a lot and feel everything.

    The strongest people I know are the kindest.

    The strongest people I know have wells of inner resources that are invisible to the naked eye.

    The strongest people I know can say sorry and forgive others.

    The strongest people I know can forgive themselves.

    The strongest people I know fall down hard, and slowly, with every ounce of courage, bravery, and might, find a way to get back up again, battered, bruised, and aching.

    The strongest people I know have incredible hearts that expand wider with each hurdle.

    The strongest people I know have endured so much and yet still find their smile to light up the world for others.

    The strongest people I know teach me every single day how to try and be just a little bit stronger myself.

  • The Joy and Power of Realizing I Am More Than My Job

    The Joy and Power of Realizing I Am More Than My Job

    “Authenticity is a collection of choices that we have to make every day. It’s about the choice to show up and be real. The choice to be honest. The choice to let our true selves be seen.” ~Brené Brown

    “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

    “It’s so nice to meet you. What do you do?”

    These are the questions we are asked our entire life. When we’re children, everyone always asks about the future. They excitedly ask, “What will you do?” The subtext of this questions is:

    “How will you be productive in society? How will you contribute?”

    Being asked those questions all the time as children turned us into the adults that ask them. We are in the same cycle and do not seem to know to ask instead, “Who are you?”

    For a long time, my focus and self-identity was tied up in what I did. I would tell people, “I am a filmmaker.” When I was young, I knew I wanted to make films. I loved to tell stories. “I want to be a movie director!”

    When I grew up and actually got jobs in Hollywood, I realized that most people are not movie directors. Most people are not even filmmakers. They work in film. It takes many people to make one, but only a handful of people get any recognition or able to consider themselves filmmakers.

    “What do you do?” people would ask. I would struggle to figure out how to explain that I was a production assistant who worked on films. I was basically a glorified secretary, a personal assistant. But I was not a filmmaker.

    I worked on other filmmaker’s films. I personally had not made any art or films for over six years. I was so busy and tired of trying to work in the industry I wanted to work in that I forgot about myself.

    When I could no longer define myself as a filmmaker, I became disillusioned. If I wasn’t one, then what was I? People always got excited when I said I worked on movies. Their eyes would light up, and they would pester me with questions about the famous people I knew or inside secrets.

    They never wanted to know how much sleep I missed or how many friends and family events I sacrificed for the bragging rights of Hollywood. They didn’t want to know what excited me about life or who I was. They only wanted to know “what I did.”

    This discontentment grew. I became angrier and angrier at the film industry as a whole. I felt used. Worthless. The world was nothing but egos and money. I would never be them unless I sold myself and played their game.

    I wasn’t willing to play the game, find the back doors, penny pinch, or be downright cruel. I was beginning to see that the industry was soulless. The art and stories were being dictated by companies that wanted to earn as much as possible.

    The stories were not chosen for their value and need in the world, but by which would make the most money. They profited on these stories and off the handwork and sacrifices of the below-the-line workers that were seen as disposable.

    Celebrities made millions, and I made minimum wage, but I didn’t have the luxury of a free jet ride back home and an apartment for my girlfriend. I was reprimanded for refusing to work on a Saturday after only five hours off.

    Slowly, I began to question if this was who I was. If this “works in the film industry” was really. me. And I felt guilty! I felt like I was being ungrateful. I was working on big movies! How could I not be happy? I had “made it.”

    I could only go up from here. I could get to be the next Stephen Spielberg, the next Tarantino, the next Lucas? Then I worked for one of these types of famous guys. He was just a human. He wasn’t the god I held him up to be. He was flawed.

    Sure, he got the adrenaline rush of making art, but at my expense. I was lucky to have my name in the credits. I wasn’t part of the golden ones, the actors and producers who were the “real” movie.

    If I didn’t want to play the “Hollywood” game I could go independent. But I felt guilty that I called myself a filmmaker when I hadn’t made a film in years! I didn’t even have any desire to even come up with one.

    I had friends who were making films on the weekends. They dedicated every free second to it. All I did was sleep. Then drag myself for dinner or a date and pretend I had a social life before I had to be back at work. I felt guilty and afraid that if left the industry I would be seen as a failure.

    I was afraid that I would be seen as weak or people would think that I couldn’t hack it. The more angst I felt, the more I turned to my unhelpful habit of Googling advice.  There is nothing helpful about hours of reddit and self-help blogs. They are all contradictory.

    This Googling, however, led to some articles with actual facts. This is when I started to read about Americans’ tendency to identify with our jobs. Our self-worth and identity are wrapped up in what we do.

    We say things like, “I am a lawyer.” “I am a physicist.” “I am a teacher.” We don’t say, “I practice law.” “I study physics. “I teach.” We put the emphasis on the job and not the I.

    I started the long, tedious process of separating myself, the me, from the filmmaker and the woman who worked in film. I realized that I was uncomfortable calling myself a filmmaker because I wasn’t one.

    I struggled to define my title to other because I didn’t really believe that it was who I was. I am a woman who enjoys movies and stories. More importantly, I am energized by stories.

    Filmmaking was just a job. The intense zealotry aspect of the film industry had always sat wrong with me. Now I know why. I am not a job. I am more than the work I do.

    Through this process I came to slowly accept that I wasn’t happy with the work I was doing. There was a disconnect between it and the way I saw myself in life. I needed to walk away for a bit and allow myself to heal from the harm I and the toxic industry had infected upon my soul.

    It is not just the film industry that is toxic. American work culture is. We have created an environment where work has to be our passion. Confucius said, “Choose a job you love, and you’ll never have to work a day in your life.” I disagree. Work is work.

    You might enjoy it, but as long as you are giving your time for money you are participating in a business transaction, and it is work. Just accept it as work and accept that you can be a whole person outside of your job. Your job is only a small sliver of the much larger person.

    Our work culture throws around the phrase “We are like a family.” It is encouraged and suggested that your team members and colleagues are family. They aren’t.

    You can get along with them, be friends with them, but by labeling them as family there is a pressure to feel loyal and not let them down. Our alliances are manipulated to be given first and foremost to work. Any time spend doing something for yourself or your actual family is seen as selfish.

    A year after my last film job I still struggle to see myself outside these identities. I am now enrolled in grad school and I want to label myself as a student. But I am not. I am Dia. I study mythology.

    Sometimes I am a storyteller, but that title does not and cannot encompass the whole and vastness that I am as a person.

    Identifying ourselves by our work is like trying to fill a mug with the ocean. At some point the ocean will overpower the mug, and we will be left wet and feeling bad about ourselves.

    The next time you are at a party, after the pandemic, and you meet someone new, maybe don’t ask, “What do you do?” Instead ask, “Who are you?” Create the space to meet the real, whole person; the person who is vast, deep, and full of wonder for the world.

  • How Failure Holds the Key to a Meaningful, Successful Life

    How Failure Holds the Key to a Meaningful, Successful Life

    “Perfectionism doesn’t believe in practice shots.” ~Julia Cameron

    Within each of us lurks a perfectionist. And perfectionists set themselves up for a lot of pain in life.

    How so? I’ll come to that.

    First let me describe how our first child took her first step. She was less than ten months old. A very bright girl, who wanted nothing less than my approval at all times.

    On one occasion, a few months previous to that, she was crawling on the carpet and picked up some small thing. As she started to put it in her mouth, I called out loudly “No!”

    That was the first time she experienced any negative or critical words from me. Otherwise, I had been steadily adoring. What was her response?

    She fell flat on the floor and remained perfectly still. It was as if she had been laid flat by a sledgehammer blow.

    That’s how much she had come to rely on my approval.

    So, what happened when one day she could finally stand up? I decided, as a very proud parent, to teach her how to walk right away.

    Now, walking is easy for someone who’s already confident with standing up. It’s more challenging for someone who’s just learned how to stay on their feet unsupported. I was too young and foolish and overeager to think through all that.

    In my excitement, I stood by her and urged, “You can walk. Just do this. Look at me. Just lift a foot like this and put it forward.”

    In retrospect, I was too hasty and cruel. I’ve grown to recognize that everything happens in its own good time.

    Anyhow, I was young and foolish then. So, allow me to tell you the rest of the story.

    Our baby looked very doubtful. I demonstrated a step once again. She remained hesitant.

    After some more cajoling from me, she decided to do something.

    She took the oddest first step you can imagine.

    Did she lift one foot as I kept urging? No.

    She simply hopped forward, keeping both feet on the ground. Like a baby kangaroo. That was only minutes after she had first stood up without support.

    Of course, not long after that she was walking very confidently, and then running, and has gone on to do amazing things with her life.

    Imagine if we were all so afraid of failure that we always kept both feet on the ground for safety. How much would that interfere with a full and meaningful life? How would that affect our ability to do whatever we considered to be good and important?

    We can see this quite clearly in babies. In order to be able to lift their head, they need to accept that they’ll sometimes flop.

    In order to learn how to crawl, they need to accept that they’ll sometimes fall flat on their face.

    In order to learn how to stand, they need to accept that they’ll sometimes fall in a heap.

    In order to learn how to walk, they need to accept that they’ll sometimes tumble.

    In order to learn how to cycle, they need to accept that they’ll sometimes fall off and get bruised.

    In order to learn how to swim, they need to accept that they’ll sometimes need rescuing.

    In order to learn how to read and write, they need to accept that they’ll get many things hilariously wrong.

    In order to learn to love wholeheartedly, they need to accept that some people will betray their trust.

    Whenever they want to do something that’s good and important in their lives, they need to accept the possibility of failure.

    It’s easy to acknowledge such facts, but it’s more difficult to live by them.

    Why is it that we often struggle with failure? Why do we so often consider it as a full stop rather than a necessary comma in our life story? Why does it seem more like a trap than a springboard?

    It may have something to do with our need for approval.

    Our daughter didn’t want to hear the word “No!” from her beloved parent. It crushed her the first time she encountered it from me.

    Only after I picked her up and comforted her did she loosen up and smile again. She was learning that she could get things wrong and still remain completely lovable to me.

    People can be good to us. They can build us up. They can teach us that it’s okay to fall and fail, because we’ll still be completely lovable.

    However, we’re all human beings. We don’t always do what we set out to do. We don’t stick to doing what we know to be good and important.

    As a result, we often wound others and are too often wounded by them.

    That tends to suck us into the rat race. Not content with being intrinsically and unshakably lovable, we tend to look for reassurance. And too often we seek it by trying to be one up on others.

    We sometimes pounce on the mistakes or flaws of others because it allows us to feel superior despite our own mistakes or shortcomings. We sometimes become overly reliant on praise because we’re terrified that criticism confirms how worthless we are under the surface. 

    All this tends to make life a bit like walking on thin ice. Even when it looks as if we’re winning, we’re on edge because we fear that the ice might give way at any moment. I know, because I’ve struggled with these things myself.

    Imagine a different way of living. A calm and courageous way of reaching for whatever we consider to be good and important in our lives, with full acceptance of whatever failures come our way.

    Paradoxically, the perfectionist is more likely to fail because they’re too afraid to bring out the best in themselves. They’re so hungry for approval, and so afraid of failure, that they often don’t do what they know to be good and important.

    They keep the safety wheels on their bicycles even though it slows them down. That’s because they’re convinced that failure will confirm their worthlessness.

    Imagine a different way. Imagine having a deep, unshakable anchor within yourself. An anchor of self-acceptance. No storms in life can then blow you out of the safe harbor of being intrinsically lovable.

    The baby who’s uncertain of being lovable might be too afraid to attempt anything worthwhile. It’s the same with us adults.

    Our perfectionism goes hand in hand with fear of failure. It’s like a prison. However, we have the key, or we can find it.

    This may be the most important lesson life has taught me, and I’m going to share it.

    You can get the key to calm, courageous living by letting others know that they are unshakably lovable despite their failures and mistakes and flaws.

    When you give this gift to others, you begin to believe it yourself. Not as a sterile principle. But as a reality that you feel deep in your being.

    Once you have this key, perfectionism loses its stranglehold over you. You recognize that you are intrinsically worthy and lovable, just like every other human being.

    Life becomes really good and inviting, failure can no longer terrorize, and you get more good and important things done.

    Once you’re prepared to fall flat on your face, life starts to sparkle.

  • Why I Won’t Let the Fear of Failure Hold Me Back

    Why I Won’t Let the Fear of Failure Hold Me Back

    “Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.” ~Winston Churchill

    I am scared of sharks. Often when I’m floating in the ocean on my surfboard, amazed at the vastness before me and my relative smallness in the world, my mind drifts toward what may be lurking below.

    I know that I am more likely to get injured during the car ride to the beach or get struck by lightning when I get there than be attacked by a shark. I also know that, according to the US Consumer Product Safety Commission and the International Shark Attack File, there are more injuries every year from unfortunate encounters with buckets and toilets than sharks (no lie).

    Although at times, I can feel the fear run through my entire body, I have never let that fear drive me from the water. Logically, I know it’s an unfounded fear caused by dark tales, media sensationalism, and the movie Jaws (thanks a lot, Mr. Spielberg). If only it were that easy to talk myself down from my worst fear: failure.

    Sharks I can handle. Failure? Well, that’s something entirely different.

    Fear of failure keeps me up at night and causes anxiety that can lead to chronic pain and depression. I once had a “lump” in my throat for a year. I went to the doctor convinced that I had some sort of mass growing, but no. It turns out it was an anxiety symptom (and a rather common one at that) brought on by my attempts to grow my abstract painting and essay writing business.

    That doctor’s visit was a huge wake up call for me. I mean, working on my art was supposed to be liberating and elating. Instead, I found myself bound up internally, unable to maneuver freely through this new life that I was creating for myself. I was jumpy, irritable, and terrified.

    At first, it was hard for me to identify where all this fear was coming from. I spent months writing about my anxiety and little by little, came to the conclusion that failure is my monster hiding under my bed.

    Self-Induced Pressure is My Worst Enemy

    I put a lot of pressure on myself to be a good mom, a caring and supportive wife, to contribute financially to our household, to be a “success.” I have always felt that I don’t do enough.

    Even though I would wake up early to paint or write, go to my day job, pick up my daughter from school afterward and take her to her extracurricular activities, go home and bake cookies for little league bake sales, cook a nutritious dinner for my family, read to my kiddo before bed time and spend time with my husband after she’s all tucked in… I never felt that I was doing enough.

    When I began focusing on my business full-time, I would get up to write and submit articles and press releases to various media outlets. I would paint daily and document the process for my social media feeds. I applied and was accepted to various art shows. I took online marketing and PR courses. I maintained a blog, built a website, created an art pop up shop, and developed various revenue streams.

    Guess what happened? Not much financially, but I totally exhausted myself, felt like I was getting nowhere, and wondered why I fail at everything I do.

    I realized that the anxiety that I have felt the majority of my life had nothing to do with my circumstances. I’ve struggled with anxiety because I’ve always chased “success” without defining specific goals, and without specified goals, there was no way to measure successes. No matter what I did, it was never good enough.

    I would make a beautiful meal and apologize if it was overcooked just a little. I would sell a painting but be irritated that I didn’t sell three. I would attempt a new painting technique and would determine that it was no good because 200 people didn’t like the photo on social media.

    It became clear to me that no matter what I did, I was going to struggle with this fear of failure, so I knew I had some redefining to do.

    There was absolutely no reason to pursue my art and writing if it was going to turn me into even a larger stress case than I already was. Working for other people was stressful enough, but at least it came with a steady paycheck. So, I made a decision: I had to let go of this incessant thought that nothing I do is ever good enough.

    Learning to Have Faith That I Am Doing the Right Thing

    In the past I’ve questioned whether I’m doing the right things, and this has only fueled my anxiety and fear of failure—because failing would just prove that I should have been doing something else.

    Now, I choose to believe that I am doing what I what I was put on earth to do. That I was given the gift of art and creativity, and it would be irresponsible for me to not pursue it.

    For one thing, I wouldn’t be happy, and I believe that being happy is our first priority as humans. Without happiness, I would likely live a frustrated, unfulfilled life, and that would have a negative effect not only on me but also on the people around me.

    I may not meet my own high standards through my current path, but I must have faith that by paying attention to my gifts and attempting to learn more about them every day, I am always making progress.

    If I am consistently working on the very thing that I was created to do, then there is no failure. In fact, the only way I can fail is to ignore my gift. In becoming an adventurer and diving deeper into myself and my creative life, I have already succeeded. Really, the only way I can fail is if I abandon my creativity.

    Failure Is Part of the Path to Success

    It’s tempting to avoid any decision that might result in failure. But the only way to ascertain what works is to try different things. That means facing uncertainty and risking that things might pay off and they might not.

    You know the saying “When in doubt, don’t”? This may be applicable when thinking about paddling out into fifteen-foot waves or buying a $300 pair of boots, but not in implementing a new marketing tactic or trying a new painting technique. I might fail when I try new things, but if I don’t take chances, I’ll definitely never succeed.

    “Failure” Is Just Another Word for “Learning”

    Earlier, I mentioned that I had created a pop up shop on my website. I thought that if I repurposed my art for throw pillows, tote bags, and canvas prints I would create a brand-new revenue stream, at affordable prices, therefore making my art accessible to more people. Sounds like a good idea, right?

    Well, not only did it not make money, it took valuable time away from my painting and writing, and I learned that creating new manufactured goods is not in alignment with my vision of bringing awareness to ocean cleanups and coastal environmental health.

    At first I was completely bummed. My new idea had failed. But did it really? By creating the shop, I actually learned a lot.

    For one, I learned that my love for the ocean and my care for the environment trump my desire to manufacture products. That’s huge! Sure, I felt embarrassed for all of the live videos that I had posted trying to sell my goods. But whatever! I learned an important lesson about what I don’t want to do with my art.

    I have realized that by even attempting to make a living from my art, I am taking a chance. I may have to get another day job in the future, but I also just may rent out the house and use that income to get in the surf van and take my “artventure” on the road. There are no right or wrong decisions here except the one where I’m constantly beating myself up. I’m getting off that crazy train right here, right now.

    We all have moments where we are paralyzed by the possibility of failure. But by choosing to look at failure as just another way to see deeper into ourselves, we can diffuse that fear.

    My fear of failure will always have one hand on my shoulder, trying to pull me back from the cliff’s edge, telling me that there is no possible way I can leap that far. But the truth is, unless the cliff in front of you is a literal cliff with a fifty-foot drop, falling might not be the worst thing in the world. In fact, the only way to truly fail sometimes is to not take the leap at all.

    I don’t let the unreasonable fear of that great white shark encounter keep me out the water, so why should I let failure keep me from doing what I love to do?

    From this point on, I choose to thank my fear of failure for looking out for me in the past and trying to protect me from the sharks. However, it’s time for me to dive into the unknown with awareness that there will be some stumbling and most likely some falling. But in this infinite journey of art and growth, failure is just a scary shadow lurking beneath me that might turn out to be nothing at all.

    Lighting, buckets, and toilets? Well, that’s another story…

  • It’s Okay to ‘Fail’ on Your Way to Finding What You Want to Do

    It’s Okay to ‘Fail’ on Your Way to Finding What You Want to Do

    “Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” ~George Bernard Shaw

    I would say it’s a safe assumption that most people aren’t quite sure what they’re doing.

    What do I mean? I mean that most individuals—whether they look polished and presentable or haphazardly have their life thrown together—are generally playing a game called “life.” And they’re trying the best they can.

    In other words, we’re all capable and have all experienced the highs and lows of what life has to offer. Unfortunately, that’s just part of the human experience. To try to ride the highs while avoiding the lows is counterproductive and, quite frankly, impossible.

    But it’s also easy to feel like you’re falling down a dark rabbit hole when times are tougher. And one of those feelings revolves around our desire to make an impact on this world, finding what really drives us.

    Great! Now, where to start?

    And that’s the problem. Most of us, including myself, have fallen victim to not knowing what to do with our lives, both professionally and even personally.

    And I offer you this: that is perfectly okay. And it is perfectly okay to fail on your way to finding out what to do with your life.

    Failing Whether You Want To or Not

    Life isn’t about an end goal or a destination. Life is about enjoying the ride and trying different things. Things you will succeed at and things you won’t succeed at.

    I personally have failed at many things in my life in its two most common forms: action and inaction.

    One of my biggest “failures” of inaction was sticking with a career that I didn’t enjoy on any level for far too long. It got so bad, I would begin to dread Saturdays because I knew the next day was Sunday, which meant the day before the workweek began. And when that week started, I counted the days down until the weekend.

    And the cycle would repeat. Yet I kept this uncomfortable routine for years, lying to myself and saying that it was okay because I had a stable job, a good income, and it could be worse.

    I was too scared to take a step or make a move. And years flew by before I realized it was time to take one.

    I also didn’t move when I had the opportunity to. I didn’t take a trip because it might have required a bit more financing than I thought. I didn’t volunteer because life got busy and I shelved the idea.

    The lack of moving forward, or taking a step, results in a failed effort to grow as a person. We begin to regret that we didn’t do X, Y, or Z. And unfortunately, living with regret is the fastest way to bury yourself into a hole.

    But failure can also occur as you go about sticking your neck out and trying different things.

    And unfortunately, this is the one that scares most people. Why? Because there is nothing worse than actually taking a leap of faith, only to have it blow up in our face. We may learn valuable life lessons from it, yet it doesn’t exactly help our arch-nemesis, the ego.

    But as Wayne Gretzky once said: “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

    So if the last relationship you got into didn’t work out, it’ll be okay. If the job you switched to didn’t turn out in your favor, not a problem. And if telling someone your true feelings got you on the wrong side of the equation, so be it.

    Now you know. And you never would have known if you didn’t take that step. Rest easy knowing that you made the effort.

    Life and Newton’s First Law of Motion

    I remember at very specific points telling myself that sooner than later I’d figure out what I wanted to do with my life, but I needed to keep my job in the meantime.

    Life doesn’t work like that.

    I used to think that a lightning bolt from Zeus himself would come down and strike me, in the form of some epiphany wrapped in a layer of motivation. This “lightning bolt,” some kind of chance meeting with someone or witnessing something, would basically give me all the info I needed to pursue the things in life that were meant for me.

    I was convinced it was that simple.

    As you can imagine, that lightning bolt never hit, and I felt stuck. And it was equally hard to imagine a different life besides the one I was living: going to work, watching TV, and going out on the weekends with friends.

    This life I was living had done me fairly well up to this point, but I knew something was missing. What that piece (or pieces) were, I didn’t know. But all of us, at some point, feel that sort of “empty” void when we know something is absent.

    After awhile, I began to take steps to try different things that struck my fancy. Things like writing, taking an art class, volunteering, reading, researching different industries and careers, and many more. If it stuck out to me, I was willing to give it a shot.

    And here you have executed on Newton’s First Law of Motion: An object either remains at rest or continues to move at a constant velocity, unless acted upon by an external force.  

    In simpler terms, an object in motion tends to stay in motion, and an object at rest tends to stay at rest.

    Looking back, all of the small things I tried were baby steps, but very important ones. It was these tiny little movements, so to speak, that enabled me to start moving in a direction that gave me greater joy and led to more fulfillment.

    I started writing for a local magazine, free of charge, in an effort to practice my writing. I made it a point to read at least one book every two weeks, and ended with over thirty-four by year-end. I went back to school and completely changed careers.

    And, as you can imagine, life got much better. But it didn’t go completely smoothly. I had some wrong turns in there, including taking a bad job and entering a bad relationship.

    I did all these things in an effort to find my true calling, the one or two things that completely light me up and I would do for free without hesitation. Have I found it yet? I can’t say I have.

    And yet somehow, I’m a little more at ease knowing that while I may not know what I want to do with my life, I’m trying things that will help me eventually find it.

    I can also tell you that I’ve failed multiple times through taking action and I’ve failed multiple times by doing nothing.

    It’s through these failures, though, that I’ve learned to hone in on the things that worked. And through honing in on the things that worked, I’ve been able to focus my attention in areas that interest me and have given me the greatest return.

    You Have An Amazing Ride If You Want It

    If I were to tell you with 110% certainty and conviction that life has an amazing ride in store for you if you were to take baby steps toward finding yourself, would you do it? If I were to then tell you that no matter what steps you take, you will ultimately fail at some point, would you still do it?

    It should give you comfort to know that the steps you take won’t be perfect by any means. And knowing they’re not perfect should take the pressure off on trying to create immaculate scenarios every single time.

    I know one thing: I’m much closer to finding my life’s purpose than I was before. And it’s because I’ve taken steps to try different things and see what sticks and what doesn’t.

    Ultimately, there are many steps in life ahead of you that will be the right choice, and a few that will be the wrong choice. But either way, you’re winning by taking action.

  • Why Failed Relationships Aren’t Actually Failures: 5 Lessons on Love That Doesn’t Last

    Why Failed Relationships Aren’t Actually Failures: 5 Lessons on Love That Doesn’t Last

    “Tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” ~Lord Alfred Tennyson

    I’ve always loved relationships—the euphoria of early romance, the comfort of built intimacy, and the experience of adventuring through life with someone else. While there are some pretty snazzy parts of being single, I was a sucker for love from a young age.

    Now, I also didn’t meet my fiancé until I was thirty—which means I’ve seen my share of the romantic downside as well. With the highs of love come the lows of romantic breakdown: heartache, loss, and the grief of things not working out. Regardless of how they happen, breakups aren’t easy, and it’s common to think of a relationship’s ending as a failure.

    But is it?

    The dictionary defines failure as “the nonperformance of success or expectation.” If the point of a relationship is to be together until death do us part (or until we ride off into the sunset and the credits roll) then yes, a breakup is not exactly a success.

    But what if that’s not the point? Maybe we can still strive for a love that lasts while reframing our ideas of the loves that didn’t.

    The following is a compilation of lessons I’ve learned from my own “failed” relationships, a mixtape of why “failed” love isn’t actually a failure at all.

    While our definition of that word may vary, I encourage you to read on with an open mind. There just might be more success in your own past than you previously thought.

    1. Relationships teach us about ourselves.

    Whenever one of my previous relationships was coming to an end, it usually began with the finding of incompatibilities—disagreements as small as where to eat or as large as whether or not to have kids.

    The inconsistencies in beliefs often showed me more about myself than they did the other person. I had to date an atheist to find out how much I really wanted to believe in God. I had to date someone who liked to stay home to realize how much I liked being social. While finding these incompatibilities was anything but fun, in retrospect I see they were a map to finding myself.

    2. Relationships show us where we can grow.

    There’s a saying that I’ve always liked: “Relationships pour miracle grow on our character defects.” When I was in a relationship that pushed my buttons, I realized which buttons were there to be pushed: things about myself I wouldn’t have noticed until another person made them glaringly apparent.

    For example, dating someone with a lot of female friends showed me that I was pretty insecure; while at first his social circle seemed to be the problem (how dare he hang out with other women, right?), over time I realized that it was my own self-esteem that needed attention. Although this “button pusher” relationship didn’t stick, it showed me where my work was.

    Through examining my buttons (rather than the button pusher), I was better equipped to do the self-work that would allow me to show up more fully for every future relationship, romantic or not.

    3. Relationships allow us to practice vulnerability.

    It’s pretty scary to open our hearts up to another person. After all, none of us really know what the future holds, right? Those of us who have experienced our fair share of heartache have even more reason to be cautious: We know what it’s like to lay our hearts out on the line and give someone the option of smashing them to smithereens. (While it’s helpful to avoid this heart-smashing type of relationship, it happens to the best of us, and the possibility is always there.)

    Yet, being vulnerable in the face of potential loss is truly the bread and butter of life. Sure, we could play our cards close to our vest and lessen the likelihood of possible harm—but in turn, we also lessen the likelihood of truly being known.

    Regardless of how a relationship has ended, when I’ve allowed myself to fully open my heart to another person, I am reminded that it was not a waste at all; it was a brick in the road of living my fullest life.

    4. No love is ever wasted.

    When in the throes of a relationship, we often have our heart set on not just our partner but on our future with that partner. This is often the hardest thing about a relationship ending: you don’t just lose what you’ve shared, but the imagined future that you’d included the other in.

    When that future vanishes, it’s common to look back on the shared past with regret. But what if expressing love, kindness, and shared intimacy is an end in and of itself?

    As humans, we love to keep our eyes on the outcome and the finish line but forget that it’s the journey to that mountaintop that shapes us. As the quote above reads, “Tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.”

    Whether the act of love is in the present or the past, it existed all the same—and if we allow it to do so, it can remind us of the most beautiful side of the human condition.

    5. Our past loves played an important role in our lives.

    Each person that journeys beside us on the road of life not only shapes who we will become but also how we feel as we get there.

    My first love and I moved across the state to pursue our individual dreams. While our relationship didn’t last, we were a safe haven for the other in an unfamiliar and daunting time.

    On the flip side, those unhealthy relationships that, on the surface, appear all wrong can help us more wisely choose a partner in the future.

    While it would be great to learn lessons from other people’s experiences, most of us have to find out what we want by trial and error—from dating a few (or a bunch) of the wrong people before we can identify the right one. Even the most painful relationships in my past helped me learn who I wanted to be with (as well as who I wanted to be) in the future.

    —

    Some endings are inevitable. Being able to see the positives in our past doesn’t mean those relationships have any business in our present. It does, however, mean that instead of looking at what we lost when something ended, we can remember what we gained as well: perspective, strength, and experience.

    If failure is the nonperformance of success, then let’s demand to expect only growth from ourselves and define success as the amount of love that we gave. Because love is never lost…

    It simply changes shape.

  • Take a Chance: Don’t Let Your Inner Saboteur Hold You Back

    Take a Chance: Don’t Let Your Inner Saboteur Hold You Back

    “’It’s impossible,’ said pride. ‘It’s risky,’ said experience. ‘It’s pointless,’ said reason. ‘Give it a try,’ whispered the heart.” ~Unknown

    On my first day back in college, I sat on a bench outside a classroom and wrote in a tiny notebook. Glancing around at the young students lining up, my sunglasses slid down my nose as I hurriedly scribbled the thoughts buzzing around in my head.

    “I’m afraid of being unprepared. I’m afraid of not being smart enough. I’m afraid of being left behind in the coursework. I’m afraid of giving up like I did last time.”

    As evidenced in that journal entry, I was pretty terrified to be back in school.

    I felt too old, too far behind, too unsure of why I was even trying in the first place. Wasn’t it too late to “catch up” anyway? Weren’t all of my friends already done with their bachelors, done even with their graduate degrees, forging careers and buying houses and doing those things that we all say we’ll do when we grow up? Hadn’t I made my bed when I gave up college the first time?

    Really I just knew that it was too late to catch up to the one person I’d been chasing my whole life.

    She was magnificent, really. This person had gone to college when she was “supposed” to, had since forged a meaningful career path, hadn’t wasted years in bad relationships and bad behaviors. She’d chased her dreams and flossed her teeth, run marathons and won awards, had tons of friends and confidence and was now living wealthy and successful and madly in love…

    …all cozied up inside my head.

    That person was the woman I “wished” I was, and she was making my life a living hell. My constant comparison to the ghost life that I should have led would stop me in my tracks as I began to take steps toward goals: You’ll never be who you could have been, so why even try?

    It’s for this reason that my return to school was a surrender of sorts.

    A surrender to my inner perfectionist, the one who told me that if I didn’t do it “perfectly” or at the time other people had done it (whatever “it” was), then I shouldn’t do it at all.

    The perfectionist who told me it was too late, that I would fail, that trying to be successful (like really trying) was the surest way to feel badly in the near future. My inner shame cranker, my saboteur, the voice that was easiest to hear throughout all the static of daily life.

    Signing up for my first college class was waving the white flag at her door. It was saying, “Yes, I am imperfect, things didn’t go the way that I planned, but I may as well try.”

    So I showed up for one class and then two, glancing sideways at my classmates that were often far younger and seemingly more prepared.

    The first few weeks I felt like an awkward dinosaur, struggling to keep up and too nervous to raise my hand in class. As time went on, though, I began to get braver, approaching teachers with questions and relaxing around my classmates.

    When I opened my eyes a little wider I was forced to realize that I wasn’t actually all that different from the other people taking classes. Sure, most were younger, but some were older; some were strikingly intelligent but others were asking me for help. As I kept showing up and diligently doing the assigned work, I found that I actually felt pretty good.

    I liked seeing A’s on my papers, but what I liked even more was the feeling growing inside of me. Each week that I showed up for class was another week that I hadn’t given up; each time I raised my hand was another time I didn’t listen to the voice that told me my question was stupid.

    The weeks flew by and before I knew it, that first semester had passed. I felt like I’d completed my own marathon, the one I was running with myself, and decided to push the finish line a little further away. One more semester became two, then three, and soon I was preparing to transfer to a university.

    My “I-can-do-it” train had gathered steam, and although I would sometimes falter with the difficulty of the courses, the train never totally stopped. My small victories had accumulated for long enough that I began to trust myself: to learn, to grow, to continue.

    It took me longer than four years, but this past June I did in fact graduate.

    As I sat in a stadium surrounded by hundreds of bobbing graduation caps, I took a moment to remember that girl who had sat on a bench outside her first college class. The one who had written about how scared she was, how sure of failing, how inadequate she knew herself to be. I realized that she was the same person sitting in a cap and gown, smiling with excitement and preparing to cross a stage and be handed a diploma.

    The only difference was time spent proving the fearful voice wrong.

    Sure, I’ll never compare to the perfectionist inside of me. She’s definitely still there and she still crops up sometimes, trying to convince me not to take that chance or venture out onto another limb; whispering in my ear that I’m not doing it right and I’m sure to embarrass myself anyway.

    You know what I’ve figured out, though? I don’t have to listen to her. None of us do. (My inner perfectionist gets around. I told you she’s popular, so I’m assuming she’s in your head too.)

    The voices inside all of us no doubt serve a purpose, but sometimes that purpose is just to keep us safe.

    “Don’t take that chance; you could fail” protects our ego from the pain of disappointment. “Don’t expect much from yourself; you aren’t capable” means that we don’t have to get our hopes up. The flip side of that, though, is pushing through those thoughts and doing things anyway.

    Taking that class. Going on that trip around the world. Applying for that job or writing that book or telling someone about an idea you have.

    Not listening to the negative voices in our head begins with first realizing that they’re in there; they’ve often been playing on repeat for so long that they blend in with the soundtrack of our mind. They feel like us, but they’re not: they’re no more us than that ghost life is—the one that we wish we had led, the one that never existed in the first place.

    If there’s one thing that my return to college taught me, it’s that the surest way to drown out the doubt in my head is to put one foot in front of the other and prove it wrong. Thank that doubtful naysayer for her opinion, suggest she get back to being perfect, and go forth with whatever it is that will make this actual life even a little better.

    I’d say it’s time we all did that; bid those lame perfectionists farewell and live the imperfect and real lives that we were actually meant to live anyway.

  • Try and Fail, but Don’t Fail to Try

    Try and Fail, but Don’t Fail to Try

    Try and fail

  • What You Need to Know When You’re Considering a Big, Scary Change

    What You Need to Know When You’re Considering a Big, Scary Change

    “May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.” ~Nelson Mandela

    Ten months ago I found myself floating on my back in an outdoor pool somewhere in California. Overhead was a clear blue sky, leaves dancing in the breeze, and birds singing their morning song.

    I felt more alive in that moment than I had in years. And so I made a promise to myself, right there and then, not to forget this feeling. I made a promise that I’d follow it. I made a promise that this feeling wouldn’t just be a three-month trip to a new country, but that I’d make it my entire life.

    And that’s how I came to be selling the flat I’ve lived in in London, the UK’s capital, for the last eight years.

    That’s how I came to be standing on the edge of something entirely new and uncertain and unknown.

    That’s how I came to be on the verge of yet another adventure. By noticing something that made me feel alive and promising myself I’d do whatever it took to bring more of that feeling into my life, until that feeling was my life.

    So here I am, sitting at my kitchen table, tapping out these words surrounded by the beginnings of packed up boxes, bags for the local charity shops, and the promise of a new life. The promise of a life made up of “that” feeling.

    For me, “that” feeling is about nature, wide-open spaces and a large majority of my time spent outdoors.

    And I’m excited, I am. There’s real excitement there. But layered up over that excitement?

    Fear.

    Here’s why:

    Travel’s so exciting, right? It’s adventure and freedom and play and sun and ocean. It’s the romantic idea of exploring new places, meeting new people, and tasting new cultures.

    Except, I don’t want to travel. I have no desire to travel the world. No desire to move from place to place. No desire to live out of a suitcase or a backpack. No desire to jump on the Bali bandwagon.

    I want a home. A community. A base. I want to be around friends. I want some continuity. And I want a partner to share my life with.

    And I have all of that. Right here in London I have it all. (Except the partner, that is.)

    But what I also have is an environment that’s suffocating me. I feel hemmed in, limited, detached from my true nature. And I know it’s time to leave.

    But leave for what? For where? I’m packing up my life and I don’t even know!

    I’m afraid I’ll never find another place that feels like home. Afraid I’ll become a lonely drifter, never quite finding the place I fit in.

    I’m afraid I’ll never meet my life partner because I’m unable to settle anywhere.

    I’m afraid I’ll wake up one morning and find myself old and alone. I can’t tell you how afraid I am of being alone.

    But you know what I know, amongst all that fear?

    That without this next step I cannot pass Go, cannot collect $200, and cannot create the most beautiful vision I hold for my life.

    The reason I wanted to share this story with you is this:

    The beauty of your life is that you get to create it in any way you want. You can create the sort of life that feels truly fulfilling and deeply aligned in every way, but life will always require you to let go of something before the next thing is in sight.

    If you find yourself stepping out onto that cliff edge right now, or making a decision to take that step, not knowing what the outcome will be or where you’ll end up, these are things I hope will help:

    Sometimes you have to close a door before another will open.

    I remember back in 2012 when I left my job to “figure out what I wanted to do with my life,” there was some confusion amongst the people I knew at how I could leave a well-paid, respectable job behind without any real idea of what I wanted to do next.

    I didn’t have an answer for them.

    The only thing I knew at the time was, “this isn’t it.”

    Stepping into that uncertainty paid off. I wound up starting my own business, which I’m grateful for each and every day. And I know, without a shred of doubt, I wouldn’t be here today, doing work I love on my own terms, if I hadn’t made that leap.

    And as much as I’m afraid right now, I know this is the same.

    Sometimes there are ways to build a bridge between the life you have now and the life you want in the future. But even when that’s possible, at some point, you’re always going to have to make a final leap. And it’s that leap and the final letting go of what was, that opens the way for what will be.

    To be reborn, you first have to die. To rise from the ashes, you first have to burn.

    Closing doors is scary, yes. But I comfort myself with the knowledge that there are few doors in life that can’t be re-opened in some way, shape, or form. And the likelihood is you’ll never actually want to do that when you see all the new ones that open to you.

    Other people’s fear is just that, theirs. Don’t take it with you.

    To many people, selling property in London is equivalent to murdering your own child. It’s just not something any sane person does. Alongside my own natural worries and fears about my decision, I’ve had to cope with other people’s fear too.

    I’ve had to untangle myself from other people’s thoughts about my life. I’ve had to step aside from the fear other people hold on my behalf.

    After nearly four years out in the world carving my own path, this is something I know to be true:

    Other people’s fear has nothing to do with you. Do not take it with you. People see life through the lens of their own experience and sometimes they find it difficult to see that their experience might not be the same as yours.

    Don’t let other people’s fear hold you back.

    Have courage and trust.

    Like most people, I’ve lived through some significant, and often tough, life events in my thirty-three years on the planet.

    In each of those moments it’s felt like I might not come through. Like the world might end, even. Heartbreak, most recently.

    But every time I’ve come through, and I’m beginning to realize I can always handle it. That no matter what life brings, I will, in fact, always be okay.

    As you leave the comfort of what you know, whether that’s a relationship, a job, a place or something else, know that you have the strength inside you to cope with every situation life might conjure up.

    What happens if you remain where you are?

    At the end of the day, I ask myself, what happens if I stay?

    My own answer to this question right now is stagnation. And since I believe my ultimate purpose is to grow, I don’t really have much of a choice.

    When faced with the fear of stepping into an unknown future, ask yourself, what happens if I don’t? And is that something I’m willing to accept?

    Your answer might just give you that final little nudge you need to step into the void and find out what life has in store for you next.

    And if all that fails? Well, just remember Oprah, who said there are no wrong paths in life. And Oprah never gets it wrong, right?