Doubts
Well, I've had a swarm of doubts buzzing around my head. I feel like I'm that guy on SNL with the self help program who looks in the mirror and desperately tells himself he's good enough, and smart enough and, gosh darn it, people like me.
Doubts...where do they come from? I was a confident, unselfconscious little kid. I guess some seeds of doubt were sown there...memories come back...but those seeds didn't sprout until I was an adult. Weeds that grew earlier were from my adolescence...a mixed bag of really unpleasant experiences and goofy teen fun...I guess we all grit our teeth and endure the teen years. Highschool was a blur (except for art classes, which I loved) and I was glad to graduate. Then three years of escape and living like a hermit in the mountains later, college brightened my dim world and some weeds were mown, some saplings uprooted, there was other excavation and major grafting onto trees of doubt that already existed. Yes, I guess most of the seeds of doubt are planted in childhood by unsuspecting parents, teachers, church leaders and other grown-ups. Some children remember the planting of those hurtful seeds, others don't. Why? Maybe the injury was not overt or our child minds are more resiliant. Children are not especially introspective. Maybe in youth the weeds are sparser and the trees have only grown into very small saplings.
So what do I do with these doubts? Find out where they come from? Maybe. Finding the source is a continual process of peeling away the layers. But right now I really don't like feeling down on myself so full speed ahead. I got a hair cut today...a superficial fix but change is good and the hairstyle works better with my curly hair...drat that rain! I made a commitment to doing yoga every day. Yes! That makes me feel better. I'm already doing the healthy diet. Cut out the caffeine and sugar...that was God's suggestion so I better do it...I've made it one whole day. Yippee! One step at a time.
The biggest challenge...da da da da...
1. Keeping my eyes on Jesus.
2. Staying open hearted enough to respond to others out of love and compassion.
3. Concentrating on developing my inner self rather than my outer self.
4. Focusing on what God has given me.
I've always wanted to be one of those old people who has a well-developed inner landscape of the soul and who is traveling to distant countries, learning, loving and making art and writing books at 80.
Another part of the doubting mindset brought up thoughts about identity and loss. What we identify ourselves with? I don't identify my "self" with much. My "self" is kind of free form...living with the realization that life is uncertain and that's OK as long as I'm in God's hands. I find I release the things I do and make, my accomplishments, as soon as they are done. I work as a teacher but I know I'm really a student and even that is in flux. I was recently interviewed on the local T.V. station and couldn't even remember important information about the award I won last year. The gal interviewing me looked shocked. Most artists are major name droppers (ad nauseum) and handily spout their bios on demand. I've always hated that part of the business but I figured out that's not why I forgot info. about the award. It was because I let it go as soon as it was done. I see the project as something apart from me. I like the show that was recognized, I grew as a writer while producing it and I feel good I wrote it but I've moved on.
The one thing I realize I do identify myself with is my singing...maybe both the artist and the voice. Those performing years were hard times but being a "singer" was also the first real identity I was able to hold onto in young adulthood and, in a real way, singing and being with other artists saved me emotionally. I wasn't conscious of much back then. I was extremely shy, lacked direction, life kind of happened to me and I basically went along for the ride.
I was recently looking at pictures from my performances and I realized I was pretty. Wow! At the time I didn't feel especially pretty...I guess I saw myself in the mirror every morning. But I was capable of being pretty. Maybe I was pretty because, in the role of "singer", I felt good about myself and I was confident...my gift never let me down, people liked me because I could sing well and things came easily. So, I guess I started building an identity around the gift that people were praising me for and for the personality and person that got the most attention. However, because of the combination of superficial aspects of the role and the spiritual realities of my use and understanding of that gift there was confusion. I seperated myself from "the voice", I understood it was a gift from God and it wasn't my doing, I was conflicted about whether I should use it to praise God or sing in the secular music industry, I couldn't stomach marketing myself as a product and I didn't like peoples attempts to acquire me like a painting or a statue. One of my friends mentioned I should use my singing and my youthful looks while I could to land a wealth "patron". I thought that was perverse. For me that wasn't what singing was about. In the end I felt empty and knew there was more to life than the meaningless existence I was living. Years later things got so dark I stopped singing...stopped giving energy to those who I had allowed to misuse me. And, as I suspected they would, they fell away. It was like a heavy burden fell from my shoulders.
Now, four years later, I'm finding my old voice again in a more spiritual sense. I feel God wants me to use it for his purpose and I've submitted to his will. However, I realize I still identify myself with my voice and I take pride in being recognized as a singer. So, I wondered yesterday morning if I couldn't sing what would my identity be? I could still play the piano and write and do art. But what if I lost the ability to do those things too?
I remember my grandma lying in bed this last summer, unable to move. She couldn't use her hands because of her essential tremors. She was almost deaf and going blind and completely dependent on her family for everything. At 90 years old she still had a strong will to live but she knew her time had come and eventually was resigned to just waiting to die. Near the very end she'd sing hymns in a tuneless whisper to pass the time. Who was she then? I think in the end we're faced with what we were all along but sometimes don't see it until everything is stripped away...
We're a child of God.
Doubts...where do they come from? I was a confident, unselfconscious little kid. I guess some seeds of doubt were sown there...memories come back...but those seeds didn't sprout until I was an adult. Weeds that grew earlier were from my adolescence...a mixed bag of really unpleasant experiences and goofy teen fun...I guess we all grit our teeth and endure the teen years. Highschool was a blur (except for art classes, which I loved) and I was glad to graduate. Then three years of escape and living like a hermit in the mountains later, college brightened my dim world and some weeds were mown, some saplings uprooted, there was other excavation and major grafting onto trees of doubt that already existed. Yes, I guess most of the seeds of doubt are planted in childhood by unsuspecting parents, teachers, church leaders and other grown-ups. Some children remember the planting of those hurtful seeds, others don't. Why? Maybe the injury was not overt or our child minds are more resiliant. Children are not especially introspective. Maybe in youth the weeds are sparser and the trees have only grown into very small saplings.
So what do I do with these doubts? Find out where they come from? Maybe. Finding the source is a continual process of peeling away the layers. But right now I really don't like feeling down on myself so full speed ahead. I got a hair cut today...a superficial fix but change is good and the hairstyle works better with my curly hair...drat that rain! I made a commitment to doing yoga every day. Yes! That makes me feel better. I'm already doing the healthy diet. Cut out the caffeine and sugar...that was God's suggestion so I better do it...I've made it one whole day. Yippee! One step at a time.
The biggest challenge...da da da da...
1. Keeping my eyes on Jesus.
2. Staying open hearted enough to respond to others out of love and compassion.
3. Concentrating on developing my inner self rather than my outer self.
4. Focusing on what God has given me.
I've always wanted to be one of those old people who has a well-developed inner landscape of the soul and who is traveling to distant countries, learning, loving and making art and writing books at 80.
Another part of the doubting mindset brought up thoughts about identity and loss. What we identify ourselves with? I don't identify my "self" with much. My "self" is kind of free form...living with the realization that life is uncertain and that's OK as long as I'm in God's hands. I find I release the things I do and make, my accomplishments, as soon as they are done. I work as a teacher but I know I'm really a student and even that is in flux. I was recently interviewed on the local T.V. station and couldn't even remember important information about the award I won last year. The gal interviewing me looked shocked. Most artists are major name droppers (ad nauseum) and handily spout their bios on demand. I've always hated that part of the business but I figured out that's not why I forgot info. about the award. It was because I let it go as soon as it was done. I see the project as something apart from me. I like the show that was recognized, I grew as a writer while producing it and I feel good I wrote it but I've moved on.
The one thing I realize I do identify myself with is my singing...maybe both the artist and the voice. Those performing years were hard times but being a "singer" was also the first real identity I was able to hold onto in young adulthood and, in a real way, singing and being with other artists saved me emotionally. I wasn't conscious of much back then. I was extremely shy, lacked direction, life kind of happened to me and I basically went along for the ride.
I was recently looking at pictures from my performances and I realized I was pretty. Wow! At the time I didn't feel especially pretty...I guess I saw myself in the mirror every morning. But I was capable of being pretty. Maybe I was pretty because, in the role of "singer", I felt good about myself and I was confident...my gift never let me down, people liked me because I could sing well and things came easily. So, I guess I started building an identity around the gift that people were praising me for and for the personality and person that got the most attention. However, because of the combination of superficial aspects of the role and the spiritual realities of my use and understanding of that gift there was confusion. I seperated myself from "the voice", I understood it was a gift from God and it wasn't my doing, I was conflicted about whether I should use it to praise God or sing in the secular music industry, I couldn't stomach marketing myself as a product and I didn't like peoples attempts to acquire me like a painting or a statue. One of my friends mentioned I should use my singing and my youthful looks while I could to land a wealth "patron". I thought that was perverse. For me that wasn't what singing was about. In the end I felt empty and knew there was more to life than the meaningless existence I was living. Years later things got so dark I stopped singing...stopped giving energy to those who I had allowed to misuse me. And, as I suspected they would, they fell away. It was like a heavy burden fell from my shoulders.
Now, four years later, I'm finding my old voice again in a more spiritual sense. I feel God wants me to use it for his purpose and I've submitted to his will. However, I realize I still identify myself with my voice and I take pride in being recognized as a singer. So, I wondered yesterday morning if I couldn't sing what would my identity be? I could still play the piano and write and do art. But what if I lost the ability to do those things too?
I remember my grandma lying in bed this last summer, unable to move. She couldn't use her hands because of her essential tremors. She was almost deaf and going blind and completely dependent on her family for everything. At 90 years old she still had a strong will to live but she knew her time had come and eventually was resigned to just waiting to die. Near the very end she'd sing hymns in a tuneless whisper to pass the time. Who was she then? I think in the end we're faced with what we were all along but sometimes don't see it until everything is stripped away...
We're a child of God.
Labels: Doubt, Ruminations
posted by Michelle Coder | 6:32 PM
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