I’m a resolution maker—and not just every January. Usually about once a month I’ll sit down and review my resolutions for the month ahead. Oftentimes my list for self-improvement includes health resolutions, fitness goals, spiritual practices and ways I can challenge myself.
For the longest time “take the GRE and apply to grad schools” was on my list, and in December I finally crossed that off. It’s funny how the things we deem most significant to ourselves are sometimes the hardest to accomplish.
Is it fear of failure that makes us anxious when it comes to pursuing our dreams?
I recently read “if you’re not failing, you’re not trying hard enough.” I think I’d heard that before, but the statement really rang true the last time I saw it. It brought me clarity of mind and peace of spirit in thinking about receiving letters back from the institutions to which I applied.
And a running item that’s been on the list since I moved to Oak Park has been “join a church.” I’ve looked around quite a bit, but I’ve been such a “maximizer” about this decision, I haven’t brought myself to buckle down and join one. I keep telling people it’s because I just haven’t found the right place yet. (And that’s true: no church has met all my requirements.) But I think another reason I haven't yet joined a new church is because I’m scared to commit.
Also on my list this year is to write more. It’s something I love to do yet sometimes I have a hard time bringing myself to just sit down and do it. Writing isn’t that hard, but sometimes it takes a lot of work.
One thing that I hope is going to motivate me to really stick to my resolutions this year is Gretchen Rubin’s “Happiness Project” for 2010. She is challenging her readers to participate in their own Happiness projects for 2010, and to keep participants accountable, there is an online petition that they can sign.
I absolutely love Gretchen’s blog, and I recently purchased and began reading her new book (that also shares the same title). Gretchen’s own happiness project, which she describes in her book, came about when she was sitting on a city bus and realized . . .
The days are long, but the years are short.
So why not seek out and embrace happiness, rather than getting caught up in the little things in life that tend to drag us down? This is what Gretchen did.
It's been a joy to follow her journey, and I’ve already started my own. With a friend, I am reading a chapter of The Happiness Project as it corresponds to each month in the year and trying to apply the resolutions and tidbits of wisdom to my own life, all the while also being mindful of my personal goals and resolutions for the year.
I think it’s going to be really great.
Interested in joining in? Visit www.happiness-project.com to learn more.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Listening
I recently started reading Parker Palmer’s Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation. At first, I had trouble getting into it, but then I caught on. Palmer’s voice is heartfelt and earnest as he shares his thoughts on vocation and how he came to understand his purpose.
I’m only two chapters in, but one of my favorite meditations from his writing so far is when he talks about his granddaughter. He says he didn’t notice this when he was a parent looking at his own child, but as a grandparent looking on at his child’s child, he was amazed at how formed she was when she entered the world. She already had a purpose and it was showing through. Palmer says he plans to write a letter to his granddaughter someday, and then give it to her when she’s in her early twenties—the letter will share all the things that he has noticed about her that are special: “Here is a sketch of who you are from your earliest days in this world. It is not a definitive picture—only you can draw that. But it was sketched by a person who loves you very much. Perhaps these notes will help you do something your grandfather did only later: remember you you were when you first arrived and reclaim the gift of true self.”
At 24, I’m at a point in my life right now where I feel as though I’m still searching for my authentic voice. What was it that I was called to do on this earth? There’s a great quote from the folks at storypeople that pretty much sums up how I’m feeling: “I'm on my way to the future, she said & I said, But you're just sitting there listening & she smiled & said, It's harder than you'd think with all the noise everyone else is making.”
How does one decipher that voice inside when all the voices around seem to be making so much noise? I hear that voice that Palmer describes as what society thinks one “ought” to be. This ought voice reminds me of some sort of authoritative, pragmatic figure, my dad, possibly someone else I know who is really practical. And Then there’s the noble voice, which, if you’re sorta self-righteous, which I admit I can be sometimes, says you need to seek out the greatest need and act on it. Getting into some sort of social work, activism, that sort of thing. Of course there’s the voice of expectation, fulfilling society’s expectations, and this sort of reminds me of my mother, and to an extent, some of my friends, when they talk about marriage and life changes. I’m not finding that any of these voices are really mine.
Those who know me best know that none of these voices can drown out the pure enthusiasm I have for reading and writing—thinking about stories, telling stories, making stories—is that what I am meant to do? Isn’t that it?
The moment I begin to hover around contemplating what I think is my authentic voice, a bunch of “oughts” seem to pop up outside my head, sort of like those cartoon characters with thought bubbles all around them.
But you really should pick a career path that’s secure and will pay well.
But maybe you aren’t cut out for that sort of life—you’re not competitive enough, not smart enough. You probably can’t handle the pressure.
What about having a family? How does that fit into your plans?
Have you experienced these sorts of doubtful thoughts before? They can be pretty arresting when one is considering what to do with one’s life.
Palmer says that instead of asking, “What should I do?” we should instead consider, “Who am I?” and “What is my nature?” and, importantly, “Whose am I?”
Although they seem broader in nature, for some reason they’re a bit less daunting to me than, “What should I do?” Keeping in mind my faith, the people and the things I love, as well as what makes me happiest, gives me hope that following that inner voice will lead me to how I should live.
And I think I’m being impatient. I’ve always hoped my vocation will just arrive, an elusive butterfly that’s been fluttering around my head, will one day finally land in the palm of my hands and, as if this butterfly is a crystal ball, I’ll look into it deeply, sigh and think, “Ahh. All is right with the world now, I’ll just do what this butterfly says I should do. It has all the answers.”
Reality check. Butterflies aren’t crystal balls, nor do they usually flutter around anyone’s head for very long.
Yet I’m hoping that reading this book—in the context of these coming months, in which I hope I’ll have the opportunity to consider a big life-change—will help me to listen for my own voice, buried deep inside, the one that is passionate, enthusiastic and true. The voice that longs to sing the beauty of this world, a voice full of gratitude, joy, hope, and love. I deeply desire to let my life speak.
I’m only two chapters in, but one of my favorite meditations from his writing so far is when he talks about his granddaughter. He says he didn’t notice this when he was a parent looking at his own child, but as a grandparent looking on at his child’s child, he was amazed at how formed she was when she entered the world. She already had a purpose and it was showing through. Palmer says he plans to write a letter to his granddaughter someday, and then give it to her when she’s in her early twenties—the letter will share all the things that he has noticed about her that are special: “Here is a sketch of who you are from your earliest days in this world. It is not a definitive picture—only you can draw that. But it was sketched by a person who loves you very much. Perhaps these notes will help you do something your grandfather did only later: remember you you were when you first arrived and reclaim the gift of true self.”
At 24, I’m at a point in my life right now where I feel as though I’m still searching for my authentic voice. What was it that I was called to do on this earth? There’s a great quote from the folks at storypeople that pretty much sums up how I’m feeling: “I'm on my way to the future, she said & I said, But you're just sitting there listening & she smiled & said, It's harder than you'd think with all the noise everyone else is making.”
How does one decipher that voice inside when all the voices around seem to be making so much noise? I hear that voice that Palmer describes as what society thinks one “ought” to be. This ought voice reminds me of some sort of authoritative, pragmatic figure, my dad, possibly someone else I know who is really practical. And Then there’s the noble voice, which, if you’re sorta self-righteous, which I admit I can be sometimes, says you need to seek out the greatest need and act on it. Getting into some sort of social work, activism, that sort of thing. Of course there’s the voice of expectation, fulfilling society’s expectations, and this sort of reminds me of my mother, and to an extent, some of my friends, when they talk about marriage and life changes. I’m not finding that any of these voices are really mine.
Those who know me best know that none of these voices can drown out the pure enthusiasm I have for reading and writing—thinking about stories, telling stories, making stories—is that what I am meant to do? Isn’t that it?
The moment I begin to hover around contemplating what I think is my authentic voice, a bunch of “oughts” seem to pop up outside my head, sort of like those cartoon characters with thought bubbles all around them.
But you really should pick a career path that’s secure and will pay well.
But maybe you aren’t cut out for that sort of life—you’re not competitive enough, not smart enough. You probably can’t handle the pressure.
What about having a family? How does that fit into your plans?
Have you experienced these sorts of doubtful thoughts before? They can be pretty arresting when one is considering what to do with one’s life.
Palmer says that instead of asking, “What should I do?” we should instead consider, “Who am I?” and “What is my nature?” and, importantly, “Whose am I?”
Although they seem broader in nature, for some reason they’re a bit less daunting to me than, “What should I do?” Keeping in mind my faith, the people and the things I love, as well as what makes me happiest, gives me hope that following that inner voice will lead me to how I should live.
And I think I’m being impatient. I’ve always hoped my vocation will just arrive, an elusive butterfly that’s been fluttering around my head, will one day finally land in the palm of my hands and, as if this butterfly is a crystal ball, I’ll look into it deeply, sigh and think, “Ahh. All is right with the world now, I’ll just do what this butterfly says I should do. It has all the answers.”
Reality check. Butterflies aren’t crystal balls, nor do they usually flutter around anyone’s head for very long.
Yet I’m hoping that reading this book—in the context of these coming months, in which I hope I’ll have the opportunity to consider a big life-change—will help me to listen for my own voice, buried deep inside, the one that is passionate, enthusiastic and true. The voice that longs to sing the beauty of this world, a voice full of gratitude, joy, hope, and love. I deeply desire to let my life speak.
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