The Idea Midwife

The Power of Baby Steps

Every morning, I receive my very own email message from The Universe. (I am sooo special! The Universe even knows my name.) I really look forward to this daily communication with the Powers the Be. (Full disclosure: I am a devoted member of TUT.  Notes from the Universe is a service mark and service of TUT Enterprises, Inc. Do yourself a favor and sign up.

These notes from the Universe are a delight -- they make me laugh, make me think, and wake me up anew to the wellspring of creative possibility. I tuck away the ones that really touch me deeply.

Here's an excerpt from one from this week: "You don't take "baby steps" for the distance they cover, Laura, but to put yourself within reach of life's magic." Wow. I am personally a huge fan of baby steps. I think anything worth doing is worth doing in ridiculously easy baby steps. I celebrate every small step for humankind. But baby steps as a way to put yourself in the path of magic. Now that is something! What tiny step can you take today?

The Feeling Compass

It all happens in a moment. You are feeling generally pretty upbeat. Sure, it has been a challenge, lately. But you are happy, right? You have a deep sense of joy at doing your right work. And a delicious feeling of freedom.

Then, I don't know...the check is late, you get a bad review, no one says good things about your blog, your client work is ok, but honestly not really inspired -- you worked a little too hard at it, maybe payed too much attention to what you were doing instead of just being present. The cat coughs up a hairball, which you discover in the dark, with your bare feet. Oh, and then there are those "things" you said you would do. Not critical things, but agreements, just the same. And to be honest, you've failed to meet these agreements before, with the same group. You really can't do it again. And there's a check you can't remember writing that bottoms out the checking account. Again. And then, that client you were excited to be working with...who you really connected with, decides now is just not the right time. And even though it's nothing personal, just a timing thing, and you deeply support your client's choice, still you find your (ego) self bleeding from a thousand tender cuts. And just for a moment you think "I give up. it's too hard. I can't do it."

And here's the hardest thing: to just be with that feeling. Not to name it. Not to explain it, try to change it, try to understand it. Not to figure it out. Not to use it to spark a new goal or self improvement campaign. Not to deny it. Not to drown it in Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream. Not to play the "I shoulda" game...not to tell any story at all about it.

Just hang out with it. Just be with it. Maybe bring a little compassion to it. A loving witness. "Hello, there you are. Here I am."

Like a jostled compass that swings wildly before pointing again (always) to true north, allow the needle to settle.            

Why Games Work When Goals Don't

I'm lucky. I did not play any organized team sports growing up. And I didn't participate in any competitions like spelling bees, dance recitals, or science fairs. And I never quite got the hang of playing the clarinet in 6th grade band. So for me, the idea of playing a game calls to mind a casual neighborhood round of soccer-baseball (a.k.a kickball), or attempting to jump rope for as long as possible without missing, while simultaneously reciting some weird story about a girl with a name that begins with A, then B, etc. and adding fancy steps until I tripped on my sneaker laces. Pretty low risk. No Olympic dreams. No athletic scholarships. And no, sports wise, I really never "could a been a contender." My history leaves me blessed with a rather childlike concept of play. I think playing a game is...well, fun. Your mileage may vary.

With this blessed perspective, here are some reasons why I think games work when goals don't:

• Playing a game lightens the performance burden. We are "just playing" after all. No one expects to be perfect. We are energized to keep trying new things.
• Playing begins with, and perpetuates a love of the game.
• Playing fully engages all of our senses, and thereby unlocks abundant creative resources.
• We more naturally identify simple, measurable steps. We can make those steps as easy or as challenging as we wish. I'm a big fan of easy -- not because I'm afraid of hard work. I'm a fan of easy because an easy task gets me into the game, then my natural curiosity and desire take over.
• If it isn't working, we can make-up new rules or call a do-over.
• It's fun to keep score. Is there anyone who doesn't love amassing shiny gold stars? (Please, it's not just me, is it?).
• A game naturally creates an environment that is designed for success. When we play a game, we think about things like equipment, and practice, and coaches, and fans. We learn or create rules that help us win. We begin to hone in on the actions that really make the difference (Just connect with the ball, don't try to knock it out of the park every time). Pick any game metaphor you like, and you have an instant framework for moving forward on something you want to be doing.

And, hello, we are playing here. It is supposed to be messy and chaotic, and loud, and punctuated by belly laughs. A lot like life.

The Great Writing Game

Have you ever had something you really, really want to do...and find that day after day, you just don't do it? For me, that "thing" is writing. To you.

Perhaps you've "tried" to motivate yourself, inspire yourself, or  egads, "hold your self accountable" (...ick, ick, ick!) I certainly have. I find that I am of two minds about writing (truth be told, I am probably of two minds about lots more than writing...so let's say...writing, for instance). One mind loves writing and sees everything else that gets in the way as a terrible distraction taking me away from my most important thing. If I could just clear my schedule, or my "to do" list, this mind thinks,  I would naturally write both regularly and frequently (and of course brilliantly and perfectly, but that's another topic altogether). This mind is both enthusiastic, and I fear, delusional.

My other mind likes to believe that if writing were important to me, it would show in my strict  discipline: I would put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) every day, until I write some number of predetermined words, or some designated period of time passes, or I pass out from all the blood loss (sweating blood is a real marker of commitment, right?), whatever comes first. 

And just to keep life interesting, I even have a third mind, my inner rebel, that gets all huffy and fights tooth and nail against anything that has even a whiff of "you have to..." or any semblance of "forcing myself" to do what it is I want to do. All these minds can get very confusing.

What I yearn for instead is a loving practice of writing that gives me pleasure, gives you value, and ultimately becomes an easy, natural part of "what I do." But how to get there?

Any practice has to start somewhere, so I've decided to play a game I'm calling The Great Writing Game. By virtue of reading this, you are officially a fan (how cool is that!). The season for The Great Writing Game runs from today through the end of the year. During that time, there are 5 series; each series has 4 games (1 game per week); each game is comprised of 4 plays. A winning play occurs when I write to you, either here or on Twitter. (If I happen to write somewhere else, I'll let you know here or on Twitter). Four winning plays in a week equals 1 won game. I invite you to play along, cheer me on, help me keep score, and most important, help me celebrate! And along the way, I'll share what I'm learning about the power, the possibility, and yes, even the perceived pain of creating a loving practice.