Every year, the Retreat reveals to me, over the course of its 4 1/2 days, what it is about. And what the Retreat is about is not always what I expect it to be about.
As a client of mine said recently about a group experience she did with me, “I didn’t create what I hoped or expected to create… but apparently God decided that there was something else I needed to do before I could do that.”
Yep. Though I’m more of a “Universe” than a “God” kind of gal, the sentiment still applies.
There was the year, two Retreats ago, when (while everyone else was making art) I did nothing but walk and write in my journal the whole time, and only made art in the last 2 hours before heading home. (This is what I made.)
(That quote, that piece of art in the last 2 hours of the Retreat is what led to the conception of this blog, in fact.)
With such an auspicious history, and since I’ve declared 2012 as my Year of Writing (along with my Year of Self-Compassion, Untangle and Practice), I thought perhaps this Retreat would be about writing. 4 1/2 days to immerse myself in my Book-Like Object (or BLO for short)! (I thought) Imagine what I could accomplish!
Confession: my recent decision to inject some realism into my writing goals got me off track on my BLO intentions in a big way, and I was hoping the Retreat would help get me back on.
Apparently the Universe had other ideas.
For the entire first three days, the Retreat seemed mostly to be about flailing.
Oh, I did a little bit of writing (when the ancient laptop my sweetie let me borrow cooperated, which most of the time it did not [message from the Universe #1 that this Retreat was NOT supposed to be about writing, no matter my plans.])
I did a little bit of art-making, adding layers to a previously-painted half-sheet of watercolor paper. Though nothing really satisfied.
I did a little bit of sleeping (sleep — or more accurately, lack thereof — being an ongoing issue in my life; ironically enough, I suffer from insomnia just as much at Retreat as at home). Though not enough to recoup from sleep debt.
I did a lot of reading. I got a massage. I got an aqua-chi footbath. I went on walks.
And mostly I felt unfocused and hugely frustrated!
I wanted to create! To really dig into something.
Instead, I felt surfacey and scattered. And my idea of hell is a lifetime of feeling surfacey and scattered.
The fact that this was my first year with an iPhone at Retreat did. Not. Help. Much as I intended to be completely offline at Retreat, my will power is embarrassingly puny, and I let myself get sucked into the temptation of the iPhone email inbox, due to the bright, shiny call of the Floop! which was opening (oh-so-temptingly) on Leap Day — the start day of the Retreat.
Hmph. (Let it be stated for the record, as if these things really matter, that I did not post, only read and poked around all the rooms, but the precedent was set. My Retreat did not start out unplugged, nor did it remain unplugged, and that is the truth of it.)
As the days ticked by, I kept hoping I’d gain some traction, sink my teeth into something, but the only thing I managed to deepen was my sense of frustration. No matter what I did, I had the nagging feeling I should be doing something else.
When I lay down for a nap, I felt I should be arting. When I approached my paper, pastels or paint or pen in hand, I felt I should be writing. When I opened up the computer to write (particularly when it would not work right) or when I snuck a peek at my iPhone, I felt I should be doing anything else.
As you can see, there was a lot of shoulding on myself.
The one thing that kinda felt sorta okay (though I felt like maybe I should feel guilty that I wasn’t producing something) was reading Brené Brown’s The Gifts of Imperfection. Something, some teeny tiny voice, told me that yes, it was okay — no, it was good — to fill myself up with reading that would inspire me. Something told me (Imperfectionist that I am) that I needed to read this book.
And when I got to Brown’s Guidepost #7, I finally got what this Retreat was all about. What it was supposed to be about all along.
Not writing. Not arting. Not even catching up on sleep.
Guidepost #7, you see, is Cultivating Play and Rest. But the really juicy part is the subtitle (especially the second half):
Letting Go of Exhaustion as a Status Symbol and Productivity as Self-Worth
{Moment of silence as we let that one sink in.}
Letting go of productivity as self-worth. Suddenly it all made sense: all that frustrating surfacey-ness and scattered-ness, those three full days of being unable to sink my teeth into anything?
That was the Universe’s way of telling me to let go of productivity as self-worth. The Universe would not let me be productive, because in its infinite wisdom (if I can personify for a moment), the Universe knew that this was the lesson I needed to learn.
Or start to learn, at least. I would certainly not claim to have mastered it yet.
But in case the Universe is listening, I just want to state for the record (lest it feel the need to start raising its voice or pulling out heavy sticks for whacking upside the head with) that I have heard you loud and clear, thank you very much!!!!
Two of my three words for 2012, Self-Compassion and Untangle, contain within them this very notion of letting go of productivity as self-worth. And yet, it’s just so easy to forget, isn’t it?
{Deep sigh.}
So.
Here’s the ironic, zen twist of it all: when I finally got that this Retreat was about letting go of productivity as self-worth, that’s when I was able to get productive.
Not from a place of “Oh my god, I must be productive in order to be worthy/valuable/lovable/etc, so get busy!” But from a place of “Hey, this is fun! Let’s see what happens if…”
Isn’t that always the way? The less you try, and the more you allow, the more the magic happens.
So in the end, I came home with 8 finished little ArtSpark artworks (which, if you’re a subscriber, will someday wend their way into your email inbox). And though there’s part of me that tugs at my pants leg to whine “But imagine how many pieces you could have finished if you just hadn’t been so surfacey and scattered for three whole days! Maybe 25 or 30 finished ArtSparks!” I am doing my best to shrug it off and embrace the much bigger treasure that I came home from Retreat with.
It’s a tricky concept, isn’t it? If my biggest value in life is Making a Difference, and if the way I do that is by putting stuff out into the world (writing, art, music, coaching & consulting, workshops, courses, etc.), then isn’t my productivity EXACTLY what my self-worth comes down to?
I often feel that way, but on a deeper level, it’s not. Aren’t all human beings good and worthy and lovable just for being? I believe that we are.
I am good, and worthy, and lovable regardless of how fast I run on the hamster wheel.
I happen to really like to run fast. Though perhaps not quite as fast as I usually try to run.
And that, dear reader, is exactly where I can start letting go. I’m not talking about giving up. I’m not talking about plopping down on the couch and eating bon-bons in front of the tube all day long. (As if that would ever make me happy!)
I’m talking about allowing myself, my art, my business to grow at a pace that sustains and nourishes me, rather than drives me into the ground. I’m talking about allowing and opening up to those periods of lying fallow — so crucial to nourish the seedlings of next season.
Flailing, in other words, is NOT failing. Sometimes often it’s exactly what’s needed. And your worth changes not one iota.
Remember that.
Have you ever flailed? Have you ever gotten caught up in the idea of productivity as self-worth? And more importantly, have you managed to let go (and if so, how?)
PS — Pssst! Know someone who might benefit from seeing this today? Pass it on!
Looking for fun a way to flail? Come play with me and Kelly Hevel for 12 weeks, in our online course to awaken your creativity and liberate your inner 4-year old, Playing Around Online. Class starts on Wednesday, March 14. Click for more info.
