This week I heard that a something I didn't want didn't want me. It was shiny and impressive and I still didn't want it. It caused me to have a near tantrum not wanting it so bad and then it up and doesn't want me.
I realized I didn't feel free hearing this. I felt something really base and false--it brought up insecurities that have been brewing under the surface for almost a full year.
This is called "dirty pain"--pain that isn't because of something real such as breaking your arm, losing a loved one or something genuine. This is pain because of a story I've had rattling around in my brain that I haven't been able to let surface. It's been there and I've done a hell of a job denying it.
Dirty pain is all about the screaming, petty ego getting kicked hard in the nads.
The big shiny something offered to dance with me and I accepted the dance even though I didn't want to (so big, so shiny) and then I felt offended because it didn't want my phone number to ask me out.
Not good enough for big shiny.
Ouch (but not really because I'm not bleeding and as far as I can tell my life is completely intact).
So what do you do when you aren't good enough? You just love not being good enough--love it hard, love it long. Love it because it is. Love it because it is.
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I spent the last two days in the company of masterful horse women learning the art of "horse whispering".
After weeks of dry weather it finally decided to rain. I stood in the arena chilled and stiff with an equally wet, cold horse that politely accepted my company but just as politely refused to go around the arena.
I coaxed, I asked nicely, I modeled what I wanted. At a certain point I even tried bribing the horse with the promise of getting to go back to the dry and somewhat warmer barn if she would just amble around the ring. My coach Christine Erickson observed that I was going through every strategy to get compliance that I already knew wouldn't work.
"Keep trying things. Get creative."
"Ok, just to make sure...there isn't some right answer to this, right?"
"I'm not holding out on you...this isn't a test."
I looked at the arena next to mine and saw my sister being followed by her horse like they were best friends. I stood next to the horse with my hand on her shoulder joint. We stood there at an impasse for what seemed like an eternity. I then decided to do the one thing I knew would work but that I didn't want to do.
I stood back about 10 feet from the horse and swung my arm at the horse's hind end.
At first she didn't move. I swung some more.
"Try bigger, keep going!" Christine encouraged me across the fence.
I swung my arm with more energy and the horse shifted forward. I focused my eyes at her shoulder and continued to swing. The horse started to walk, slowly at first but then with a purposeful pace, matching my own speed.
It felt like I worked very hard at something that normally should be effortless. It didn't feel good.
Right now I feel like I'm trying to force something that doesn't want to come--maybe not now and maybe not in the form I wish for it.
To let go sometimes means letting go of the picture of the outcome you wish for and everything associated with it. A true surrender and acceptance. A kind of death as well.
I don't know what to do next. I can keep swinging my arm ever more forcefully but it's not what I want and neither is it what this horse called my life wants. For the first time in weeks I feel ok with that and ok with not knowing what comes next.
Are you trying to whisper something into your life but find yourself swinging your arm instead? I want to hear from you! Please leave a comment or send me a message.
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