Category: essays

“Courage does not roar. It does not need to.”

I read this truth a few weeks ago in an article by Nilofer Merchant. The post recounted an “aha” moment for Ms. Merchant when she heard herself saying something out loud for the first time — something that spoke her true heart. Something she hadn’t articulated before, but instantly knew was spoken in her own unmistakeable voice.

The moment she described has been festering in me since then.

The article was titled “Courage Does Not Roar.” That’s what caught my attention. For the last two years I’ve been haphazardly thinking about courage. I’ve made a practice during part of my blogging foray to choose a “theme word” each year. The word is something I want to define or learn or allow to characterize my life and thinking over the course of a 12-month period, and I try to explore it in words and thoughts through EyeJunkie posts. The word for 2010 & 2011 was “courage.”

This article appeared on my radar just as I was trying to decide on a theme word for 2012 — or even if I wanted a theme word. My thoughts have seemed so scattered lately, that I’m wasn’t sure I was really able to determine a year-long focus. I mean, that would require focus.

In the sphere of remarkable people and living, Ms. Merchant wrote of “courage” as being less about bravery and more about clarity. Boy, that really struck a chord. One I couldn’t get out of my head.

To be able to hear the sound of our own voices with clarity sure simplifies things. It makes choices and decisions much more obvious. It makes the worthwhile investments of our time and energy much easier to find.

These days, I hear a lot about finding “my own truth.” And while I don’t necessarily belief “truth” is that much of a moving target, I am also firmly convinced that we each carry a truth about ourselves inside of us. We each carry our own voice able to speak to what really matters to us, what brings us joy, what reflects our deepest desires, what acknowledges our purpose, what confirms the value we want to collect in our lives. That voice of truth deep in my soul helps me discern what I know, without question, is right in my own individual life.

The problem is that it’s so easy to allow that truth to be drowned out.

“Courage does not roar. It does not need to. The truer that voice, the louder it will sound, and the farther it will reach. That’s why I believe great innovators pay attention to the thoughts that come from their heart. They honor their truth. Because that knowledge will lead you forward. It will give you courage. It will make you brave. And perhaps, it will lead you to be more remarkable than you are.”

As these thoughts began to resonate more clearly over the Christmas holiday, I found myself actually excited about this theme word concept again. MY word was clear.

VOICE

It’s what I want to pursue in 2012. My own unmistakeable one — resolving to find it, speak it, know it, share it in new ways. And in old ways so familiar to me that I’ve perhaps become deaf to them.

Finding my voice where it’s been lost.
Listening to my voice where it’s been drowned out or squelched.
Knowing my voice where confusion has overshadowed clarity.
Speaking my own voice into decisions and choices and habits.
Hearing my voice come through in the defining moments,
Lending my voice to those who can’t speak.
Sharing my voice on issues and ideas that matter to me.

VOICE is a noun. And a verb.
It’s being. And doing.

2012 is the time to voice my life.
There is no other time like now.
And, I’m ready.

Happy December! By the hardest, I’ve been holding myself back from thinking about December for a while — from thinking about the Christmas holidays. It IS hard. And not necessarily because the excitement is overwhelming, but because the busy-ness and preparations and schedule can be overwhelming. And because all the hullabaloo the holiday brings tends to encroach on my rest and my peace of mind sometimes.

Just before Thanksgiving, I was in the local Wal-Mart picking up items for Bug’s 5-year-old birthday party. I wanted to get a few extra gift items for him and also some “big brother” and “big sister” gifts for the other two. I think that’s when the impending holiday season hit me — right about the time I turned onto the toy aisle. To say it was overwhelming is an understatement, for sure. My mind immediately went into overload with the number of options for Christmas presents. I flittered from one item to the next thinking how one would love this or one would love that. My brain filled up with a low-grade panic because I didn’t yet have a “plan” for getting Christmas presents or doing teacher gifts or baking goodies or putting up decorations. I had to shake my head at myself right there on aisle 17. I had to tell myself to snap out of it and focus on the birthday at hand.

That’s when I decided that I wanted Christmas to be different this year. Sometimes I over-plan or over-work or over-schedule myself right into a serious case of Bah Humbug or at the least a case of wanting a long winter’s nap during this season. Sadly, there have been times when it made me happy to see the festivities come to an end.

With changes and challenges and the plethora that comes with mommyhood and designerhood, I found myself perhaps dreading the holiday season. But, here’s the thing. I’m a celebration-junkie. I like to celebrate. I like to create and enjoy traditions that celebrate and elevate the simple splendor of everyday life — and especially the simple splendors of a Christmas Christ child on a bed of hay. I don’t want that spirit to be dampened in my heart, in my home, in my life. I don’t want Christmas to get so lost in a sea of preparations that I miss the opportunity to see it, much less celebrate it.

The true celebration of Christmas has the uncanny ability to bring a unique light to the winter of life. From a miraculous child and astonished herdsmen to questioning sages and a guiding star, the story of Christmas can bring clarity from it’s sheer simplicity and humility. This month so often sheds light, a pure and clear light. One that opens up our eyes of wonder. The wonder that makes us step outside our tired thinking to believe in possibilities. The wonder that makes us curious. The wonder that gives us courage to follow the light set before us. The wonder that makes us seek our own light found in the unlikeliest of places.

So, I’m starting this December with my guard up. So that I can keep my heart open to the season’s light. I’m guarding my time so that I can choose to focus on the best things and activities and people. I want my children to know this celebration, not just their busy and frazzled mommy. I want them to see this light and wonder for themselves. And I want to see the light myself. And wonder.

At the end of every day.

At the end of every day I live my life alone. Regardless of who may be within these walls, I face myself alone.

Alone with my joy. Alone with my sorrow. Alone with my triumphs. Alone with my mistakes. At the end of every day I only have myself to sleep with. Peacefully or restlessly. When all the people and things that have filled my day are lost in sleep, I am left with myself. When I’ve laid aside their hopes and dreams, I’m left looking at  my own. Squarely in the face. With no interruption. No masking. No distraction.

At the end of every day, what do I see? How do I cope with myself once all the other coping is finally tucked into bed? Am I proud? Am I content? Am I filled with joy and peace? At the end of every day I live my life alone. I face the realities my own life alone. I can’t live squandering it. And still know I’ve lived.

“I want to make changes. Not let change happen around me.”

I read that comment this week, and it rocked me. I write a lot about change, it seems. I guess it comes from being in an intense season of change over the last year. That whirlwind can sometimes blur your vision where change (and everything else) is concerned. So the comment rocked me. It stopped me and made me re-examine the subject.

It’s one thing to accept change. Even to want it. It’s quite another to make it.

So often we look at change as this ethereal force happening all around us that we are left to compensate for, overlook, grab hold and ride, or be blown away by. Take your pick of one of those positions; the navigation is the same. It’s out of our control. Some unknown and seemingly rampant tide is in charge, pulling us along for the ride. And we are relegated to letting it happen.

I haven’t written about courage (my 2010-11 theme word) in several months, but I think the decision to”make change” certainly requires it. To reject the mentality that change is out of our hands and firmly take the reins of responsibility ourselves takes courage. (Why does a rodeo bull-riding metaphor come to mind?)

It takes courage.

The courage to imagine something new and different — to see it.
The courage to see it as possible.
The courage to see ourselves as worthy of this new possibility.
The courage to recognize our own value.
And our own values.
The courage to ask questions.
To take stands.
To dare to be bold. Even brazen in our pursuit of that possibility we see.
And the courage to move and step and act and speak.

Just as “making change” in the mundane sense is exchanging currency like dollars for coins, to make change in broader strokes requires a more prominent exchange. We exchange this direction for that one — the one that more closely aligns with the destination (and journey) our souls require. We exchange someone else’s priorities for our own — the ones we own in that secret place that comes alive in our hearts when we know we are where we need to be. We exchange the superfluous for the necessary — that list of essentials representing the lowest common denominator for our unique life of joy. We exchange the ever-abstract big picture for exquisite details — those nitty-gritty, real-world specifics that characterize the life we MUST have each and every day.

Those exchanges can never happen by chance in the billowing tide of an ethereal “wind of change.” No, those exchanges only happen with intention, with choosing, with moving and acting. With making change.

And that takes courage.

Today marks my two-year anniversary as a blogger. What a journey! This week, I’ve been thinking about the EyeJunkie adventure as it relates to my 2010 theme word, courage. Over the last few months, several friends and commenters on the site have made reference to openness and the courage required to express thoughts so transparently in this particular medium. Can you say world wide web? Emphasis on world. While I don’t necessarily see myself as courageous (hence the year-long posting pursuit), I do recognize that sharing one’s thoughts and life in any authentic way with the internet is not for the timid. It’s intimidating. It’s scary. And, yes, I think it can be a little presumptuous. I mean, what do you care, right?

I’ve actually been amazed by how much you care. By how much credence you’ve given to my sometimes haphazard thoughts. I know my own time constraints and schedule, and I’ve been amazed at how ready you’ve been to carve out however brief a space in yours for this blog. I’ve been honored by the comments–both here and on Facebook and Twitter. I’ve been inspired by how many of you have taken the time to send me a personal email about something you’ve read or seen here.

Still, courage? Contemplating whatever courage might be required to enter the blogosphere and the daunting task of interjecting my voice into the fray has me thinking about the reason I started this “thing” in the first place. And, the reason behind the reason I’ve realized since.

I had been contemplating this adventure for some time before I actually began. I’ve always enjoyed writing and journaling. This particular medium seemed (from an observer’s position) to be the perfect combination of both. I was pregnant with Baby Girl at the time and swimming in a sea of toddler antics, dirty diapers and waning second trimester stamina. I was immersed in the usual schedule of home-making and nursery preparations. I was keeping my head above water with a healthy design schedule at my day job. And, I was realizing that, for the first time in my life, I had virtually abandoned any personal creative pursuit.

For those of you who haven’t read all the fine print, my day job is with an advertising agency where I am a graphic designer. So, I use my creativity for a living. However, I’ve always somehow needed an outlet for exploring ideas in a more personal way. Whether through painting or poetry or book-making, expressing myself–usually through some combination of words and pictures–has always fueled energy and creativity in other areas of my life.

It began to dawn on me as I made it through the considerable energy drain of a third pregnancy paired with two toddlers that my children didn’t yet know that creative person, that writer, that painter, that maker of things. Somehow through complacency or busyness or sheer exhaustion, I had forsaken those pursuits. Then, I began to notice this odd on-line medium called blogging. I began to see this type of outlet as a way to incorporate those creative tendencies back into my life without the less than kid-friendly materials and space required for something like the watercolor painting or collage I was prone to. In early 2005, my parents gifted me with an exquisite little MacBook named Kermit. He opened the doors of reality on that little idea that had been germinating. I began brainstorming and making notes and sketches for how a personal blog might actually flesh out. You can read the evolution of “eyeJunkie” and the “adventures in paying attention” theme another time, but suffice it to say that one domain name, a web hosting account, and one WordPress download later, this blog was born.

“Hello, world.” That statement was enough to intimidate me for sure. It was the title of the test post WordPress Dude includes in every download of the application. It chrystalized the nature of this experiment pretty clearly–my words, my voice broadcast to the world for all manner of internet-goers to partake. Yikes.

My voice.

As I plugged along with writing and posting, EyeJunkie certainly filled the creative bill. It helped me accomplish that goal of a creative pursuit. Those readers who have been around for any length of time can attest that I’ve subjected the Junksters to all kinds of experiments and hare-brained ideas–graphics popping up here and there, series starting and fizzling, run-on sentences and fragments abounding. But, something else beyond a basic creative outlet has emerged for me in these two years.

Recently, I was writing some thoughts (something about underwear purchases or chili… don’t even ask) in an email to a friend who commented… “this sounds like an EJ post.” Wait a minute. EyeJunkie posts have a sound. That stuck. The comment made me realize the reason behind the reason that this blogging adventure matters to me. I’ve noticed a voice emerging. Mine. A consistency and willingness to speak. A thoughtful, but emphatic tone. An amalgum of emotion framed in a single sound. The sound of my own voice.

Through the months of blogging, I recognized that I had been in a period of my life for some time when I felt that my voice was being drowned out–perhaps by difficult relationships, distractions and interruptions, the absorption of care-giving and kid-loving, dailyness and just plain busyness. I found that my own voice was hushed and difficult to discern–even to myself–above (or below) the din. Through the act of writing and exposing thoughts to the world regardless of who may or may not be reading, I was finding my voice again. I realized again that I had something to say, and this venue gave me the inclination to say it. To find the courage to speak it. In my own voice.

Is transparency in this world brave? Perhaps. Is writing an authentic blog essay courageous? I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve put courage into this body of nonsense as much as it’s put courage into me. Writing an EyeJunkie worthy of your attention has encouraged me to speak. In my own voice. If the question of courage is “where can I find it?”, for sure I’ve found at least a little within this cyber space. Thank you for listening to that process.