Mistakes, Failures, Fears and Blogs

Many of my coaching clients think I live a charmed life. I’m so patient. I have such insight. How could my life not be bliss-laden and peaceful? When I sold my artwork at art festivals people would come up to me and say, “You are so lucky! You get to do fun things all day long, never have a worry in the world.” I learned to reply, “Yes, I do get to make art, and I’m grateful every day.” I never yelled at them, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with idea and make a bunch of mistakes before your figure it out and then fix it before it works?” I did not do that because I would not have ever sold another piece in my entire art festival existance.

Coldfront reflected in a puddle after the rain.

Other people’s lives seem easier, less stressed, not as hard, and certainly not as complicated as our own. That’s a better thing to believe than that everyone’s life could be sold as damaged seconds and someone else would be foolish enough to snap it up.

Years ago, I wanted to write a memoir for my son, so he would know that my first phone number had only four digits, and how hard it was for my parents to manage as immigrants to this country. But those stories would not have caught his imagination.

I also wanted to tell him that I’ve made huge mistakes, did not learn from them the first time, made them again. That I’ve felt despair, had people turn against me for reasons I could not understand (and a few I understood quite clearly, but it still hurt), was rattled by anxiety, stupidity, and, on occasion, incredible insight that I ignored and ran amuck. Again.

The reason this blog has insights, tips, Aha! moments and how-to’s is because I made the mistakes it took to learn them. All of them. Several times over. And I thought this was more important for my son—or any reader—to know that it’s not how often you feel stupid, but how often you get up, dust yourself off and start over. I want him to know that learning is the heart of creativity, that leading a creative life comes from making mistakes and saying, “Huh, I wonder if. . .”

My life is imperfect, and yet I am satisfied. Because I am perfectly imperfect and for right now, that will do just fine. In my next life. . . well, let me get through this one, first.

--Quinn McDonald is a writer and certified creativity coach. Her book, Raw Art Journaling, Making Meaning, Making Art, will be published in June, 2011 by North Light Books.

Danger or Drama? Sometimes the Lizard Isn’t Lying.

The reptilian brain is a leftover from our fight-or-flight days. There are still neurons wrapped around our brain stem that scream messages of lack and attack at us. Our inner critic is plugged into the reptilian brain, and the lizard yells at us with negative self-talk. You know the drill:

“You’ll never get that promotion, you just aren’t good enough.”

“You keep screwing up relationships, you keep picking the same losers, you will never be happy.”

“You aren’t nearly smart enough to steer through office politics.”

We struggle with negative self-talk every day, fighting it with positive replacement thoughts, affirmations, acknowledgments. It’s a long struggle, and we  still think we are going to wind up as bag ladies (men use the same phrase).

Howling at the moon? Nope, just sunning. Italian wall lizard from reptilis.net

Refuting the lizard is a popular coaching technique, but I’d like to suggest something much more difficult. (I hear you sighing heavily, even from behind the computer screen.) Sometimes the lizard is right. Sometimes there are dangers around us. We do repeat mistakes. And, in fact, there are bag ladies (and men).

So the trick with the lizard is knowing when it’s just spouting off and when there may be truth in the mental warnings we feed ourselves. Yes, if we run with scissors, we can put out an eye. If the scissors are the blunt-edged ones and still in the box, the likelihood approaches zero.  In the way of the lizard, it yells the same way in either case–long, sharp scissors held in one hand while running down a marble-floored, sloping hallways in wool socks or blunted scissors in a box. The lizard doesn’t discern. The lizard yells lack and attack messages.

What if the lizard whispers fear messages in your ear and they seem plausible?  Luckily, the lizard isn’t all that versatile, so a few questions might make a difference. Here are some you may ask:

–Is this warning for something I’ve done before that ended badly?  Let’s say it’s Yes.

–At what moment exactly, did I make the decision that took me in the wrong direction? Am I there again?

–What decision could you have made to make the earlier disaster end differently? Does that apply here? If both of the second answers are No, move on, it was the lizard. If the answers were “No”, followed by  “but” and anger or drama, it’s just the lizard. Real danger has immediacy and clarity to it.

–If the answer to the first question was “No,” ask yourself, “If I act as if I am in danger, what could go wrong?” If all the answers are desperate and loaded with drama, become suspicious.

–If any of the thought is connected to anger or revenge, it’s the lizard.

–Define the solution you want to pursue. Think it through to the conclusion. Would you suggest this solution to your best friend or your boss?  Many times, panic is connected to emotional triggers, and we want to punish the offender rather than solve the problem. If the answer seems good just for you, but you would never suggest it to your best friend, it’s most likely the lizard.

Of course there are times when you are in immediate danger. And yes, there are people who don’t like you and may want to work out their anger to their benefit and you happen to cross their sight, so you get pulled into the mix. But most of our messes are caused by repeating our old stories and keeping them in place because we are comfortable with them. Knowing what is dangerous and what is fear and anger based and treating it differently will make life a lot calmer.