What happens when we canâ€™tâ€¦doÂ what we normallyÂ do? When our naturalness doesnâ€™t come through? When we fall down? And maybe canâ€™t quite get up?
First, humility. The reminder of your humanity descends like a drumbeat in your chest.Â Then, a short (or long) spiral of despair. Why this? Why now? Why in front of him / her / them?Â And finally – bargaining. The attempt to persuade yourself that you are not that, it is not you, and that output doesnâ€™t necessarily make you any more or less than you were yesterday. This too shall pass, you say.
We try not to tie our performance to our value. But itâ€™s hard not to.
There are two ways to see this:
You can decide that having the opportunity to experience the granularity of your emotions is a gift. A ride you willingly take. Because the rewards are self-knowledge, and sometimes a chance to see someone elseâ€™s generous reflection in reaction your own fumble, is deeply beautiful. Itâ€™s something you might not see in the throws of success.
TheÂ otherÂ wayÂ isÂ toÂ avoidÂ bitingÂ theÂ hookÂ atÂ all.Â ThatÂ meansÂ theÂ highsÂ arenâ€™tÂ asÂ high,Â norÂ areÂ theÂ lowsÂ thatÂ lowÂ -Â becauseÂ youâ€™reÂ notÂ onÂ theÂ ride.Â Youâ€™veÂ meditated / medicated / mediated your way to an unmovable centerÂ thatÂ feels, moves, risksÂ – but never too much.
I vacillate on this. Better to pop the top off the convertible and feel the magic hours in their splendor? Knowing with the top down, youâ€™ll be exposed to all the weather of every season? Or, better to get behind the wheel of a Volvo, smooth, steady, no jagged edges, and feel the sun through a small, unsatisfying sun roof.
Letâ€™s go for the elements. Youâ€™ll get wet and cold sometimes, but thereâ€™s nothing like it when it works.