Reframing Failure

One of Barbara Sher's (barbarasher.com) exercises is designed to discover buried passion, starting in childhood, long before the sound of life's present-day march became louder than the sound of childhood laughter.   With this exercise I hoped to find my joy in its simplest form -- what I always enjoyed, what I was compelled to do, or needed to do, and in uncovering that, use it for present and future action.   I was curious to see if those joy seeds were just dormant, or brutally killed or consciously abandoned as not useful.  Like the person who revisits a childhood home to renew happy (or not so happy) times, I wanted to look, and really see, and allow that which I saw to sit down with me, speak to me.

Barbara promised that with this exercise, I would get back to myself, the essence of me and what drove me, and with that, discover what will sustain me in the hours when the "it" is not fun anymore.

Okay, a sidebar -- Although I love these sorts of self discovery writing exercises, two well worn blocks come up every time I undertake them.  The first is the firmly rooted belief that these will work for everyone else but me, and the second is that once I know, will I act?  On the second, I don't know why I sometimes see and don't act.  I would like to become proficient in acting after discovery, and treat Mr-Don't-Do-It as I would a solicitor -- recognize this unwanted visitor as trying to sell me something I don't want and politely thank him and shut the door in his face.


Barbara's instructions included the suggestion of calling a parent, a trusted friend or family for clues long forgotten. My memory of childhood is spotty and the only living person with that clue is my mother.  So, one Sunday, I sat at my kitchen table, pen in hand, and called mom to get her perspective on what I enjoyed as a child.

"You used to write a lot," she began, which make me smile as I was not aware of that.  Our talk took twists and turns, and soon, she came upon the often repeated story of how she and dad tried to encourage me to participate in class, and about my lack of unbridled participation.  I bristled.  Her analysis of why always was answered as insecurity and fear of not being liked.  Here we go again -- Cathy (as I was called for the first 30 years of my life) won't participate, have fun!   I was a social failure, locked into non-action.  Then as if by magic, my friend "shame" entered the room to sit down with me.  It made me mad and sad at the same time.  From my perspective, I remember minimally participating, but I did like watching others, and drawing conclusions or commenting in my head about what I observed. Did the conclusion that everyone agreed upon stick - that I was insecure, shy, worried about being liked - was that true, or if it was, was that even the point?  Shame was sitting next to me, so I had no immediate answer.

Now if you have ever been in a moving vehicle, having fun, windows open with a  breeze flowing in your locks and face, your favorite music on, your arm out the window, sun in your face only to have the breaks suddenly and quickly applied, then THAT was the moment as I talked with my mom.

I did as instructed and wrote down what mom said.  Later, with emotional distance, I  read what I wrote, and something or someone whispered a very important sentence: What kind of person observes but does not participate?

A critic, a judge, a researcher, a therapist, a social scientist, a writer, a teacher?

Did this fit?  Could this be that my parent's perception was simply their conclusion, and nothing more, and that it was me to be an observer?  Is this why, as teen who did not know how to swim, I was able to pool-side "teach" swimming to my younger sisters using what I observed to instruct them?  They did learn to swim that summer in that hotel pool, at the very least, due to my feedback and encouragement.

I stepped back, re-framed an old block and discovered that I am a thinker, researcher, observer and commenter at heart, and it is what I enjoy.  I also take note that enjoying something is not the same as doing what you enjoy.  During a recent conversation with a friend about the creative process, I revealed that I 'write' such great things in my head.  But a writer writes; that is the product, that is the action.  It took me years to begin this blog, which is an action for that which I love.    I am learning to re-frame blocks that keep me from action, and if shame and his friend Mr-Don't-Do-It" will leave me alone, I may have the room to act and create more.