Some readers have been asking what the heck is going on with the monkey thing. (You can read the previous two posts here
I just wanted to clarify that the most recent event is not the bigger event. It was just a tiny piece of straw on the camel’s back.
Every year, it seems I “take on” a friend in need. I pour all my extra energy into helping them take “that next step”. I totally get that sometimes it’s a way to distract myself from my own stuff. But sometimes it’s just about being there for someone who needs you.
When it works, they step forward. And I step back. They’re grateful, but they don’t need my support more anymore. I know I did the right thing, and we both move on.
Sometimes it ends badly. I get that, too. That’s the whole a reason, a season, a lifetime story when it comes to friendships.
The biggest one, the one that really blew my powder keg, was almost a year ago. It hit very close to home. So close, I don’t want to publish the details on the internet. I apologized for getting upset (but not for saying my truth). I am very proud that, despite my anger, I left certain words unsaid (which I can’t say for the other people involved.) ‘Nuff said.
The circus/monkey mantra thing simply saved me from going any deeper into the latest, more recent circus/monkey things.
I don’t blame the people involved. I will never stop “being there” for people when I feel the call.
And I don’t blame myself. I’m usually pretty good at getting out before things go south.
But sometimes I overstay my welcome. And that’s why I ordered a new bumper sticker yesterday. It says, “Not my circus. Not my monkeys.”
You can get yours at Zazzle.com!
Right next to the one that says, “Brake for moose, it could save your life.”
I love it when we drive to Pennsylvania, because it puzzles people.
I got that as soon as I wrote it. (That’s why I write, after all. To figure all this stuff out.)
But it felt wonderful to be able to say, “It hurts! And you were only allowed to hurt me because I trusted you! Because I thought I had something useful to share, information that could help YOU!!”
That’s when I realized everything that was hurting me and stressing me, were things I’d picked up. Things I wanted to fix. Things I thought I could help with. (Hell’s bells, where did my hospice training go??!!)
I had the experience, I had the knowledge, I had the training, I’d even made it through the aftermath. Surely someone might benefit from that! (After all, part of my mission is that I some share things I’ve learned the hard way, so that you don’t always have to….)
And I ended up in someone else’s circus, with someone else’s monkeys.
So what do you do when you want to be open and you want to be vulnerable, so something new can come in? But you’re also sick and tired of said heart being emotionally and spiritually trampled?
Danielle LaPorte is much braver and fierce than I am. I’m in awe of her.
I see where she’s going with this, and I want to go there, too. I’m going to keep that practice, of doing the work and growing. I’ll be brave, and I’ll do the work.
But the big fence is okay, too. You don’t get in until you show me you can act respectfully of what is being given. And if you do make a mess, and don’t clean up after yourself?
well, that’s my own damn fault for believing you were who you say your are.
I wasn’t wrong for giving you the benefit of the doubt. But I will be slower about letting you in the next time, and quicker to boot you out if you fustlecate. (I just made that up.)
Just in time. Because right now things are hard. But they don’t have to be.
Deep breath.
Let it go.
And get back out there, back into the game.
Into the big wide open adventure of my life.
Just so you know I’m not perfect: I am not proud that I will not admit I really can’t cut my own bangs…. And yes, I know that’s a double–no wait, a TRIPLE-negative.
Often when I look back at a particular difficult time in my life, I realize there was something deep going on. There was a major life lesson involved. Something I was struggling to understand.
I could read about it. I could see it. I could hear what other people said about it.
But I hadn’t quite gotten to the point where I knew it in my own heart. I didn’t have that “aha!” moment, that little insight, the recognition of, “So that’s what this is about!”
And of course, the recognition of what’s going on isn’t enough. You can’t stop there. Nope, you have to practice it, over and over, until you finally, really, really get it.
Here is one example: Years ago, I had a boyfriend who worked at a “campy” store in town. His coworkers were tight, and socialized often. I would tag along. They were a good group to hang with.
There was one woman, a little older than the rest of us “20-somethings”, who was respected and liked by all of us. There was only one little problem… She was often brusque with me, and rarely talked to me.
I asked my then-boyfriend about it, and he was mystified. I noticed she didn’t treat anyone else this way. I resolved to be even friendlier and nicer to her.
One evening after work, she showed her medical illustration portfolio to us. Her drawings were astonishing, and I told her so. “Yeah, thanks,” she replied shortly. “No, really, they’re very good!” I said. She turned away. I sat there, baffled at being rebuffed yet again.
And then it hit me, out of the blue, like a ton of bricks.
She didn’t like me.
I know you’re probably also thinking, “Well, doh, Luann! What was your first clue, darlin’?!”
But I had been clueless. Because I’d always been pleasant and obliging. Because I couldn’t think of a single reason why she should dislike me.
But though I didn’t know the why, I certainly recognized the what. Everything that had puzzled me became crystal clear and obvious. Like tapping that last little puzzle piece into place.
After that, I left her alone. I quit trying to “win her over”, because I realized that was salt in the wound to her. I still liked and respected her, but I accepted the fact that she didn’t like or respect me. Years later, I found out some of the “why”, and it had very little to do with me. That’s another story, and another life lesson.
But back to this life lesson.
Here is what happens when you listen (to someone who does know what they’re talking about: A few years ago, I found myself in a rattled state about my artwork and my art biz. I had a session with life coach Quinn McConald, of QuinnCreative.
I listed all the things I was stuck on. Then I said, “Oh, and for some reason I feel compelled to sign up for hospice volunteer training, and I have no idea what that’s about!” Quinn bookmarked that and returned to it later.
She asked if I were a perfectionist, and I said yes. Who doesn’t want to always do their best??
“The trouble with being a perfectionist,” she said, “is that you are full of ‘knowing’. And when you are full of knowing, nothing new can come in.”
Let me repeat that amazing, seemingly-simple little sentence….
When you are full of ‘knowing’, nothing new can come in.
That simple thought allowed me to be wide open to the hospice training. I understood I was entering this realm with complete ignorance. No expectations, no assumptions. Just humility, and a willing heart. A heart willing to be open, to be WRONG, to be taught, to be filled.
That little moment of understanding, of recognition, of clarity, is a blessing. There is a clarity. The story you’ve made up about “all that” is wrong. And now you have an opportunity to get better, to do better, to learn something new.
This transformation does not happen when you’re busy trying to be the smartest person in the room.
This is my current life theme.
I am accepting that I don’t always know. That there are things I think I know, that I really don’t know.
And I’m willing to learn.
I’m learning that some people who have been very dear to me, are themselves full of knowing. More painfully, I am seeing that they are not letting anything new come in. Especially not from me.
Because when you try to talk with people who are “full of knowing”, their argument is something this:
Who do you think you are?!
That stops the discussion, doesn’t it? If people don’t believe you have anything to say that would contribute to their understanding, it all ends there. If they believe they know more than you do, without bothering to ask, or listen, to what you do know, it all stops.
What do we say to that?
We say, “Who do I have to be?”
There are people with no experience with sociopathic behavior, no knowledge of how they work. People with little experience with or knowledge of sexual abuse and sexual predators. They’ve never been trained to work with people with illness, with dementia, with alcoholism, and they don’t understand it. They don’t see the signs when it sits across the table from them.
I was one of those people. I still am, about so many, many things.
Now I know better. I know the areas where I still need guidance. I know I still have a lot to learn.
But I also now know what “blaming the victim” looks like. I now know what “killing the messenger” looks like. I now know what happens when you leave a group. I now know how to genuinely apologize. And I now know what a real apology is, and what isn’t.
And unfortunately, this means I also know what happens when you try to enlighten people who inherently don’t believe you have anything useful to say.
It hurts when I engage with people who are so convinced they know better, they will actually stop believing I am who I show myself to be. For example, I do not knowingly cause physical or emotional pain, even with people I find difficult. I may feel like being mean, but I rarely do or say mean things, not deliberately. (Okay, stuff slips out now and then, okay?!)
I do not argue with people lightly. In fact, I tend to back down, so I don’t lose my temper and say something that cannot be unsaid. When I do speak up, it’s when I realize there is a chance I can change the dynamic. Otherwise, I may seethe, but I rarely act. So when I’m accused of “being mean”, I am aghast.
I am not a lazy dog owner, I am not a cruel dog owner, and I’m not a “clueless” dog owner. But two Facebook “friends” called me that today. (Really, people?!) They totally dismissed my own experience with the discussion topic, and similar evidence given by others. Would they say those things to me, to my face? I doubt it. It’s easy to be dismissive on Facebook. It’s like giving someone the finger while driving. But if you wouldn’t sat it to me directly, don’t say it to me Facebook.
I’ve been called “over-sensitive”. I’ve been told that, as a redhead, I have a short temper. (What’s the excuse now that my hair is red by the miracle of modern chemistry? Oh…right. Genetically I have a redhead’s temper.) I’ve been told I don’t know what I’m talking about.
So…
Who do I have to be? And if you don’t respect what I do know, what I do have expertise in, what I have learned, then I can’t talk to you. Because you can’t–or won’t–hear me anyway.
This is what it’s about, my current life lesson. This is where I am right now. And this is why I’m here.
Yes, we all have blind spots. We may never completely “know” ourselves.
But I’m guessing that you, like me, have often seen a shadow, a reflection, the secondary evidence that there is something you’ve made assumptions about, the suspicion that maybe, just maybe, you are w*r*o*n*g. You get a moment of doubt, a sliver of insight that maybe there’s another side, another angle, to what you “know” to be true. And that maybe somebody else has more information, more experience, more insight than you do right now. One of the smartest thing I ever did was to admit how little I really knew about alcoholism. I thought I knew, then realized I knew nothing. So I asked a few trusted friends who did know, for advice. I listened, deeply, and well. Thank you forever, Karen. Thank you forever, Mary Ellen.
Here’s another tip-off: When you realize you don’t know quite as much as you think you do, do you bluster? Do you get defensive? Do you attack the other person before they can have their say? Do you call them “over-sensitive” and blame them for the difficulty between you? Do you dismiss them as “not as experienced as you”, when in reality, you do not know of what you speak? Do you find yourself always blaming others for your woes?
Does your conscience squeak just a little?
Do you ever wonder if maybe a little more knowledge, a little more insight, a little more understanding, might get you to where your heart really wants to go?
I want to learn from people that really do know more than me. I’m willing to ask the dumb question. Humility is hard, hard, hard. Especially when you are bright, knowledgeable, skilled. You have to allow yourself to be vulnerable in order to grow. It takes practice. And the practice never stops.
And the people who are willing to do the same with me? I respect them 100%. This is part of “doing the work”. Being willing to ask. Being willing to listen. Being willing to learn.
Being open to what you don’t know.
Not trying to always be the smartest person in the room.
Those who don’t know what they’re talking about? And don’t know what I’m talking about here? They have their work to do. If it hurts me to be around them right now, well, that’s where I am. I have my own work to do. I can’t pick up theirs.
And all I can do is to write, to share, to give, to those people who are in the same place I am. People who are open to what I have to say. People who are also willing to look into the dark place in themselves that are filled with excuses.
People who think that maybe, just maybe, once in awhile…. I may know what I’m talking about.
Only in my studio can you see the largest collection of beaver-chewed-sticks in NH…maybe the world!! (This is just a small sample….)
I’ve heard every excuse in the book on why you don’t want to have an open studio. I’ve used a few of them myself!
But most of them aren’t very good excuses.
So here’s the first in a series of responses to your favorite excuse. Check out my response to “I don’t have a local audience!”, at my bi-weekly column at Fine Art Views.
And if you’re open to it, there will be plenty more to come! Enjoy.
A few days ago, the hosts of a Itty Biz explained why you shouldn’t worry about people unsubscribing from your blog. (Short story: Your message is never going to appeal to everybody, but it will always appeal to somebody.
Years ago, I did the nation’s largest wholesale craft show. When the economy tanked, so did my sales. (Actually, things tanked for everybody. Not just me. Not just other craftspeople. I need to remember it’s not always about me…..bigtime.)
At one particular show, I was counting up the things that had gone well: I picked up a prestigious gallery a customer introduced me to. A well-respected craft publishing company tapped me to do freelance work for them. And so on. A veteran exhibitor sneered, “Yeah, but how much MONEY did you make? That’s what counts! Quit putting a fluffy happy face on it.” Deflated, I confessed to the show manager that I must be a flop. She said, “Is money the only measure of your success?”
Hmmmmm….. Good question.
Money is important. Sales are important. Customers are important.
Paying your mortgage, putting food on the table, being able to care for those who depend on your are important. Not being in debt is important.
But they aren’t important because “I have more than you” or because “You’re not as famous as I am” or “He’s more important because his bank balance is bigger.”
We all have a place in the world.
The best work of our heart has a place in the world.
Sometimes, the smallest gesture of human kindness can change the world.
True courage is pursuing your dreams, doing the work, getting the work of your creative spirit, out into the world.
Numbers are good. But only when you understand they are only an imperfect measure of something much, much deeper, bigger, more mysterious and profound:
The impact of our words, our actions, our art, on the world.
The framed work continues to grow in popularity. (And I love making them!)
I’ve been blogging now for over a decade–twelve years! But I still remember the trepidation I felt about sharing my crazy thoughts to the world.
Not that the world was paying much attention then. Or even now. (Except for you, faithful reader!) But you know what I mean.
A few years in, another friend in the biz–literally, she worked for a major craft show producer–asked Jon for advice about blogging. (He blogged for a living.) He shared some key concepts about brand, sharing expertise, establishing herself as an authority.
I listened, and when the phone call ended, I complained that the advice he gave my friend was excellent, but none of it applied to me. And I was feeling stalled in my own writing.
He laid the groundwork of what I was doing, an insight I didn’t have.
Jon said, “Most people who write about how to make a go of it, write after they’ve made it. Very few people write from the trenches in real time. You’re brave to do that. And people will respond to that, because it helps them where they are, in real time, too.”
This is why you may feel I’ve been “reading your mind”. I’ve learned if I’m feeling overwhelmed and baffled by my thoughts and behavior, and the behavior of others, someone else probably is, too. If I can find a way through the storm, I will benefit.
And if I share that process, someone else will, too.
And I decided if looking stupid, or vulnerable, or less evolved than others, that’s okay. Writing about it helps me get through it (hence the “muddling through” tagline). And hopefully, helps others muddle, too.
He told me two more important things about writing online: Whatever you publish on the internet is going to be around a long, long time. Links and platforms may die, but usually what’s written still languishes. (Like my blog at Radio Userland. It’s still there!) If you trash someone or something, or get nasty, or give in to lizard-brain behavior, it could come back to haunt you. I took that to heart. If I have a gripe, I seriously edit the identity of the entity, so the lesson, not the person, shines through.
Luann Udell 