Here is a lie I believe.
Somewhere deep down, I believe that my writing needs to be well-crafted, thoughtful, excellent, and worthy. I worry about whether or not my words are good enough. I spend a lot of time editing and rereading. I have probably read and reread this paragraph 100 times. The truth is that nothing I write will ever meet that elusive perfection standard. None of my previous posts have, that’s for sure. In spite of this, I feel like I am supposed to keep showing up at this page. Which should set me free to write and let go. Except I continue to read and reread, to tinker and stress, to spend just a little more time. I want you to like what I say. I want you to like me, too.
Evidently, I am not fully convinced of one of Fr. Keating’s most basic teachings: approval and esteem don’t lead to happiness. Worldly popularity feels great for a time, but in the end, it’s empty. Just ask our victorious president, who seems quite crabby now, in spite of his election win. Or ask any celebrity, famous athlete, or best-selling author if their success brought them all they hoped. Brad and Angelina couldn’t stay married. Daniel Radcliffe of Harry Potter fame suffered with an “unhealthy” drinking problem while filming those movies. And then there’s a long list of Disney child stars who have also struggled with depression and addictions: Zac Efron, Demi Lovato, Selena Gomez, Lindsay Lohan, Mary-Kate Olsen, to name just a few. Apparently, it’s not always easy- or happy- being that chosen, golden child.
I remind myself, then, that the point of this little blog is not to be edgy and brilliant so that I gain praise, accolades and Facebook likes; the goal is to show up and tell the truth. I have long felt a calling to talk about my experience with centering prayer, and whether I am making time for it everyday and where it is taking me. To see if the silence will help me with my “desire for affection, esteem, approval and pleasure,” in Father Keating’s words. My ultimate goal is to move to a place where I am content with God’s love alone. In that place, I wouldn’t worry at all about what people think of me, because I would be living in Love.
So what would it mean to post something terrible? Just a horrible piece of writing that isn’t thought out or edited, something raw? I still hate the thought of it. It would be like taking the dog out on our quiet, dark street at 10 p.m in my pajamas and running into all the members of the volunteer fire department at the fire house up the road, just back from a service call. Something like that would make me feel vulnerable and a little too exposed. Not like that’s ever happened. Well, maybe just once. And not something that I want to repeat.
Except. There is power in honest truth telling. I know that it helps me to read other people’s stories, especially the parts that may be hard to share. It helps me to feel not so alone. Maybe there could be freedom for me in writing badly, in realizing that it’s OK if you don’t like this. Hopefully, I don’t need to go so far as to waltz around the neighborhood in my pajamas. But embracing the badness, and feeling OK with what is? I think that’s OK. Maybe that can start here with this piece today. Maybe that will make the next piece a little easier.
By the way, I have started to Center some on my own. Not as much as I want, but more than before. I am grateful that everyday is another chance to start again.
Come, Lord Jesus
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