What happens when we can’t…do what we normally do? When our naturalness doesn’t come through? When we fall down? And maybe can’t quite get up?
First, humility. The reminder of your humanity descends like a drumbeat in your chest. Then, a short (or long) spiral of despair. Why this? Why now? Why in front of him / her / them? And finally – bargaining. The attempt to persuade yourself that you are not that, it is not you, and that output doesn’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 it’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 else’s generous reflection in reaction your own fumble, is deeply beautiful. It’s something you might not see in the throws of success.
The other way is to avoid biting the hook at all. That means the highs aren’t as high, nor are the lows that low – because you’re not on the ride. You’ve meditated / medicated / mediated your way to an unmovable center that feels, moves, risks – 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, you’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.
Let’s go for the elements. You’ll get wet and cold sometimes, but there’s nothing like it when it works.