This is (just in the nick of time) Essay #52 of The 52 Essay Challenge, a series in which I write a new (unpolished & messy) essay each week during 2017. I DID IT!!! WOOOO!!!!
Last week, Shannon, my teacher, talked about the idea of not
knowing anything. How, as she’s gotten older, she’s come to realize that she
really knows nothing. And she’s happy about that. What it means –at least what I
think it means—is that you think you might know something, but then something
happens to prove you wrong or just limited in what you know. It means that knowing nothing is akin to
beginner’s mind. Everything is a clean slate and you are open to receive
whatever comes your way. You look at the world with wonder. I’d like to do
that: to look at the world with wonder.
Besides, Shannon continued, does it matter? In the grand
scheme of things, does it really matter how much we know or don’t know?
Sure, knowledge gained through experience can help us learn
how to navigate the world in ways that best suit us, but sometimes our
histories can hold us back from experiencing something new. For example, I’ve
been practicing Kundalini yoga for about a year and a half – I have a good idea
of what I’m walking into. And if I’m being honest, I usually walk into the
studio with trepidation. What shit is going to happen to me this time? Am I
going to break down crying again? Feel my insides torn to shreds? Or am I going
to burst with brilliant light that I could outshine the sun? I usually lean
toward the former, but practice the yoga anyway. I know that each day is
different, each practice brings something different. So maybe I won’t break
down into tears. But here's an idea: what if I just put aside my past experiences? Embrace the
not-knowing? Maybe I wouldn't carry that trepidation with me.
How do we practice non-attachment to our histories so that
we can be open to wonder with a beginner’s mind?
I don’t have a freaking clue.
maybe wonder starts with making barrettes
*
On this New Year’s Eve, as many people do, I am reflecting
on the past 52 weeks. It’s been quite a ride. To be honest, I much preferred
the first half to this second half. The first half, for me, was full of love
and wonder and new discoveries and time –time to read and to deeply engage in
my spiritual practice. The second half was a frenzy, as if I were running a
marathon at a sprinter’s pace. And I have the clutter in my house to prove it!
Clutter = never home long enough to put away things in their proper place.
Clean? What’s that? You’re lucky I get groceries in the house and the toilet
paper stocked!
Kidding aside, this year has been unlike any other. And
yeah, everyone says that, right? Every year is different. Every day is
different. Change is the only constant in our lives. But this one? Leaps and
bounds, my friend. Transformations never before seen.
I know: I sound like an informercial for some cosmic new age
retreat in the Catskills. Haha! All those abstract words! Let me try to be more
concrete.
The 52 Challenge – woooo, boy. That was something else. At
minimum, I showed myself that I really can do anything if I am committed to it.
This challenge of writing a personal essay each week for a year pushed me in
ways that were uncomfortable and brilliant and loving and, at times—dare I say
it?—fun. It got me to be more vulnerable in a very public way. It also taught me how to let go of perfectionism and in some ways, to
practice non-attachment. There was no time to hang on and hem and haw over a
word choice or tone or any of that because the next week was barreling down on
me saying: you need to write the next
essay! So I just had to click “Publish” (after a quick proofread for typos
– which I sometimes missed!) and move on. I look forward to printing out all 52
essays, laying them out on the living room floor, and seeing what I’ve got.
The essay challenge started out with me telling you stories.
By the end, it was me reflecting on my inner self, my spiritual health. But
also me being more me, more vulnerable, more true. (At least I’d like to think
so.)
I just read my first essay of this year. It’s pretty good.
And I’m not saying that out of arrogance. I’m saying that as a teacher of
writing. I wonder how long I spent on that essay. I’m pointing this out because
the essays of late are not so well-written. Perhaps this is a sign of
weariness. Perhaps a sign of very little writing time. Perhaps both. But you
know what? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m writing. And that I’m
letting go of that writing – I’m practicing non-attachment. I write a messy
essay, which may or may not be an essay but rather a journal entry, and post it
to the world fucking wide web. (who even calls it that anymore?! Hahaha!) What
matters is that I don’t know anything, but I write to try to figure out things,
to discover things, to uncover things, to excavate, to try to understand
things, to learn things, to possibly know things. And then to maybe let all that
go.
I’ve written an incredible amount this year. More than what
you see here on this blog, in these 52 essays. Sometimes I forget that. I
forget that I’ve written other things. I forget that I’ve written meditative
pieces, emails, letters, poems, rants, and yes, on the biz side: personal
artists statements (that counts, you know!). And what have I learned in all of
that writing? Amidst all of those words? That there’s stuff I know and there’s
a whole bunch more that I don’t know. There’s that saying: you don’t know what
you don’t know, right? So how do we go about being aware of this? You take a
step forward and fumble your way through the dark until you see light.
Here’s to starting with a clean slate, a beginner’s mind to
see the world with wonder and to live as authentically as we can.
Much love and light to you, my dear readers. Wishing you
many blessings for the new year.
(Will you see me in 2018? Perhaps. I just don’t know what that looks like yet. Maybe another 52 weeks of essays. I’m not sure. And yes, I know, I know: I’d better figure it out stat! Time’s a-ticking! The new year will be here any minute now!)
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