Daily Law of Attraction QuotationIf we had a child, or anyone, and we caught them doing something inappropriate, we would not amplify it with our words. We would identify what it is we do not want, and then out of it would come the rocket of desire of what we do want, and then we would just visualize, visualize, visualize, until we find peace within our vision. When you make someone and their action the heart of a vision that you've spent time on -- your relationship improves, your experience is better, and they receive the benefit of the experience.
But if you catch them, and see them, and worry about it, and put mechanisms in place to prevent it, now you have not only amplified it, you have now made a commitment that is hooking you both into that, until usually it gets big enough that you break apart, and then you attract others to fulfill that role.
--- Abraham
Excerpted from the workshop in Chicago, IL on Sunday, April 25th, 1999 #42
So I noted the behavior I didn't want to continue and amplified it in my last blog post. My objective is to note the behavior I do want in myself, and amplify that. But the unwanted behavior is so fascinating . . .
I'm listening to Talent is Overrated now, and I'm in the section about business. All the performance books I like have big sections on business, and I'm not really into business, except my own business, which is picking up nicely. (Next on my list: Guerilla Marketing.) His major point thus far is that great talent comes with great work, with specific, directed practice that isn't necessarily the same thing as doing the same thing over and over again. A great football player doesn't get great by just playing football; he runs hills, does leg presses, etc., to give him the advantage he needs on game day.
I understand that. I understand that if I want to become a great guitar player, I need to practice my scales, sightread, and dedicate a lot more time than I currently do to music. I understand that if I want to be a great novelist, or even a good one, a lot of time should be spent writing, rewriting, getting my work critiqued and critiquing my work myself, comparing it to what I consider great writing and analyzing where my writing falls short, working to make it better. Benjamin Franklin had a great method to improve his writing that the Colvin (the author) gives in detail from Franklin's autobiography. It sounds like a lot of work, and it's a little intimidating, but I really think I could do it. The key is getting myself to do it.
And that's where my quest always leads me--wondering where that passion and drive come from, and wondering how to tap into my own. Colvin talks about it in his final chapter, which I'm not at yet, and I'm really curious as to whether he says it's a great mystery or of it gives pointers on how to develop your own passion. I'll keep you posted.
I read Daniel Pink's Drive for the same reason, to figure out how to give myself that sort of oomph, and I came away from the book thinking that it would be great to work for Google, but still unsure how to motivate myself. The reward of doing and growing and learning is greater than the reward of bonuses.
Meanwhile, reading Talent has really given me pause about why I've been reluctant to try to get into an MFA program for writing. I give excuses like not wanting to dilute my voice with others' criticism; not wanting to sound all stuffy and full of myself, like I think some MFAs do, though I have no evidence for this belief. The truth the thought of working hard on my writing and being graded on it intimidates me.
I have no such concerns about critical writing, personal essays or research papers. It's just fiction that gives me the willies, and perhaps that's because it's too dear to my heart to risk failure.
Colvin does point out two characteristics of people who are willing to work hard to get better: self-efficacy (they believe they are capable of doing what it is they're working at), and a belief that their hard work will pay off.
This makes total logical sense to me. Logic works well for rearranging my beliefs. I think I might be on to something.
I believe I'm a decent writer. I've seen my writing improve through college courses--I learned more in Advanced Composition back at Harding, with our critiquing groups and Dr. Long's encouragement and criticism, than I have anywhere else.
I know a few areas that I need to work on: Structure and composition--getting from point A to point B logically. A penchant for really long and convoluted sentences which may or may not get my point across effectively. Middles--I know where my story starts and where it ends, but what happens in between I'm fucking clueless about.
I'm willing to work on these issues.
Jessica is an inspiration to me. She has never run regularly, and last week--for the first time in her life--she jogged for 20 minutes straight. She's doing the Couch-to-5k program, and while she bitched unabashedly about how not fun running was in the beginning, she stuck to it and has been bitten by "the bug." She was intimidated by the 20 minute hurdle, developed her own plan to ramp up her training a little more slowly so that her calves could acclimate to the increased time, decided she could do it and then did. She recognizes that she has a problem with her calves tightening up, and when she couldn't figure out on her own how to stop it, she signed us both up for a Chi Running class, which starts tonight. (The class is a few days past due for me, as I did something really horrible to my ankle on my last run and am still limping.)
She's amazing in that way: if she wants to do something, she is a great power to be reckoned with. She plugs away methodically even when she doesn't feel like it. She believes in her ability, and she believes that hard work brings results.
I, on the other hand--well, let me give you an example from my past.
I had always wanted to be able to play guitar. When I was 28, I decided that I would take lessons, even though I hadn't started at an early age and would likely never be an international sensation. I wanted to play well enough to be able to sing at the same time, and I was willing to put in the work. I took lessons for over a year, and one day my teacher, in an effort to praise me for my hard work, told me how well I was doing and how he could tell that I did something that most of the rest of his students never did: I practiced.
I knew that most of his students were teenage boys who wanted to be the next Kurt Cobain, who probably didn't apply themselves at anything and who would probably become bartenders in the French Quarter, smoke a lot of pot and eventually start their own contracting businesses, if they were lucky. I did not wish to be like them. I wanted to be good.
Still, the knowledge that I worked harder at something than someone else bugged me, and my practicing suffered as a result. I never conquered shifting from 3rd to 5th position playing F scales, deeming that one exercise as too difficult, ignoring the many songs and exercises that I'd practiced until I could play them smoothly . . . and eventually quit.
Now, from my new perspective, I wish I hadn't.
Being willing to work hard at something you care about is a reason for pride. It's not the sign of a loser who has nothing better to do; it's the sign of someone who believes in herself and her ability to overcome difficulties. Being able to set aside the urge to jump up and down, screaming "This is the most annoyingly frustrating exercise in the world!"--or at least to sit down and start playing again after the screaming--is a sign of great character, mental fortitude, and other qualities that fathers worldwide try to instill in their children.
I want to be the kind of person who does things even when they're annoying and tedious just to get better.
To bring it back to Abraham, it's a lot easier to do those annoying and tedious things from inside the Vortex. Sometimes it's annoying and tedious to get myself into that place--into a place where I believe my hard work will pay off rather than stymie me completely.
Meanwhile, the idea of starting an MFA program is niggling at the back of my brain. There's actually a pretty good one at NC State, about an hour from my house. What do I need to apply? Three letters of recommendation, which I can come up with even though I've not been active in the study of writing any time recently. A GRE score from the past 5 years, which is a simple matter of scheduling. $65 application fee: doable. A 15 page critical paper; not a problem. A plan for how to pay for the program if I get in: I'll worry about that later, because it's just an excuse to not get to the last requirement. A writing sample of my fiction . . . that would require editing and working hard and committing. And then there's the hard work that comes after getting in; hopefully the massage business would be in full-swing by then.
So . . . that leaves me with editing my work being my first priority, which is hard work. But hard work brings improvement, and a program brings proven methods to practice and get better, mentors and colleagues, and a commitment to actually do what I want to do, much like signing up for the Marine Corps Marathon.
And this is where I'm at today, limping toward the edge of commitment, looking forward to teetering on that edge and learning to dive.
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