Ever notice that once you really start committing to something, it almost seems as if everything in the universe is conspiring against you to make that thing happen?
A lot of times, people stop. They give up. They see it as a “sign” that it’s not the right time. Or it’s not supposed to happen. Or that they should try something else. Or that if this is what they really were supposed to be doing, it’d be easier.
But what if it were just the opposite? By passionately committing to something with extraordinary action, you usher into motion a whole cause-and-effect universe that puts things into play that actually aid and assist you on your journey if you’re brave enough to continue pushing through to the end. But you have to stay the course.
The things that happen to us in life aren’t meant to stop us. Some people think they’re meant to test our resolve. To test just how committed we truly are. Maybe.
But what if it were simply the law of physics. That the more you get in the game of life, the more you take action, the more you’re going to affect (and be effected by) events.
It means you’re activated. It means you’re living. Life’s not supposed to be trouble-free. How boring would that be? There’d be no challenge. And we’re hard-wired to seek challenge. Challenges are what lead us to develop curiosity, they further adventures. Challenges reveal latent talents within us. Our strength of character. Our malleability. Our sense of humor. Our resilience.
There’s no force out there trying to keep us from what we want. There’s no evil troll in the sky throwing curve balls at you, saying, “You cannot have this!”
The only thing keeping you from what you want is this:
You not committing to what you want. (But more of this next week.)
“If you deny yourself commitment, what can you do with your life?” — Harvey Fierstein
Life itself is an affirmative act. Everywhere in nature you see the inclination, the will to life. Flowers bloom. Birds dispense plant seeds so that they continue to propagate and grow. Weeds are so committed, they poke out from cement sidewalks, where life seems inhospitable. A spider spins its web in places that are certain to be destroyed, and when it invariably happens, it simply weaves a new web. Even in the face of destruction, nature continues to march forward. Almost as if it’s dancing to a rhythm of “yes”. No matter what the odds, nature finds a way.
But what’s up with us?
How many times a day do you say “no”? You don’t like your coffee. You hate the heat. You wish June gloom was not so gloomy. You compare and despair. You wish you had his biceps, her boobs, this agent, that TV show and then everything would be great.
How many times do you say “no” without even realizing it? Every time you complain. Every time you whine. Every time you gossip. Every time you doubt. Every time you expect something to be other than it is. And yes, every time you actually say “no” to things.
Saying “no” shuts out possibility. Saying “no” leaves us zero access to potential. Saying “no” is a closed system. Saying “no” is not a connective force. Saying “no” is separatism. Saying “no” is simply unchecked habituated thinking. Saying “no” runs counter to our natural state of being. Saying “no” limits our ability to be the creative geniuses we are. Saying “no” prohibits access to the unknown which is where the creative matrix – all possibility – exists. Saying “no” shuts your door.
So say “yes” this week. See how it improves your life. Your attitude. Your mood. Watch how things start rushing into your experience simply because you’ve finally opened the door.
All it takes is saying “yes.”
“Yes is a world and in this world of yes live (skillfully curled) all worlds.” — e.e. cummings
We’re not taught the physics of creativity so we listen to the pseudo-self (our Ego) — which tells us that the unknown is a scary and unsafe place to be. And it tries to prevent us from going there.
But a deeper part of us craves the unknown, desires it. The adventurer, the seeker in you – knows that all expansion in life, all discoveries, all creative victories have only occurred by stepping into that which is unknown.
Look at your own life. Anything that you’ve accomplished that has been meaningful or significant or fulfilling has required that you first step into that which is unfamiliar.
You had to take the leap.
But because our minds tells us things like “You’re going to get hurt.”“Don’t be stupid.” “You can never do that.”“You’re crazy!”“Who are you to try that?”— and on and on — it feels almost counter-intuitive to step into the void.
But the unknown is really just a scary word for something that is actually the material we need in order to create. It’s the creative matrix. It is infinite potential. It is the substance needed for your creative genius to take root and grow. The unknown plugs you into universal consciousness – a stream of information and ideas you cannot access without first taking the step into that which isn’t familiar.
Stop running away from it. Turn back and step into it. Fully. Totally. Committedly. You’ll see that it supports your step. It’s been beckoning you to take the leap into it all along.
And watch what happens in your life.
The novelist, Andre’ Gide, said it best:
“In order to discover new lands you must be willing to lose sight of the shore.”
When I was a kid growing up in Indiana, I’d spend my summers collecting live bugs. There were acres of woods behind my house and empty fields full of more insects than you could imagine. Much to my mom’s disapproval, I’d grab empty canning jars from our basement, poke holes in the lids and go out on a bug-finding safari all day long.
I’d create mini-menageries in each jar by filling them with live butterflies, grasshoppers, beetles, ladybugs, dragonflies and sow bugs.
But my favorite: fireflies.
I’d wait until twilight, have my mom spray me head-to-toe with extra-strength Off! – the mosquitoes were merciless – and then I’d set out into the twinkling night sky. The entire backyard would flash on and off with flying incandescent lights.
But it wasn’t enough for me to just experience it. Or even capture the fireflies. I wanted them to light up for me personally! I wanted a Tony Light Show!
So I would catch one with my hand, entombing it in my fist.
But I then found myself in an interesting conundrum. I wanted to see the firefly create its light show for me. And I had it in my hand. But in order to experience it, I had to let go.
The experience I was yearning for required me to open my hands and let go. So I did – and when I hadn’t accidentally squashed the poor buggers, I got to see what I had wished for.
The moral of the story: Everything you want is waiting to reveal itself to you as soon as you let go.