I think I can’t, I think I can’t, I think I can’t…
On limits, potential, choreography, doubt, beliefs and process around the very important thing you are making
If you are ‘trying’ to do something, a thing that already has a meaning, form, or purpose, and you succeed in doing it, what you learn is that you can do that thing. Or not. So, if you discover you cannot do the thing (yet), then you get to feel the feeling of ‘I can’t do it’.
Know your potential. Wait, what?
Did you know that when you work to your limits, the only thing you learn in the end is … your limits?
That sounds really cryptic, but it has been a hard won lesson for me. (A very practical one, that I learnt through movement meditation. Ask if you want to learn more).
The theory goes that if you are ‘trying’ to do something, a thing that already has a meaning, form, or purpose, and you succeed in doing it, what you learn is that you can do that thing. Or not. So, if you realise you cannot do the thing (yet), then you get to feel the feeling of ‘I can’t do it’.
Here is a simple example, but maybe not so simple. Can you lie on the ground, with your legs straight and your arms along your body, and come to standing without touching the ground with your hands or using any unnecessary strain and be breathing freely?
I can’t. But earlier this year I spent 3 weeks in the process of doing this, and not trying to do this - mainly because the instructor cleverly didn’t reveal to us what we were ‘trying to do’. What I did discover were groups of muscles I didn’t know I had, that there are lots of other ways to come to sitting (in the first instance) by twisting, holding parts of my own body, resting, and coming back again to explore more. Also, laughing and not taking myself so seriously. And accepting exactly where I am, on that day, even if people were popping up and sitting or standing all around me.
If you approach your ‘something’ without trying to achieve anything (especially from day 1, and also around the midpoint of the process), for example, without trying to conform to its meaning, ‘form’ or purpose - you learn a lot more. Because, curiosity. And also, with the attitude of potential, there’s no room for doubt. Because you can’t actually know your potential. You are limitless.
And that’s really exciting, right? (I may never master this ‘move’ until I’m 80 years old, if ever, but I am going to learn a lot more about me and my ideas about life and movement in the process, that’s for sure).
Let’s say you’re in a dance studio.
Let’s say you’re in a dance studio 1.0.
The dance instructor stands at the front, back to the wall length mirror, and shows the class the 30 second choreo that will be taught and learnt.
The class knows that at the end of the 75 minutes, the expectation is that they will all be dancing that choreo in alignment with the instructor.
I don’t know about you, but I’m sweating bullets just thinking about this. I am looking at myself in the mirror, I can see the other participants in the mirror too. I know the instructor is doing the choreo backwards to demonstrate the moves to us and this does my head in. I have LOTS of feelings of incompetence before we have even begun.
Let’s say you’re in a dance studio - 2.0.
The dance instructor enters the room and arranges the group in a circle.
They say ‘we are going to explore the potential of our backs, the rear side of our bodies that we focus so little on in everyday life’.
The class knows that at the end of the 45 minutes, the expectation is that they will have a clearer relationship to their own back, and possibly that of others, done in participation with all the other bodies in the same dance studio.
For me, this sparks curiosity and possibility. I don’t know what to expect, but I trust that everyone will be having a similar process. I don’t feel like there is a binary instructor/teacher energy, or a performer/audience vibe either. It is an experience that I want to have. We’re all in this together.
Doubt as an emotional pitfall when it comes down to ‘it’.
Doubt is a huge factor when it comes to a writing project. There are lots of expectations around competence, the enormity of the project that you have declared you will complete (and perhaps even send away for publication). Before we have even thought about who our audience really is - that there will be actual eyeballs going over our words or ideas or shapes, real-life ear canals receiving our sounds etc, and bona fide humans spending their time (which is their actual life and energy) on what we are creating, we aren’t quite sure whether we can even do it.
What is ‘it’, anyway?
Who said that there was a definitive end point to your project? What is complete, what is perfection? When do you make that last brushstroke or do that last edit and hit save, and know it’s the final version and not a draft anymore? When did this process even begin and when will it ever end?
What if the act of sitting at the desk and writing (or holding your instrument or tool and using it – you do you) was not a mountain of unseasoned spinach to consume, but a smorgasbord of delicacies to taste, take or leave? What if the act of your practice was an opportunity to observe what unfolds rather than a set time for a workout that will leave you with sorer and shorter muscles than when you began?
(Do you even believe that you produce the work? For the record, I don’t. I believe my work arises and I catch the words and put them ‘out there’. This takes a huge amount of pressure off in the moment, but, that’s me. Like I say, you do you.)
Believe in the process
Don’t believe in the output. Not while you’re making it. You don’t actually know what it will look like as it is taking form, nor how it will be received. That’s for the future and you can’t control that. All you can believe in is that you’ll turn up at the designated moment and do the thing. Even the thing you’re doing at the designated time is sort of out of your control, because you’re busy making it come into being. But you can turn up and see what happens. You do your practice. And always - always, by turning up and committing to your process, you create less room for doubt.
It’s when you stop acting and stop committing and stop showing up for your project that doubt can wheedle its way in and start spreading its tentacles. And before you know it, you’re standing in that dance studio facing the mirror, thinking that there’s a show to perform the next day to a paying audience of 1000 people and you have never even taken a formal dance lesson in your life. Paralysing or what?
I’ve got you. I’ve got your back.
Show up. I’m here. I’ll be here every Friday. Helping you work out what you need to do to stay on track, and finish your thing, so you can get to your ‘The End’.
What do you do next?
- Take 5 minutes and note down on a piece of paper what your potential is, right now. Are there lots of directions? Is there a theme? Is there one sentence, or one word?
- What is your version of the dance studio nightmare scenario? Share in the comments.
- Where else does doubt show up for you, outside of your writing? For me it’s parenting (because it is a long game, my friend. You start stuffing up from day 1…). I won’t know what a ‘perfect’ child is until they’re adults (and they will definitely have a coach (or therapist) because they grew up knowing I have one and am one).
- How can you show up to your project next time with an attitude focusing on process rather than anything else (for example not hell bent on hitting a goal, or reaching x minutes/x words). Of course, maybe you only have 15 minutes, but rather than ‘get through’ the allotted time and be as ‘productive as possible’, could you take the approach that when you get to the end of the 15 minutes ask yourself: how was the process? And be honest, were you doubting yourself in the process? Report back here.
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P.S. I’ve just realised, I’m in the future all the way over here in New Zealand, so my Friday is for many readers the afternoon or night before. So, I will look into what time is best to publish each week and work it out as we go along!