Great Discipline Experiment: Day # Crap
Wherein the Great Discipline Experiment goes utterly off the rails.
Why? I cannot say for sure.
I traveled to Tulsa this weekend to participate in the lovely Hawk Publishing Writers’ Workshop. I was so happy to be invited. I got to teach meditation and talk about writing. What more could I want? I was also going to get to stay in a hotel, normally a wonderfully productive setup for me. But although I loved the workshop, loved the participants, loved Bill, the organizer, and his wife, Marcia, and got to go shopping at the legendary Miss Jackson’s, the trip wreaked havoc on me. I am trying to learn from this. Here’s what I know:
No matter how short the slot or familiar the subject matter, I get nervous before presenting anything publicly. I’ve given enough talks to know my style of preparation and unfortunately, it’s a style that is nervous-making. The more I prepare in advance, the worse I do. This is not a happy situation. My best strategy is to think very deeply about what I’m about to do, not what I’m about to say. That’s it. Beyond that, I can’t plan what to say. I can’t plan how to begin. I can only summarize (to myself) what I hope to have communicated by the time my talk is over. So I think over my key points—what they mean, not how to express them—clip on the mic, and start talking. Further, I actually have to be in the room I’m going to speak in to prepare for the talk, so I just go sit there for awhile and it comes to me. It’s a completely kinesthetic, non-conceptual experience. I get into a zone and if anyone starts chit-chatting with me, the zone goes away. It’s a strange–and inconvenient–kind of concentration.
I’ve learned the hard way that if I prepare even one iota more than this, I freeze. Or worse, give my talk with no life, charm, or soul—in which case, even if I was communicating the cure for cancer, no one would even hear me. Authenticity and communication in-the-moment are what enable people to actually hear what you’re saying, to take it into themselves and make it their own. Everything else is just ponderous. So when I teach, I prepare the best I can, forget all my preparation, and just show up. Like I said, nervous-making.
When I’m nervous, I discovered, I bargain away my discipline. I try to find little treats to make myself feel better—any guilty pleasure will do. I completely let myself off the hook because I guess I feel sorry for myself. Discipline goes away and this is reason #1.
Reason #2, oddly, is food. I was unable to secure chow that suited my palate and digestion. I am a fairly healthy eater and the room service in Tulsa was one from column fried and two from column cheesy. I didn’t have a car and nothing was in walking distance. So I ate crap. This made me feel awful, terrible, and also more sorry for myself. Ridiculous. Eating poorly leads to more eating poorly, leads to lethargy and mental stupidity. Apparently.
Reason #3 is simply the fact of talking to people in social settings. Even though I love to teach, I do not love to chat. It’s not that I find it boring or wasteful or anything, it just makes me tired. This is the #1 thing that gives me a headache: talking to strangers. Deep down, I am actually incredibly, ridonkulously, profoundly shy. I would much rather observe others talking than participate in conversation. More fatigue, less discipline.
Reason #4 is that once my discipline begins to deteriorate, some evil voice compels me to wreck whatever remains. In this case, flying home via Dallas on the heinous American Airlines, that meant stupid treats like more bad food and silly magazines. All my natural elegance and dignity were gone. But at least I wasn’t wearing a tracksuit. (If you ever see me wearing one, shoot me.)
Oh yes, and I had a migraine for two days. This made me even softer on myself. Not to mention all hopped up on Imitrex.
So today, I had a choice: immediately get back on the horse or…what? Not. I chose not. I chose instead to only do what I really, really felt like doing, the moment I felt like doing it. My husband is out of town, so this was actually possible because I’m home alone. I slept very late. I cooked healthy food for myself. I folded laundry and cleaned stuff up, which makes me happy. I traded in my old camera for a new one. I rode around with the top down. Watched a Barbara Stanwyck move. I feel much better.
As I was driving around today, I noticed something. The whole world was happening around me and I got to see it. I wasn’t looking at my schedule, I was looking up into the sky.
It has been a good day. Tomorrow, back on the horse.
11 comments
New blog post: The Great Discipline Experiment: Day # Crap. In which the whole things goes off the rails. http://bit.ly/dABMM
Hi Susan! I hope you’re able to continue being kind to yourself in your post-speaking-gig reflections. You faced some challenging circumstances in Tulsa– not an earthquake or a flood, but nonetheless, some difficult stuff. I understand completely how hard it can be to attain ‘flow’ when presenting, so you do the best you can in the moment, and hopefully learn from it later.
and as if I didn’t already feel connected to you, and your journey– I too have a convertible mini cooper! mine is, however, orange
I don’t have a mini, but I’m right there with you on so many other levels! I’m back on the horse today after two crap days (with migraines, no less), and reminding myself just to keep at it. I love following your journey, Susan. Thank you.
Leslie, we really have a lot in common! Hope you migraines are better. And Susan, too! Go Mini gals. And thanks to both of you for the feeling of support I get from you both.
Thank you for sharing not only the good things, but your struggle! It helps me in ways you cannot imagine to know that someone I deeply respect and admire struggles too. Thank you! And my all time favorite line from a movie fits here: “Chin up young person.”
Susan – Despite your nerves, diet, migrane, and claustrophobic plane rides, you came across as a strong, composed, elegant teacher. Next trip to Tulsa, I’ll take you to the park to escape the chit chat.
As far as being able to “perform,” I was prescribed beta blockers at a young age which trained my body to not produce adrenaline when I was going to perform. It has helped me stay calm tremendously. Check this link: http://healthpsych.psy.vanderbilt.edu/BetaBlockers.htm
Thank you so much for your post – I’m a complete stranger and came here by one of those odd paths like picking mushrooms. You have expressed what so often happens with me and I am suddenly more gentle with myself. Thank you.
Lindsey, thanks for reflecting back to me and it was so great to meet you. And thanks for the suggestions… And will respond to your email to figure out a time to talk.
Bethan, it makes me very happy if anything you’ve read here makes you more gentle toward yourself. Nothing is more important. Really.
Susan, it’s striking how much I relate to what you shared here about preparing for talks, socializing, and the interaction of nutrition, etc. with feeling good and effective. I feel like you’re a kindred spirit!
I give a lot of talks at my local Center, and have been doing so for almost 15 years. I also used to be a consultant and trainer, and occasionally facilitated day-long workshops. Many of my preparation habits have really never changed, and I’ve usually fallen into the trap of perfectionism, criticizing my style. I keep thinking I’ll discover a way to keep a flow of logical 3-fold logic at the same time as not flatten my inspiration or the possibility of present-moment flashes of insight.
I had an interesting experience when I assistant-directed Guide training in Austin last year. During my 3-hour drive from Houston, I used my hand-held digital recorder to record inspiring thoughts about my topic whenever they arose. That night and the next morning before the talk, I listened to the recording and made notes. I gave the best talk I’ve ever given. There was something about speaking the ideas first – when it came from inspiration rather than flat obligation – that made my subsequent notes helpful rather than an obstacle. I also love driving-and-thinking. That weekend, the combination seemed like magic.
One more thought. I think that doing what you “really, really felt like doing” is a healthy form of discipline.
Keep blogging and writing! Thank you. Contemplating these things has been very timely and helpful for me today.
Celeste
Hi Celeste. It does sound like we’re crafted from the same material…
May I ask, are you right handed? This may sound odd, but I bet the use of your left hand (if it is non-dominant) also played a small part in your inspiration. Just a thought. In any case, it sounds like a great method: driving, recording, listening back. I love driving-and-thinking as well.
I really appreciate the idea that doing what I really, really feel ike is a form of discipline. I think you’re right! I never would have thought of that and it’s definitely eye opening in a great way.
Thanks for being a pal! Susan