Choices

Choices

In some ways the most basic human function can be seen as making choices. When stopping to consider the millions of choices we make in a day, it is remarkable and quite impressive to see how our attitude and perception might mitigate our actions. From deciding to sleep in to choosing to be kind----we become "mind-managing" machines. So, it seems, if our minds control our behaviors, what controls our minds? Is it past experience? Intuition? Luck? What causes some of us to do one thing while others another? And what makes some choices "good" while others are "bad"? Who gets to decide that? Is it the same for everyone, or person-specific? Well, when it comes to the self (where I think it must FIRST begin), I think that each individual bears an internal compass, guiding them in the direction that offers the best route for the greater good. . The choices we make, or fail to make, often leave us with a certain sensation that either pleases or displeases us. So ,how do we control which direction our compass points? For me, it has to start with listening. Perhaps this is the most difficult starting place. I wish i could say that my regrettable choices were simply a matter of not KNOWING what was right for the situation....but that would be a cop-out. Instead, I am usually slightly (if not wholly) aware of what is in my best interest, I just lack the complacency to exercise the necessary patience or persistence. Maybe intuition is like a muscle, the more you listen and trust it, the stronger and more reliable it becomes. I guess this could be considered the mental weight-lifting of our souls. Never easy to start, but as you strengthen the weight eases up and so do our minds. Have a good day everyone. And dont forget, only YOU can make tat choice ;)

flow

To be in "flow" sounds like some sort of flowery state of being-something professed by self-help gurus, suggesting that people follow their passion and pursue their destiny. Certainly the IDEA of flow sounds pleasant and simple.... but is it really as easy as that? As a child, doing what you love seems to come so naturally. It is as simple as putting on a soccer uniform or tickling the keys of a piano--eerily free of self-doubt and subsequent sabotage. Nothing to remind you of the risk of failure. As an adult, it seems as though doing what I love is no longer quite so risk-free. After having moderate amounts of success throughout my school career and now as a working professional, I have grown comfortable with the feeling of being "good" at what I do. I find a certain ease in resting assured my efforts will be applauded...with either a pay check or pat on the back. In a way, I feel safe. Safe in knowing that what i do is not connected to me. It is not an extension of my heart, the way that my true passion, writing is. I'd be willing to bet there are more people out there that find safety behind the shield of doing what gets them by, rather than what they're passionate about. Pursuing your passion is taking a risk-- it's leaving the guarantee of today in search of the pleasure of tomorrow. Stepping away from your safety net and jumping off the high dive of adult life into the pool of passion is a little bit like losing your virginity. It's a time when you stand metaphorically naked, hoping that others see and validate your efforts--showing you that indeed you ARE as good as you had thought. Pursuing what you love to do is like stepping out on a limb and hoping the branch doesnt snap below your footing and leave you crashing down towards the eons of self-doubt you've backlogged over the years. Its giving it a shot, doing your best and being entirely vulnerable in the process. Vulnerability seems to be a paralizing fear for may of us. What if I'm not as good as i thought? What if no one sees value in what i do? What if i just don't cut it? And on and on, until you come to the ultimate conclusion of how to avoid all of those what-if's....What if I just don't ever try. So there we sit. In the comfort of never failing. In the comfort of never being naked. Always covered up and buttoned in security. But does there ever come a point when the wardrobe just seems to tight? What will it take for us to look in the mirror and shed our starched garments for the curve of sensual vulnerability? I don't know. But I'm going to find out. One blog at a time.