Interim Time: now what?

/

Transition. It's supposed to be a word that is exciting, full of newness and opportunity. But more often, it's just scary.

For the past eighteen months, I've had my head down, writing Not Just Me, my new book about anxiety and depression. It's been a wonderful experience and is incredibly meaningful to me.

But the book that has been the center of my universe is pretty much done.

I feel like I just got fired.

Now that I've lifted my head from the page and I'm looking around, I'm asking myself that question that is full of possibility and uncertainty.

Now what?

Of course, there will still be blog writing and yoga teaching and speaking events.  There will be tea dates with friends and Friday Night Lights marathons with my husband. But The Book that has been the center of my days is no longer. I have to let it out into the world to be liked or hated or ignored. That part is none of my business. I need to let go and move on to....something else.

It's unsettling.

At a time when I find the world to be particularly chaotic and confusing, I feel even more need to be intentional with my own life. I'm coming back to the questions I asked myself when I left Los Angeles and quit being an actor. What do I want my life to be about? What do I want it all to mean?  I asked those questions when I was 22 years old, and I find myself annoyed that I need to ask again at age 38. But I'm realizing that this an essential part of being awake - circling back to the essential questions. Revisiting them and being open to new answers.

My dear friend Susan sent me this poem and it soothed my soul.

(It's a longer poem, but these are the sections that got me.)

Interim Time ~ John O’Donohue,

The path you took to get here has washed out; The way forward is still concealed from you.

You cannot lay claim to anything; In this place of dusk, Your eyes are blurred; And there is no mirror.

The more faithfully you can endure here, The more refined your heart will become For your arrival in the new dawn.

So I'm doing my best to love the questions and accept the uncertainty. I'm filled with gratitude that I have options at all and I understand that having an existential crisis is a great privilege. I get it.

And I also think that getting intentional about our lives--not operating on auto-pilot--is how we act as a benefit to the world. We all want our lives to mean something, we all want to contribute in a meaningful way. That looks different for everyone and it's worth spending some time on.

If your way forward is concealed right now, you are not alone. I have faith that there is a new dawn for all of us -- and our strong, beautifully refined hearts.

————– You can leave a comment here, or join us on Facebook,  Instagram, or Twitter!

You might also like:

Fighting the demons: typos

/

I started acting when I was four years old and by the time I was five, directors had nicknamed me "One Take Jake" because I tended to be well-prepared and didn't usually need more than one take. I've always prided myself on my ability to get in there and get it done. Get the shot. Nail it the first time.

But this means I give myself very little wiggle room when it comes to making mistakes.

I could not be more thrilled that my book is being published, and the day it went to print was overwhelming/exciting/terrifying. Then, a few days later, I started recording the audio book. In recording the audiobook and reading each one of my words out loud - I came face to face with my demons.

Typos.

I found typos.

I had read through the final version of my book at least four times, but some typos got through. My husband read it, but some typos got through. My publisher's editor and proofreader read it, but some typos got through.

How have I dealt with this discovery of typos?

I decided I didn't want to publish my book anymore.

I decided I didn't deserve to call myself a writer.

I decided that the years of hard work that I put into this were worthless because the book is completely ruined.

I've been essentially having a temper tantrum, like a toddler who dropped her ice cream cone. I'm frustrated that I didn't catch these typos and I'm worried that readers will think I'm dumb. I want to run and hide in shame. But there is nothing I can do about these typos - the book is printed. If we do another printing, we can fix them, but there is simply nothing else to be done about it.

That's the thing about life. We can't always go back and fix our mistakes. Sometimes we just have to surrender to whatever it is, even if that means accepting that we are disappointed. But being disappointed is not going to kill us.

The Serenity Prayer might be cliché at this point, but it is so very valid. I just make a slight edit to it:

God grant me the serenity to accept the [typos] I cannot change; the courage to change the [typos] I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.

I have a hard time accepting the perfectionist label for  myself because I don't feel the need to be perfect all the time. I don't care about my hair or makeup or clothes, I don't care if my house looks like the Pottery Barn catalogue or if I have whatever thing is the cool thing. But I do care about my work. It's the thing that I feel most vulnerable about. It is an expression of my soul, and apparently, I want it to seem perfect.

Brené Brown talks a lot about perfectionism. It is essentially the idea that if you are perfect and have everything under control all the time, that you will escape criticism, blame and ridicule. It's a shield that we carry around, thinking that it will protect us. But all that shield does is weigh us down and keep us from really being seen. It doesn't protect us from suffering at all, it just masks our authentic selves. It's different from healthy striving, which is internally focused - perfectionism is driven by the fear of what other people will think.

It's pretty clear which of these I'm dealing with.

I have caused myself a massive amount of suffering over these damn typos. My perfectionism is causing pain, not protecting me from it. And when I look around me, there is not a single person in my life that I love because they are "perfect." There is no one I respect more because they seem to do everything right. If anything, the people I love and respect are the ones that screw up and laugh it off, the ones who do things in a way that works for them, regardless of what anyone else thinks.

So, of course, I'm still going to publish the book. It just has some mistakes in it. I tried my best, but I'm not perfect. I'm not One Take Jake anymore. I'm just me. I'm messy and I'm whatever is the opposite of a Grammar Nazi (a bunny rabbit who takes creative license?) and I don't write perfect, typo-free sentences. I write sentences that are full of life and passion and sometimes an extra word gets thrown in with all that excitement, or I forget to add an article. And although I do know the difference between chose and choose - that one got by me, too.

I hope you enjoy the book, anyway. Because typos and all - it's just me.

——–

If you want to know more about Brené Brown's work, check out The Gifts of Imperfection. I reread it in two days during my Typo Breakdown Spiritual Awakening.

——– You can leave a comment here, or join us on Facebook or Twitter!

You might also like: