Criticism

I showed this picture off yesterday. Although I had many compliments, I had one comment that stuck with me. See the baby's eyes? The reflection of the windows are in her eyes... as well as the dot that was my flash. It's a teeny tiny dot, but it was all I could see once that comment was made. This person later said that she "loved" the photograph, but tends to be very critical in life. She also said that she's very critical of herself.

Two things happened last night. I shut down out of fear of failure. How dare I call myself a photographer?! How dare I think that anyone would care for my rubbish?! And then I had heard enough from the monster in my head and decided that I could edit out the little dot and move one. The other thing that happened was that I felt really sorry for the gal that critiqued me. Not because I yelled at her, because I didn't (in case you were wondering). I realize she was being helpful and she has never been anything but kind and pleasant. But I thought of how quickly she saw that... and I wondered how many of her own incredible images she might have criticized far too harshly.

I took my friends criticisms too personally and later got over it. But I never stopped to think about why this person was critiquing... or what her reasons were for being, what she called, very self critical. Wouldn't it be great if we could all wave a wand and get rid of all of our fears and insecurities. I wonder how many of us are strangled by our own perceived limitations.

This isn't really making any sense... I just wanted to think about this out loud... and I'm still not sure that wand waving would be the best idea...

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The Voice Inside My Head

I can so relate to this chick...

Holy S*it!

I hate it when I chicken out of something and blame it on someone else.

So a few weeks ago, I was at Saddleback Church for something other than the candidates' Q & A with Rick Warren. Ignoring all the TV trucks and buzzing helicopters, I sat and listened to Kay Warren, Rick's wife talk about a subject that I had been discussing with my inner critic for quite some time now. When I got one of the random passes, it was only for that specific time, but rather than feel like I got the fuzzy end of the stick, I had this awesome feeling that there was something at that specific time on that particular day that I needed to hear. As I sat there in the sanctuary, I understood why.

She was talking about the fear of stepping up.

Then she referenced Aztlan from Narnia. May mean nothing to you, but I fully expected her to look right at me. I got that feeling in my chest you get when someone randomly calls you out and makes you come up on stage to answer an awkward question. All from a Lion in some kids' movie? Yep! See, I've been using guided imagery in my daily trials with difficult people since I have a few of them buzzing around at any given moment. The picture in my head that I call to mind is the part where Aztlan (The Lion) belts out a roar and shuts the witch up. She is frightened back into her seat and he goes back to his pose of strength even thought she thinks she has won. That whole roar thing and the witch backing down... that's the visual I use when people start to cross my boundaries. Sorry ahead of time if I ever let out a loud roar when you ever happen to "should" on me. At least you'll know why. Back to Kay... she brings up Aztlan and how Lucy, the curious little girl asks one of the Narnians, "Is he safe?" The answer...

"Safe? No. But he is good."

Kay's point was that sometimes, doing what we're supposed to do may not be safe and may be scary, but we know that we are supposed to go in that direction... and that it will be good, and that God is right there with us. I've been wanting to become a group leader in our recovery team for a while now. That was why I went to the summit that day. The problem is that I didn't think I was good enough to go the next step... to ask. I was paralyzed by the fear that I wasn't ready. I didn't know if I would ever get the courage up to ask. See, once you ask, you are open to rejection. That rejection might sound like criticism to a sensitive ear. And I can be... sensitive. I hate that. A LOT! But supposedly, I'm not concerned about what others think anymore. And there was Kay reminding me that my Lion is good... So why then, did it bother me when the woman (leader) sitting next to me (also listening to Kay speak) got all snarky and said I was merely getting there? Because it tapped into that crummy fear.

"I'm not good enough."

That afternoon, we had the opportunity to nail a note to a cross. Each of us wrote what we were going to leave behind, nailed to wood, never to haunt us again. In next year's program, there will likely be a picture of some crazed woman pounding a nail in as far as it could go eliciting giggles and stares from some bewildered attendees at this summit. No matter how much she resembles me... don't be fooled. That woman was someone who was brave and strong at that moment. The woman typing this post still holds that fear in a little velvet box, wrapped up in a plain brown wrapper, tied with some twine, tucked away in a dark spot, somewhere deep in her heart.

What a pathetic loser.

But then I sat there at church on Sunday, a week and a day later, and heard a message of how many other leaders were afraid. Afraid of not being good enough. Afraid of change. (Woah! Didn't I just post something about that? Creepy...) Now, I don't mean to say that I am equal to Moses or Abraham, but I'm also not being asked to go smack down some big old Pharoah or build a massive nation. Nope. Just being nudged to help out with a small group of women that want to recover from life's hurts. Not a big deal. *big sigh* But I still worry... and I still care a teensy tiny bit about the opinion of others... and I'm still afraid to hear "No, Sugar. You're not good enough."

How many times do you suppose I need to hear that I am good enough? Only one more...

In comes The Pilot this morning, one day after the Fear of Change sermon, coffees in hand. Did you know we have a Starbuck's within walking distance from us? Did you know that sometimes, I'm still tempted to go to the Starbuck's Drive Thru like three miles away? Way to be green, huh? Anyway, today's installation of The Way I See It on the back of the coffee cup was #17. Look it up. I'll wait... Oh, never mind... I'll just show it to you:



Huh! Serendipity comes in 16 oz. coffee containers, too!

Here, I got all worked up about someone else being snarky and allowing that feeling of not being good enough to spill on to me and get me all yucky with their stuff almost to the point of not stepping out and stepping up. And all this time, the truth... (according to Keith Olbermann, but not Starbucks as they clearly state that this is the authors opinion... big chickens) the truth may actually be that they, the dream stealers, the nay-sayers, the grumpies are simply not very smart. Huh! In fact, they may actually be stupid! So you know what? Me and my lion are going to step up and just keep on roaring at all the stupid people in the world.

Even if sometimes, I still get a little scared...

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Stories are great for encouragement. I'd love to hear stories about overcoming fears, ignoring dream stealers, or eschewing the snarkiness of others.

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The Invisible Sugar

You wouldn't know it, but when I was little, I was terribly shy. Seriously. Stop laughing! No, I mean it. I wished that nobody could see me. I wished, especially, that nobody would look at my eyes. I was famous for them. Not too many Mexicans with sky blue eyes. I didn't care about that anomaly. I just didn't want to engage. I wanted to just fade away... into the trees, or the walls, or wherever I could hide.

I wanted to be invisible.

I used to turn beet red whenever anyone even asked me my name. I know what color I was turning because it was making this glowing aura thingy all around my face. And I was feeling like I did when I had a fever and needed a cold wash cloth on my forehead. I always tried to hide behind my moms legs at parties. Either that, or I would find the coat room and hide in there. If there were any teens making out (happened more than once), then I would look for a walk in closet to hide in. I walked hunched over just in case anyone wanted to actually have eye contact with me. I didn't want to hear about my pretty eyes. I didn't want to hear about anything. I rarely spoke except to people that were familiar... safe... I was always just so scared.

I'm not quite sure what happened, but I think sometime around fourth grade, I started to feel comfortable in my own skin. It was when I began attending St. Dominic Savio. It wasn't Catholicism that brought me out of my shell. Heavens no! The thing with Catholic schools is that you are in a class based on your grade and you do pretty much everything with that class. The only time you really ever know any kids from another grade is because they happen to be your younger or older sibling. At least that's how it was at Savio. This environment felt safe. Stable. Consistent. Things that were seriously lacking at home. It wasn't really anybody's fault. I don't know that too many adults would have done any better than the ones that happened to be our parents. They had a lot of shit thrown at their already f*d up selves.

See, the year before we entered Catholic school, my little sister died.

Claudia, or Yaya as I used to call her, was born with severe Cerebral Palsy. From the time she was born, we were told that she would not live to be ten. I was always aware of that fact. That she would die. That I would never see her walk. That we would never ride bikes together. That she would never be Auntie to my future children. But I loved her anyway.

I loved God, too.

I think I should have been angry at Him. But I couldn't be. He was really all I had. Except for Yaya. There were times I prayed to him, not to make her better, but to ask Him why this had to happen. Why would her little lungs never grow? Why couldn't she tell us what she needed? Why did she have to writhe in pain? I don't think I ever got mad at God. I was just very sad that this had happened to her... to us. I remember watching the ball drop on New Year's that year. I remember being so sad that we had left her behind. And I prayed to God that she was with him. And walking.

And that she was without pain.

They say that your personality is formed by the time you are seven. My sister was born when I was two and died when I was eight. I wonder now how loving a dying person almost all my life must have affected me; this young sweet child. I wonder how much of my fears about living and loving are based on that experience. Besides going to school, I only remember those years as the years that I loved, cared for, laughed with, and mourned my little Yaya. I think I was playing shy, (cause I'm not) because if I ever looked up long enough from my humble stance, I might have just started crying... and I don't know that I would have been able to stop.

No wonder I'm in therapy.

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An Invitation

Sometimes, I go to Barnes & Noble without any particular book in mind. There might be some thoughts floating around my head that I just can't seem to put into words, only ideas. About eight years ago, I was walking the aisles in one of those searching modes when I came upon a small book called The Invitation, written by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. On the cover were these profound words:

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interset me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive...

I was at a confusing point in my life. I could continue down the path I was on... the path that would make my parents happy. The path that would ensure a secure financial future. The path that would bring stability. Except that in my heart, I didn't want to be on that path. Every cell in my body was pointing me away from that life.

It hasn't been easy. I've gone back and forth from fear to excitement. Right now, at this very moment, I'm feeling kind of scared. I feel like I can't possibly make it work. I'm trying to figure out why I'm feeling like that right now. I know it's just a moment of hesitation that I'll get past. Still, those moments of doubt can really paralyze me. For instance, I'm supposed to go to a lunch meeting in an hour... I'm supposed to be all bubbly and perky when I get there. But my stomach is tossing and I think if I eat, I'll make a big mess in front of the group. I know that I'm trying to talk myself out of going, but why?

I hate this.

The Invitation did talk about risking looking like a fool for your dream. So, here goes. I sure hope I don't puke.

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