First Things
What happens first matters.
A few weeks ago, I performed a three-show run of my solo show Rising to the Tap at the Art Farm at Serenbe. The week began on Monday with the delivery of the tap dance instrument, a specifically designed floor for the performance of tap dance. Tuesday, the rest of the gear arrived. Lights, sound equipment, chairs and table, all were used to transform an outdoor pavilion into a professional theatrical venue. Wednesday, rehearsals began. My work was to be attentive to all the moving parts, as well as be responsible for the delivery of words and dancing that made up the show. It was, after all, just me on that stage for 75 minutes, telling stories and tap dancing. No amount of special floor, lighting, or sound equipment would be able to make up for a poor performance.
I have a habit of getting wrapped up in the details. I start focusing in on things that may be important but are not foundational. I blame tap dancing. For a time, as I learned how to be a tap dancer, I was taught to focus in on every sound. Nothing could be overlooked. It was for good reason. By really paying attention to every sound, the clarity of my dancing increased significantly. I developed a skill, if not a habit, of being attentive to many details at the same time and in a fast-paced environment.
Fast forward to one of my key takeaways from my experience with burnout. The fact that I am limited. If I were to pursue all of my dreams, immerse myself equally in every activity, and engage in every worthy cause I was drawn to, I would quickly reach my limit. Even the good desires of my own heart, without significant guidance, would run me into the ground while attempting to be fulfilled. The curation of my life then is something to be addressed. There are choices to be made, and consequences to work through. Things to say yes to, and things to say no to. There are many approaches to dealing with desire. Detachment or suppression are real propositions. The Christian tradition approaches desire in a specific way. While honoring the mechanism of desire as a real and good part of how people are, Jesus speaks to the need to transform what we desire and our relationship to it by the transformation of who we are.
Taking an inventory of my own desires is one way for me to see, with whatever clarity I can, some of the inner workings of my person. There is a specific kind of courage that is required to endeavor on such a journey as this. While I may consider myself a good person in the abstract, and may be able to defend that position with specific examples, an inventory of desires surfaces a different truth. My heart is the battle ground of a combination of desires that lead toward both good and evil. This language may sound harsh. Those who know me, might say, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Believe me, I’m not. I’m simply stating a truth. I, like others, can be tempted towards frustration, anger, and contempt. I can be tempted to use my skills of theatrical direction to manipulate people. I can be tempted to use language to impose my will on others. Behind these temptations are the desires to get, have, keep, and be recognized. Taking the time to pay attention to the roots of these temptations – working through an inventory of desires – helps me to be less drawn and caught by their snares.
Notably, the desires I see in my own heart are not all bad. There are desires to love and be loved, to know and be known, to be generous, and other good things. But the pursuit of these desires can easily put one on a road to destruction if the ways in which we pursue them are destructive. The way is equally (if not more) important than the end.
Here is the expanded thought: If some specific things are in place, that is, thought of first, could the rest of life have an easier time of coming into some sort of order? Going back to the detail-oriented approach to life, or more specifically, the outcome-oriented approach to life, I am beginning to doubt its efficacy. Instead, I’m asking these questions, “Regardless of goals, wants, and desires, what frame am I immersed in? What informs (or fuels) my responses to the life I find myself in?” Even as I pursue what I want.
Note that I didn’t say, the question is, “How I respond to my circumstances?” While that is a good question, I’ve discovered that it doesn’t drive deep enough to the heart of the issue to create foundational change in me. No, the more probing question of what informs how I respond to my circumstances is necessary if I want real inner change. Many writers have talked about the difference between behavioral change and the transformation of character. From my reading and experience this is the crux of it. Transformation of character begets behavior change, but not the other way around.
So many things have had their way with informing how we may respond to our circumstances. Our heroes, jobs, families, friendships, hobbies, lifestyles, geographies, and ideas of reality all work on us way before we are even able to get engaged in the process consciously. When we become aware of the way we have been formed we are presented with questions. They include:
Are we willing to be honest with ourselves? As we attempt to take an inventory of where we are.
Do we really want to be formed differently? Really, do we want the change we say we do?
Are we willing to do what it will take for the sake of change towards something better?
If we answer in the affirmative, this journey becomes our first work. Attempting to adjust our language, temper, or self-centeredness, for example will take enough energy from our being that our jobs, families, friendships, and hobbies, might feel like secondary pursuits. Of course, they are not. But what good will we be in those areas of our life if we continue in patterns of thought and action that are fundamentally destructive (especially in the aggregate)? Instead of thinking of them as secondary pursuits, other areas of our life become areas of practice. Places where the reality of our inner transformation can be worked out.
The cost of focusing on inner transformation is significant. Many things may go by the wayside. Nothing important, though. The reshaping of our lives happens simply on account of the significant effort that must be placed towards inner transformation for it to be pursued. Aspects of life will naturally become limited or let go of as we begin to see results in our transformation and begin to desire more. A big question that arises here is whether we trust that the outcome of the journey towards inner transformation will be good or not. Can we trust that if we place our primary focus and effort on the person we are becoming, everything else will find its proper place in our lives? Once we make the choice to do the work – to envision the possible outcome, to the locate the means and persons we will be doing the work with, to engage in the work – we will soon find out the answer. My experience has been a resounding yes, but there is a significant question here. One that is too big to address fully here, but one that needs addressing before we can know whether we can trust the process, let alone the outcome.
Who are we following?
People seem to be designed to follow. As much as we enjoy agency, an individual will, and our own sense of self, it seems that we have a kind of predisposition to follow – family, heroes, leaders, and celebrities, for example. We even can find a way to follow and apply the narrative of a fictional story (something that isn’t real) in our own lives (something that is very real). Without getting too far into the details, the journey of inner transformation is something (like almost everything else) we are ultimately led into. We follow someone or something in the process. Who or what we are following, their model, their way, their propositions, will dictate the vision of who we are aiming to become. It will unveil the path. Knowing who we are following then engenders trust, emboldens choice, and quickens the activity.
Maybe this is the first question…