Accentuate the Positive, Eliminate the Negative

One of the few Facebook apps I bother with is Messages From God, not because I think they are what the name suggests—I am well aware that the app is a computerized engine for randomly picking an "inspirational" missive from a database—but rather because sometimes the message is inspirational and often surprisingly apt.

This morning's Message From God had some great tidbits in it:

On this day, God wants you to know...
... that today is going to be a great day.
Don't start your day with a negative attitude. It's hard to understand why so many people wake up each morning feeling defeated when each day holds so much potential. The possibilities that today offers are endless, so eagerly anticipate wonderful happenings. It's easy to let blessings go by unnoticed if you're not looking.

For most of the last couple of months, I've been caught like a fly in amber negativity. Sure, I've had reason to be—I've had some pretty negative experiences (but really, who hasn't?)—but that doesn't mean it was the right thing to dwell on the negative. Sure, it's understandable, natural, all too human...but that doesn't mean it is right. Negativity doesn't do anything to eliminate negativity; rather, it reinforces it.

The best counter to negativity is positivity (and not just or only a positive attitude, although it starts with that). A positive attitude—an optimistic and hopeful attitude—go a long way toward eliminating the negative, but once that attitude is in place, action gets the job done.

Over the last couple of weeks, although I hadn't actually consciously decided what I was going to do with my future, the decision to just go was crystalizing in my subconscious mind, and people noticed. They may not have known what my decision was—some may not have known there was a decision pending—but as that decision worked its way into my psyche, my demeanor changed. People started saying things like, "You look more relaxed," "You glow," "Your smile is back." And once I bought my one-way ticket and committed myself in deed to this path, the effect became even more pronounced.

Even amid the stresses and sorrow that accompany the decision, I feel my heart lifting. I've cast off the burden of negativity I've been carrying for months, now.

I don't know how this adventure is going to turn out. I don't think that's knowable at this point in the journey. All I know is this: by acting on a positive impulse (albeit one stimulated by an incredibly negative experience), I am reaping dividends of the soul.

So "don't start your day with a negative attitude" (no matter how justified you are in having one). Find optimism and hope. "The possibilities that today offers are endless, so eagerly anticipate wonderful happenings." Don't "let blessings go unnoticed" because "you're not looking."

Keep your eyes open; blessings are all around you: in people, in places, in things.

And if you what you see in your path isn't what you want, change course! I'm not saying you should quit your job, rent your house, and move to Hawai`i without any specific prospects (although I'm not saying you shouldn't); what I'm saying is, act on positive impulses, on optimism and hope. Act to change your destiny... it isn't predetermined and you can remake it (and yourself) whenever you choose.

Look at me. Those of you who know me know that I tend to be risk-averse; that I tend to put others' needs ahead of my own; that I tend to accomodate myself to others' plans and intentions; that I tend to adapt and get along, rather than act and move along. But those are my proclivities, not my destiny. When adequately provoked, even a mouse can roar and a leopard can change its spots. If you don't like who you are or where you are going, change!

For me, right now, nothing could be worse than not trying to change. For me, it feels healthier to fail spectacularly attempting something magnificent (the risk I run) than it would to succeed modestly attempting mediocrity.

As I posted in One Foot on a Banana Peel a while ago, My Awesome Life really is awesome. I'm awesome. And so are you (or if you aren't, you can and should be). There's nothing awesome about wallowing in negativity.

Cast off the negative and be awesome. I'm doing it and it's... well, it's awesome!

Breathless

I'm actually doing this. I'm not going to do it; I'm doing it. That's an important distinction. I'm going, and that takes my breath away.

At first I was breathless with fear: paralyzing, stupefying,appalling terror. There was no question what made my hands sweat, my limbs shake, my gut clench, my breath catch: it was fear, pure and simple—that visceral reaction to threat that kept our primal ancestors alive in a menacing world. And fear is still part of it...

But fear is not all of it, not any more. Fear is not even the biggest part of it.

I'm breathless with anticipated grief. I am leaving my family, my theatre family, my friends, my best friend, my students (the only children I've known)... and I feel that loss as if I was already gone. "I miss you" doesn't come close to what I'm feeling, and I haven't even gone yet. I tear up every time I remember those I'm leaving.

I'm breathless with excitement. I feel the things I've always felt before a first date: anticipation, nervousness, hope. There's no knowing how it's going to be: if there will be "chemistry," if we'll be "compatible," if we'll "fit," who we'll be to one another. It's exciting!

I'm breathless with awe. Awe at the prospect of being where my heart has called me for so long, awe at the thought of remaking myself in a new place, awe at the boundless possibilities (including the possibility of epic failure). Awe at the amazing support of family and friends from whom "never was heard a discouraging word," but rather endless encouragement.

Breathless.

Tonight I'm reserving my (one way) ticket. Early in June, I'll book passage for my Harley.

I'm going.

Changes

(Graphic hopefully coming soon!)

Big changes seem to beget big changes.

As I walk this walk, I find that it is changing me. I find myself making different decisions than I might have a couple of months ago. I find myself behaving differently than I did a couple of months ago. I find myself feeling differently than I did a couple of months ago. I don't think that my values have changed—the same values I have held for some time still prevail, I think—but in response to the massive uncertainty I face, those values must be applied in new ways if I intend to live with integrity.

For example...

I try to make honesty a guiding principle of my life. Even if it will cost me something I want, I try to tell the truth. I try to tell it with kindness and compassion and empathy, but honestly.

So I'm leaving, and I know approximately when, and all of a sudden I'm confronted with opportunities (yes, multiple opportunities) for something I've craved my whole life. I'm not going to say what it is—those of you who know me well can probably guess, but the details aren't really important—but suffice to say that it's something I hunger for and yet something that is incompatible with my imminent departure.

What that means in terms of honesty is that I find myself having to speak a truth that was never the (emotional) truth for me before: "I'm not interested in..."

Another value I hold is emotional availability. It is an important part of who I am that I am emotionally available both to those with whom I already have a relationship—family, friends, students, whatever—and to new, potential friends, students, whatever. Yet with only two months remaining before things will change, I find myself less emotionally available than is my habit. It's still a value, but a value that is tempered by circumstance; while I remain emotionally available to those with whom I am already involved, I'm not available to new friends in the way I would normally be.

Maybe I'm kidding myself—maybe my values are changing, and if so that will give me pause—but I hope that my values remain intact and I'm just applying them in new-but-honest ways to a novel situation. Certainly that's my intention. Still, I find myself a bit at sea and a little uneasy.

Nietzsche said, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." I'm not sure I always agree, but I will say that any experience that we survive will change us. It may make us stronger, or more sensitive, or wiser, or crueler, or sweeter, or whatever. It might make us better or it might make us worse...what it won't do is leave us unaffected. And the bigger the experience—the greater the disruption—the bigger the change.

I'm becoming more daring (some say "reckless"), I find...not just in resigning and moving, but in other aspects of my life. I'm finding confidence I never had. And while I still feel fear...I am not afraid.

In the Beginning

Actually, it's not the beginning. The beginning was a couple of months ago, and like most beginnings, it began with an ending.

I thought the rest of my life was pretty straightforward. I thought I knew the future, at least in general. I thought I could make plans on the basis of what I thought things would be like.

I thought wrong.

In one short week, my prospects went from satisfying-if-a-little-boring to grotesque-and-miserable. Things (and people) I thought I could count on changed or turned their coats. My mundane-but-satisfying professional life became a horror.

I still like what I do (I'm a school teacher) and I still like those I serve (students), and I still like and respect (most of) my colleagues. But the well was poisoned, and if I stay, I'll have no choice but to drink it.

That's no way for a self-respecting human being to live if s/he has another choice, and luckily, I do.

(I'm not knocking those who for good and sufficient reasons can't or shouldn't do what I'm—in fact, I envy you your spouses and families and the like—it's just that, for the first time in my life, the lack of those blessings is a positive. If I enjoyed those blessings—and I consider them to be great blessings—there would be no Renegade, "reluctant" or otherwise.)

That rather ugly ending catalyzed my evolution from respectable, predictable, mostly-conforming upright citizen to renegade. It has helped me confront my fears and insecurities, it has forced me to do what is best for me, it has pushed me far out of my comfort zone...and I'm glad. I'm afraid, but I'm exhilarated, too.

As I have evolved, so have my plans. I began the application process for employment in Hawai`i as a teacher while at the same time exploring other opportunities nationwide, with the thought that Hawai`i was my first choice and other options were great consolation prizes and that if nothing else manifested, I'd suck it up and drink the poison ("for just one more year") while I pursued the same kinds of opportunities and additionally applied to MFA (Master of Fine Arts: sort of the PhD of arts disciplines) programs.

But in just a couple of weeks the poison had begun to work on me, and I had to scratch "suck it up" off the list of viable choices. I had to get out; staying was intolerable to me. I began thinking about leaving even if nothing was on offer, and that's when the fear really hit.

I like my security. I like stability. I am not averse to change, but I like to manage it to minimize risk. What I was contemplating offered no security, not stability, and no possibility of managing the risk. It would be a leap of faith.

I don't want you to think that I did all this thinking and considering on my own. I discussed everything with family and friends, all of whom have been enormously supportive throughout. I bounced ideas off my sainted mother and no matter how radical and reckless they were, she saw possibilities in them. My siblings likewise have contributed and continue to contribute to my evolution. Friends and theatre family are part of the collective that has helped me think and choose.

I also don't want you to think I'm unaware of the precious treasures I'm leaving behind, in the form of family, friends, colleagues, students, activities, experiences, and opportunities. I'm keenly aware of the cost of making so radical a change. I count it daily, and treasure the time I have, knowing how short that time is.

Yes, I've decided.

And to make it difficult for me to chicken out, I submitted my letter of resignation last week, effective at the end of this school year's contract term. I'm cutting the cords that bound and secured me to this job, this district, this life. I'm going to rent my house, pack my household, up and go.

If nothing in the way of opportunities is on offer, I'll take myself to Hawai`i, to sink or swim. If I haven't heard by the first of June, I'll buy a one-way ticket and see what I can make of it.

I'm going. I'm going. In some ways, I'm already gone.

I'm going renegade.