Tag: change

reinventing ourselves: possible or mythical?

In the journey of life and self-discovery, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the concept of reinvention. Here’s my question: Can we really reinvent ourselves and leave our old baggage behind, or are we destined to keep the unsightly stuff from our past as permanent carry-ons?

In my late 20s and early 30s, I started getting a lot more anxious about things that used to be sources of joy (social situations, traveling, family gatherings, etc.). I would find myself – pardon the heavy term – mourning my younger self and wishing I could summon her spontaneity, free spirit and courage as super powers for wholesome living now. I wanted to break the chain of scheduled routines (control), keeping up appearances (control), staying within my comfort zone (control) and leap into life with that same child-like enthusiasm I once had years ago.

Recently, my best girlfriend from childhood came for a visit. We had a wonderful time reminiscing about high school boyfriends, friendships, trips and the many dramatic moments of adolescence. We were on our school dance team together for all four years of high school and, every summer, we would travel to UDA dance camp to compete against other schools in our state. When you’re a teenager dreaming of being a real Rockette at Radio City, you believe summer UDA camp is the gateway to the big leagues. Here’s how it works …

You bunk in a real dorm room at a real state university (a big deal, especially for pre-pubescent girls … hey, I was a late bloomer). Then you spend your days at the university sports arena learning multiple dance routines with girls from other schools. You may be the only girl from your school in your group, or if you’re lucky, there will be maybe one other girl you know. Then you spend all night (literally) practicing the routines in your dorm room or hallway until your fellow teammates deem you ready for the competition at the end of the week where you will be judged by real judges (Looking back, I’m not sure why I was terrified of the judge panel – they were probably just ex- high school dancers themselves with real day jobs).

At the end of each routine, you stand quietly looking at the ground (no eye contact permitted) with your hands behind your back. The judges then place one of three ribbons in your hand: White if you effed it up royally, red if you were mediocre, or blue if you were the bomb dot com (it was the late ’90s when we used terms like ‘bomb dot com’).

Our dance team sponsor (for me, my Home Ec teacher, Mrs. H), would then collect the team’s ribbons and hang them on a hanger. At the end of the week, the hanger would be filled to the brim of – what you hoped was – all blue ribbons. Then we would travel back to our small town with at least 15 dance routines to perform the rest of the school year at basketball games and pep rallies (no way would booty-shaking make it onto the football field in my town).

So, back to reinvention …

During our walk down memory lane over spiked lemonades pool side, my friend reminded me of our senior trip to UDA camp, when – as only seniors can – I tried out for UDA All Stars (the biggest of big deals). As an All Star tryout, you had to come up with your own 30-second routine and perform solo in front of – get this – the entire camp. Yep, all your teammates, all the girls from all the schools, and all their parents. Oh, and the scary judges. And this was in addition to your other routines you had to learn along with everyone else. AND, only three winners would be chosen and get to go to Paris to compete for international All Star status. Whoah. I’d never been out of the country! I’ll come back to this in a few moments …

So one of my teachers of the normal routines ended up being sick with the flu all week and couldn’t practice with us, so we all bombed it during the competition. With the stress of not having had ample practice time, embarrassing myself during the performance and working my toosh off for my All Star routine, I had a little (not so little) bit of a meltdown.

Standing there with my hands behind my back after performing (or should I say looking dazed and confused while marking time for more than half) the routine that no one knew, I could feel the white ribbon in my hand. Traditionally, once all dancers have their ribbons in their hands, the judges count down from 3, then everyone looks at their ribbons, jumps up and down while shrieking only the way teenage girls can, and then everyone runs to their team’s wire hanger to display their ribbon with pride.

Not this time. No way, Jose. I balled that freaking ribbon in my hand so tightly and refused to look at it. Instead I ran straight to my Mom with a fist full of ribbon and a face full of hysterical tears.

Pause: I remembered none of this. In my memory, it was all unicorns and rainbows, and I had completely forgotten about this less-than-stellar moment in my short-lived dance career. Okay, let’s go back …

My mom told me all the reasons it was okay to get a white ribbon, reminding me that the teacher was sick and that I was under a lot of stress and that my teammates would understand and blah blah blah. I knew she was trying to console me, but I knew my perfect blue-ribbon run was over. Only one other person on our team had ever received a white ribbon, and three years later, people still used her as an example. Snotty and splotchy, I refused to open my hand. White ribbon be damned. Finally, my mother pried my fingers open only to reveal … a blue ribbon.

You can imagine my surprise when I realized the sick instructor had shown pity on all of us and given everyone an honorable blue ribbon. I knew in my heart that I deserved a white ribbon. None of us deserved blue.

And then I snapped out of my momentary goodwill, got myself together and cheerfully hung my most infamous blue ribbon on the wire hanger with pride. Whew!

Then it was time to perform my All Star routine. I stood with the other girls in the back waiting for my name to be called. I remember hearing my heart pounding so loudly in my ears that I actually asked a girl from Spartman HS (my rival) if she could hear it. Way to play it cool.

Several girls decided at the last minute that the pressure was too great and just didn’t go out there when their name was called over the loud speaker. For a moment, I thought about it and came so close to quitting. After all, I had gotten my blue ribbons. Did I really need Paris, too?

And then they called my name, and it was too late to back out. I ran out onto the floor, waited for the music to start, and then began my routine. I remember being in awe that my mind could be completely freaking out while my body flew around the floor, dancing to the rhythm just as I had practiced.

When I hit the last pose, the crowd roared, and I saw my mom and my teammates jumping and cheering. Then I saw smiles on the judges faces. I had won All Stars and gotten one of the coveted three spots. I was over the moon.

Sure, it was fun to relive my overblown reactions to big-deal moments of teenagerdom with my friend, but it also taught me an important lesson. Much like people who struggle with body dysmorphia, I had my own brand of youth dysmorphia.

I had rewritten the truth of my past into a cloud of naïve bliss, forgetting that my brave, spontaneous, free-spirited younger self had her own fears, stresses, challenges and insecurities, and just like my current self, she sometimes wanted to run for the hills.

But she didn’t. And I won’t either. There’s too many great opportunities up for grabs for those who are brave enough to keep going.

So, back to our question: Can we reinvent ourselves? Not in an instantaneous Abbra Cadabra way, no (not if you want it to last any way), but slowly and over time, I believe we can. No matter our location on life’s continuum, I believe the thread of who we are at our core remains the same, but it evolves, grows and expands with every choice, new experience or change in direction we’re brave enough to learn from and embrace.

And, when things get tough, it’s good to know we’ll always have Paris.

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pause. notice. experience.

I’m inside my two-week notice period at my current job that I’ve held for nearly six years. I’m wooohoooo and eeeeeeek all at the same time. Counting down the days, yet savoring each one.

I’m also noticing a lot of internal observation about how I’m handling this transition. While I have one foot in the unknown adventure ahead, the rest of me is hanging back in familiar territory, reminiscing about all the good times and wearing rose-colored glasses, finding every excuse to categorize this new, exciting time as a scary place with just too much incalculable risk.

Lately, I’ve been unfairly comparing how I’m handling the situation to how I believe others would approach this time. Telling myself that it’s no big deal and that others would approach this unknown territory with more grace, more comfort, more confidence, and less anxiety, sleepless nights and what-ifs. I mean, isn’t this what I wanted? Yep. Haven’t I been praying for direction and that just right opportunity to come my way? Yep. And isn’t this the kind of opportunity worth moving my family, saying goodbye to friends and colleagues, and stepping out into a brave, new world where this particular girl has never gone before? Yep. And now … here it is, the opportunity of my life, checking all the boxes I wanted, and I’m greeting it with excitement, sure, but also a big ol’ heaping of fear.

So, I’m taking steps to learn to give myself a break and stop comparing my experience to other people and their response to situations I know nothing about. I am not those people. I’m me, responding the way I am responding, and that is okay. It’s more than okay. It’s exactly as it should be.

And by the way, those mixed emotions I’m feeling? Those are part of the human condition and completely natural. There is a wealth of experience to be had in good times, bad times and these awkward in-between times, and I don’t want to miss any of it sitting over here on the sidelines, awhirl in a flurry of thought.

Whatever “change” looks like now or down the road, I know that recognizing we’re afraid and calling fear by name rather than getting swept up in its powerful flow – well, that’s the first step toward weakening its chokehold on happiness.

So, starting right now, I choose to pause, notice and experience this day, this moment and this time of transition. And when I do look back on it from some future point in time, I hope I’ll see a younger version of myself who made a brave choice that led to fulfillment, growth and, yes, that sweetest emotion of all … happiness. Now that’s a very brave choice, indeed.

what about change gets us so freaked out?

On one hand, we tell ourselves that we’re spontaneous and welcome the unexpected – well, to a certain degree anyway. I mean, let’s not go crazy. Yet, inevitably, when change arrives, beckoning us to step out and grow forward, we retreat into a vicious cycle of fear and failure predictions even before the very first step in our new direction.

We undercut our potential success with negative self-talk and imaginings of worst-case scenarios, somehow believing that they will happen the moment we lay down our fears and step out in confidence.

My internal drama ensemble is quite the cast of characters, and they visit often to do their tired, worn-out play. Yet, no matter how many times I’ve seen their song and dance, I keep buying tickets to the same show expecting a different ending. See if this sounds familiar.

Something good happens. You’re thrilled. Ecstatic even. But then almost immediately, the thought that things are too good to be true, or at least too good to last, knocks on the door and suddenly sucks all the air out of the room, leaving no room for optimism. My version typically goes something like this.

“Hey you with the big goals and dreams of change and adventure… Just so you know, the moment you stop being scared and step out into the unknown, those vivid what-ifs that you just practiced in your mind? Yeah, that’s just the half of it. Do yourself a favor and skip the whole thing. Stay here in the comfortable and familiar. You’re safe. You’re happy. This is as good as it’s going to get. Why do you want to throw it all away now? Easy… That’s it … Keep backing away slowly.”

And then we retreat into a false sense of security, refusing to budge. Somehow believing that we 1) had a choice, and 2) certainly made the right one.

Yet, in truth, change never waits for our permission to do its work. No matter how hard we push back or how cleverly we hide in hopes of stumping change, it yells ready-or-not-here-I-come every time, sniffs us out and propels us forward, regardless of how deeply we dig in our heels.

We all know that, in reality, life is all about change. In effect, life IS change. We’ve experienced it all day, every day since day one. So, after all this time, why can’t don’t we just get on board, feel the wind in our hair, throw up our hands and enjoy the ride … oh, and by the way, save a lot of valuable energy, time, health, money and peace of mind along the way?

I truly believe that every time we make even an inch of progress in overcoming the fear monsters, we weaken them and increase our own strength.

I once asked my SCUBA instructor what I should do if I saw a shark while diving. He told me that the best thing to do is to remain calm because sharks sense fear. Then he said IF a shark should become too curious and verge on aggression, the best thing to do as a diver is to – are you ready for this? – Swim. Toward. The Shark.

That blew me away.

What a powerful analogy for facing our fears. When fear gets too close, too curious, and tries to send us swimming for shore, the best thing we can do is look it in the eye, swim toward it, and watch it scurry into the deep.

I believe that’s how we do it; how we, once and for all, kick fear to the curb. Little by little, one day at a time. And one day soon, the fear monsters will give it up and swim out of sight for good. Then, we will surface the victors, feel the sun on our faces, and welcome the possibilities.