It is impossible to see clearly that which you stand so closely—for instance, take a look at your nose. That's the point. Unless you have a big one like me (or the glorious snout of a brown trout like the one below).
I once got subbed on the football pitch in a Chatham Cup semi-final against Cash Tech. We had a corner kick, and as I ran into the penalty box, without missing a beat, one of their central defenders immediately said to me, "You've got the pointy carrot nose of a snowman." As I've already told him over the years, that hurt—ouch! But it was all in jest, just a bit of innocent banter to get in the opponent's head. I also replied, without missing a beat, "Well, if I've got his nose, then you've got his big ol' belly." We both smiled, and for the next 45 minutes or so, tried to kill one another and help our team win. My team won that day in a penalty shootout by the smallest of margins—by the hair of one's chin, or carrot nose's tip, I guess you could say. I digress.
When we stand too close to something, we lose perspective. In this way, it is almost impossible to perceive, let alone examine, the river of our own lives. In this way, it often pays to take a step back and gain an elevated vantage—which eventually can become an ad-vantage. From there, we can look at our own life clearly, as if it never belonged to us in the first place. This is called detachment, and detachment from one's own life is often one's greatest asset, a powerful act of self-awareness and perception. How else can we begin to see our lives as they truly are unless we first step back, gain an elevated perspective, and start to perceive them more clearly? Only then can we see our lives for what they are and begin to move unattached—freely through the world.
I find this particularly relevant when considering the perceptions of others in our creative lives. Often, we get so obsessed with what others think of us—the perceptions of those whose opinions can hurt so much. But if we examine them for what they are, we realize that the opinions of others are merely that: opinions of others, grounded in untruths without fact, silly thoughts. When we let go of these attachments, all that which the world once rested upon and mattered so much begins to shatter. All details once believed to be all-important become trivial—like the length of one's nose or size of one’s belly. All things vanity become superfluous: the car you drive, the house you reside in, your status in the chain of command or hierarchy on the corporate latter—none of it matters. And while we can sit, look, and cast judgment upon another's life, we hardly recognize our own for what they are.
These days, I work with a number of semi- and professional athletes. Almost all of them are going through a hard time—struggling in some way, shape, or form. After all, trying to "make it" in the professional sporting world—one of the most competitive domains in the world—is without a doubt hard. In working with them, I almost always remember the simple advice of my own father: "Your worst day is someone else's great day." We get so immersed in the struggle, the pain, associated with our own situations. If only we could take a step back and see them for what they are. I often say to these athletes, "There was a time in your life where this was all you ever wanted. And now that you've got it, you are obsessed with everything that comes with it—the pain, the challenges, the judgment and opinions of the coaches and players you work with, the sitting on the bench, most of which rest outside one's control. Stop. Breathe. Reflect. Take a step back. You are here. Where you always wanted to be. And yes, it is very, very challenging."
This act of perception, and ultimately self-awareness, is to look at our lives, if only for an instant, as if they do not belong to us. Imagine someone else in your boots—what advice would you give them? Don't get too down. Stay focused. Embrace the challenge. Become comfortable with being uncomfortable. There is no room for complaining. In the words of Scott Peck, "Life is difficult. This is a great truth, one of the greatest truths. It is a great truth because once we truly see this truth, we transcend it. Once we truly know that life is difficult—once we truly understand and accept it—then life is no longer difficult. Because once it is accepted, the fact that life is difficult no longer matters." I've begun to live by this quote. Why should life be easy? Who ever told us this would be the case? I worry, with this generation—the age of social media—that we perceive the world as something that is just given to us. After all, we cannot know what it means to flow through the world with effortlessness-ease if we cannot first contrast it with the challenge that it inevitably is for each and every one of us.
It is the old adage that we simply cannot know light without the dark, and I do believe that the greater the darkness we trod through in our own lives, the greater the light we are capable of casting out into the world. So I've begun to embrace all things difficult: failure, bruises, bumps along the way, hurtful words, all things that seemed ugly at the time. We learn almost nothing from the path that is paved. Ultimately, we all must leave the clear path and blaze a trail of our own, or not. But, if you intend to be a trailblazer of sorts, it's likely you are going to have to bushwhack your way toward the clearing of your life. The pavement has killed many a human’s inherent creative spirit.
Furthermore, if you look for scum, it will inundate your life; if you ask for trash, you will see it everywhere. The flip side is also true: if you search for gratitude, you will find it in abundance. If you open your senses to wonder, you will be in awe of the life you lead, or perhaps the life that leads you. You are, after all, a being of light, and it can be difficult—impossible even—to perceive this, unless that is, you are able to take a step back from the darkness in which you are currently standing, removing yourself from the proximity that at times can be overwhelming. Do not be overwhelmed, my dear, for you are, after all, here, and that is just—more than—enough.
