BornWilder

Author. Certified Coach. Catalytic Speaker

On...

On Intent

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Last summer, I gave a sermon at The Community Church of Chapel Hill Unitarian Universalist. An early draft included the four stages of competence. The section didn’t make the final cut, but I learned a new way to think about the learning process.

Four stages of competence:

  • Unconscious incompetence – You don’t know that you don’t know
  • Conscious incompetence – Now you know but you don’t know what to do
  • Conscious competence – You know what to do and you’re learning
  • Unconscious competence – What you didn’t know is now second nature

The four stages of competence are attributed to management trainer Martin Broadwell. He taught managers that training an employee is a process. Learning a skill takes time and effort. My sermon was about choosing to follow my dream. My first step was to define what “following my dream” meant to me. I needed to know myself better in order to make my dream intentional.

If you Google “living with intention” you’ll find all kinds of articles with tips on mindfulness, purpose, and establishing habits (Disclaimer: I have only skimmed a few of them). All good things. And while I believe in living with intent, I also believe that letting go is part of the process, akin to Broadwell’s stage four of competence.

In the Zone

Unconscious competence is defined by the learned skill becoming second nature. Meaning, I don’t think about what I know, I act upon what I know. The switch from doing to being creates a new relationship with the skill I was learning but now don’t have to think about to execute. Yet, learning to ride a bike or build a stone pathway in the backyard is different than learning who I am and what I want. In order to follow my dream, I had to accept a different relationship with myself.

Stage four was difficult for one main reason: I didn’t want to let go of what I learned because I was afraid I would forget the lesson. Keeping the knowledge front and center in my mind helped me feel in control of my life’s direction. But, there is a difference between trying to live with intent and living with intent, and I believed in the benefits of letting go. So, I did. And guess what? I didn’t forget. Actually the opposite happened.

I liken living with intent to being in the zone, an immersive and energized mental state often exemplified by watching someone like Steph Curry shoot three-pointers. If you’ve seen him, there’s no doubt Curry trusts himself to let go. And what does he do when the game is over? Practice.

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On Experience

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on experience a silhouette of child in tent at dusk

When I created my Facebook account in 2008, I felt daunted by the About Me section. Full disclosure: I’m not a natural at this sort of thing. I overthink. I doubt. Rinse and repeat. Not knowing what the world of Facebook would eventually entail (I joined to keep up with friends from graduate school), I summed myself up in one sentence and moved on: I’m an experiential junkie.

That statement is still true. I’m predominantly a kinesthetic and visual learner. I prefer to jump into the messiness of learning by process. To squeeze essence from a moment and make something new with it.

It’s also true, that I grow increasingly interested in the expression of experience through writing, and the study of experience through architecture and web design. When I have time of my own, I do more of the studying and expressing than the physical doing.

In the Name of Customer Service

My service industry career began at the age of 14 with my first job as a busgirl in a family-owned steakhouse, and ended at the age of 32 as a bartender in a neighborhood pool hall. Customer service has a direct in-the-moment focus on caring for someone else’s experience. What I do now (with the exception of client relations) is quite different than customer service, yet I always have the experience of others in mind.

While writing a poem, I’m motivated by someone reading it 100 years in the future. This helps me revise until the poem is clear and concise. Until I’ve fully expressed an idea or feeling or experience.

What I learn from studying architecture is no different. One aspect of design is to consider–and in many cases heighten or add meaning to–the experience of occupants based on the function of the building.

In web design, the practice of incorporating experience is plainly called, User Experience (UX). It sounds simpler than it is to implement, though I could say this about writing and architecture too.

On What Comes Natural

I recently attended a poetry reading where someone (who doesn’t write) asked if I was always thinking about writing, possibly taking notes in my head as we spoke. I understood where he was coming from, the image of the writer with the proverbial notebook. But I answered, no. That’s not how I process.

When I’m out “in the world,” I prefer to immerse inside the experience of it. If I’m lucky, I’m not thinking about anything. I’m simply being.

When I get in the car, that’s a different story. I take notes right away or wait until after a silent car ride where the experience can work its way through my head.

Full immersion is natural for me though of course it also takes effort to sustain. Distraction is so flashy. Responsibility, weighty at times.

I love what I do because I easily and happily become immersed in the work. Which is why I struggle with Facebook, and other in-the-moment social media outlets. I enjoy keeping up with friends, family, and local events. But for me to have fun and be in my natural and preferred state, I would have to immerse myself, which comes at a high cost to my creativity–I don’t have an abundance of time and extra brain space. And I simply can’t afford it.

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On Space

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national museum of art east building

It’s been a few years since my last visit to the East Building of the National Gallery of Art, designed by architect I.M. Pei. Honestly, it’s been too long since I sat in the presence of any well-designed building. I believe buildings that evoke the present moment are magical. The experience inspires me to be something more than myself.

And that’s one of art’s gifts, right? To hone a moment so acutely that a person believes there is no other activity she should be doing but listening / watching / reading / experiencing that charged moment. Architects, like other artists, are intent to create and enhance human experience.

Architect and writer Witold Rybczynski talks about the design process in his book, The Most Beautiful House in the World. At one point he says, “The designer slices through reality.” There’s not much to add to that statement. It is pure poetry.

And yet, Rybczynski describes what I attempt in my own work as a writer, to slice through what I believe to be true, and to make something new out of what I find. I’d even say I aspire to make something habitable. I connect the most with writing when I can make myself at home within it.

One cool factor of architecture is that people are inherently active participants. At the gallery, I get to walk up staircases, stand at the edge of a particularly sharp corner, feel smaller or larger (depending on the mood I bring with me) to the central atrium where, as a visitor, I feel central to the design.

In its simplest form, architecture harmonizes math, poetry, and nature. When it’s executed well, I feel the vibration of its musicality. I sense it waiting for me to sing.

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On Leading

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In my early twenties, a friend of a friend needed volunteers to take a personality test for her psychology class. I answered questions sitting on our mutual friend’s couch, and some weeks later the acquaintance handed over her analysis of my answers. The only personality trait I remember was the one I didn’t see within myself: leader.

To me, leaders were the people in charge. The one’s standing at podiums speaking to crowds, making laws and scientific discoveries, shepherding adults and children into unwritten optimistic futures. The leaders-in-making were those in the crowds and in the classrooms.

I worked in a local restaurant and I wasn’t in college. One weekend, I almost ran away from society with the nomads in the Rainbow Family. And, I had spent two weeks in jail (over the course of seven weekends) for a DUI, and reckless driving, that caused a friend’s serious injuries (hence the allure of running away).

I couldn’t have felt further away from “leader” than I did in my early twenties.

Citizen-leader

During the same time, I devoured any words, whether in book or song, to learn what it meant to live a meaningful life. Ironically, one of my favorite passages in the Stephen Mitchell translation of Lao Tzu’s, Tao Te Ching, was on leadership. I was first attracted to this line: “When the Master governs, the people / are hardly aware that he exists.” What? I could serve and support others without being known or seen? A dream come true!

Today, I’m thinking about leadership as a result of pondering what it means to be a citizen. Peter Block, in his book Community: The Structure of Belonging, says, “A citizen is one who produces the future, someone who does not wait, beg, or dream the future.” This sounds like leadership to me. So, if citizens are leaders themselves, then Lao Tzu’s teaching reaches even broader than I first realized. Citizen-leaders already do the work without being known or seen. They’re deliberate and conscientious down to the smallest scale. Therefore, my decision to face my civic responsibility did exhibit leadership. I didn’t just not run away, I chose to be accountable, and more importantly, to learn from the experience.

All by ourselves

I also chose to work on emotional strength, a piece that is often overlooked in society after the court fines are paid and the community service is complete. Yet, the emotional component is the wound that takes the longest to heal and is largely invisible to bystanders. It’s also invaluable to emotional resilience and personal growth, two strong qualities for a citizen, leader, and citizen-leader.

When I whittled through all the emotions I had in the aftermath of my DUI and my friend’s injuries, at the core was my personal shame. So I faced it. I’m talking, moment-to-moment, year-after-year, worked to rectify my shame until I embraced acceptance. And I did eventually embrace acceptance. A lot of my forthcoming writing addresses my process, including the healing I received from repetitious mundane domestic tasks.

I may never be a leader in the common definition, but I’m not afraid to be seen or known anymore. Facing my shame has everything to do with it. For now, I continue to learn from Lao Tzu and Block: I pursue action; I strive to provide space for others to be their best selves; I lead my life instead of it leading me.

The Master doesn’t talk, he acts.
When his work is done,
the people say, “Amazing:
we did it, all by ourselves!”

Tao Te Ching

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On Self Care

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nevada desert with blue sky and word art y'all

Instead of a new year’s resolution, my husband and I chose a motto for 2019. Yes, we want to tighten up the diet and solidify an exercise routine, but we’re striving for more. And that “more” isn’t simply more reps, more water, more sleep. We want to expand how we think about caring for our selves. To step back, see our lives in a bigger picture, and shift our perspectives. We want to find balance.

Self-marriage-family-friends-community-work balance.

2019 motto: Self Care

I’m busy in new and wonderful ways this year. For starters, there’s kindergarten and career growth, which is more then enough so I’ll stop there. Raising children is a teeter-totter inside a Gravitron. (You say seesaw, I say teeter-totter.) Career growth is climbing an oil-slick ladder on a trampoline. It’s all just walking through a dark room and stepping on tiny Lego pieces. (I could go on…)

There are also many things that I love to do and many more that I want to accomplish. Skills I want to learn, causes I want to be more involved with, and a backyard I hope to transform. Each want and responsibility stands before me, waiting for action. How do I do it all? Can I do it all?

Self Care Reminds Me

Slow down. Step back. See the whole forest. It’s difficult to maintain balance when I focus solely on the trees.

I’m 44 now. My forest has a lot of trees. When I step back I see them all in their varying stages of growth. I also see hills and valleys, flowers and thorns, rivers and rocks. Self Care is remembering that I’ve had balance in my life, that the feeling of “too much of this” and “not enough of that” is fleeting. Sure, I need to re-balance, shift things around, and let go. But it takes time. Imbalance isn’t permanent. But it is important. Taking the time to realign personal goals–reassess where I’ve been, appreciate where I am, and define where I want to go–provides clarity. And clarity is a solid reset button.

There’s also the foundation to the forest. The morals and beliefs I have cultivated over the years, that I live by every day. The ones that hold my feet to the fire and keep me strong. It’s imperative to make certain I’m aligning my growing and changing life with my founding principles.

Self Care is complicated. It’s messy. And it’s fun. I find it helpful to plant sapling seeds as soon as I have them. I do my best to tend the seeds as they grow, making sure the soil is rich with nutrients. Self Care is not being afraid to look inside myself, to know who I am and what I need. Embrace the strengths and surrender to the weaknesses. To not just be okay with my voice but proud of it.

Here’s a list I have on my desk for this year. It’s a reminder to nurture all aspects of my life. I didn’t come up with it but it speaks to my most basic needs:

Water, rest, repeat.
Laundry, poetry, repeat.
Love, long-walks, repeat.

– from Chani Nicholas

Do you have a Self Care list? If not, what would you put on it? What does your soil–your foundation–require in order to keep your forest thriving?

Self Care Inspiration

2019’s motto is inspired by rap artist, Mac Miller’s song, “Self Care.” His life and death impacted my eldest son, T, and therefore, impacted my husband and me.

Miller’s music was raw and personal. He didn’t shy away from addressing his struggle with addiction and depression. When he released, Swimming, his latest (and last) album in Aug. 2018, a month before he overdosed, T heard self-reflection, reconciliation, and even, hope. T wanted nothing more than for Miller to prevail, to be a strong voice, to continue helping him (and others) in life and in his own music. It’s been a hard blow. But, we do what we can in times like these: we listen and we learn.

If you have a few minutes (or seventeen), watch Miller’s Tiny Desk Concert on NPR Music. It’s a beautiful glimpse of his kind and boyish personality, and how his music does what art does best, tell the deeper story.

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On Choice

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dressed up mannequins in storefront
A few years ago, an ER doctor asked me if my mother was DNR. Mom was in cardiac arrest. The doctor and I stood in the hallway, just outside of Mom’s room. I answered with Mom’s wishes: Yes. (She had spent the previous eight months battling squamous cell carcinoma of the tonsils.)

The doctor confirmed by asking, So, a natural death?

Natural death?

I understand the clinical use of natural death, as opposed to accidental, suicide, or homicide. (Here’s a brief article by Live Science that explains it well.) Yet, in the moment between the doctor’s question and my answer, I thought about the role choices play in shaping a life. And, how all the choices one makes, lead up to a final descriptor. In Mom’s case: natural death.

This may seem like a lot to think about in that brief emotionally charged moment. Made all that more intense by deciding to grant Mom’s wishes, which meant telling a doctor to let Mom die right then and there. But, Mom was a lifetime smoker, starting back in her high school days. She died at the age of 68, which is over 50 years of inhaling carcinogens. She also enjoyed her alcohol. (Two main risk factors in her specific cancer.) Therefore, the thought about life choices was simply an extension of thoughts I had been battling as her caregiver.

Living Choices

Since the age of twenty, I have scrutinized choice. Its definition. How and why choices are made. For example, is it the last choice that matters, or all the accumulating decisions that lead up to that final defining moment? And, where does the fine line of accountability lie? 

I would say, most choices are small, often overlooked, everyday decisions. They reside in what I describe as a gray area–there’s no immediate extreme scenario. And extreme scenarios, whether celebratory or traumatic, garner the most attention. Our current social climate is a byproduct of our focus on extremes. What society defines as important, is what attracts the most attention.

I would argue that the gray area is of great importance; it is where most people spend the majority of their time. I’m not saying that decisions made in extreme scenarios are unimportant. I am saying, every choice we make becomes our life choices.

Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh teaches, “The best way to take care of the future is to take care of the present moment.” The present moment is where choices are made. And, just like when a prosecutor decides whether to charge someone with voluntary or involuntary manslaughter, intent matters.

Looking Forward

In 2019, Barely South Review will publish my first true-blue creative nonfiction essay. Within the essay’s main story (which takes place the day Mom died), I open up a piece of my life that I have attempted to tell for the past 24 years. There’s a countless number of entry points into the telling of a story. For years I struggled in choosing one. My mother’s illness and death is where I found my way.

Mom never apologized for who she was, and she insisted I do the same for myself. Though our relationship, at times, was tough, I am grateful that she became the entry point I needed to tell a difficult story. Her life is newly entwined with mine. It’s so Mom, to be stubborn and ornery right up until the end that I wanted to pull my hair out, and still teaching me lessons.  

burning man temple at night 2018
Some light for the Northern Hemisphere’s Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. Courtesy of the temple at Burning Man 2018, and festive burners.

Excerpt from “Where Are We Going After This,” an essay forthcoming in Barely South Review, Spring 2019.

Photos taken by author. All rights reserved.