To the Hefty Inadequate

I love podcasts. And audiobooks. And reading. And learning from mentors who do not realize I have labeled them as such.

But. There comes a point when I step back and breathe and realize:

I’m hefty inadequate, here.

I can’t accomplish half the things that Tim Ferriss can do in an hour.

I can’t fathom being Tom Bilyeu for an interview.

I can’t imagine clomping around in Tony Robbins’s clunky shoes, logging whole marathons in a single conference day.

Sometimes I don’t even place it relative to others and I think of all the things I want to accomplish. All of the things I want to become. All of the memories and talents I want to have.

I think of those things, then I look upon my day and realize:

I’m hefty inadequate, here.

It’s a bit demoralizing to realize how little energy I have relative to how big my dreams are. I would love to read like Warren Buffet—600-1000 pages of a book per day—, I would love to write like maniac Stephen King, 10 solid pages per day. I would love to have the stamina to speak to each of my students, to lecture and reach each one of their little striving souls.

But I don’t have the focus. I don’t have the patience. I don’t have the energy.

On days like today, when my to-do list seems longer than a flight to Indonesia, I call upon the troops to muster the reserves. We work together to tap into hidden stores of focus, of patience, of energy, and we find that it is not so readily available as I had hoped.

“We’re tryin’ our best, sir!” The troops call to me from the cellar of my soul.

“We’ve taken massive losses, sir!” They say to me as they ride the blood cells in my body like calvary.

“We’ve got to compensate, sir, sorry for makin’ the eyelids so heavy!” They try to rouse me from my slumped position against this wicker chair.

The day isn’t done yet, the list isn’t shortened.

I look on a day like this, I calculate and weigh the drag of my eyelids, and I realize:

I’m hefty inadequate, here.

Then. Things like this happen: whereupon I come upon a piece of poetry that uncurls something within my soul, like a little flower bud, giving a little stretch and a little smile and placing one leafy palm against the voracious ravaging of my beating heart.


Nothing you will do today will be enough
To save you from yourself, to save your students
From who you are. Teaching is anchored in your past, rooted
In memories, bright ones and dark, delicious and putrid.
Teaching is grounded in learning, in being a student for life,
In admitting ignorance and fallibility, in making
Mistakes and learning how not to make them, in always being
Your own mirror, your own harshest critic:
Your job, starting this very moment, is to craft your practice
And practice your craft.
Learn how to become the architect
Of this new universe before you are consumed
By the darkness of your own worries.

“On the First Day of Student Teaching” by Faisal Mohyuddin


It makes me laugh to feel the relief of the first line. Of that reminder that nothing I will do today will be enough.

It’s so relieving, like unwrapping a Christmas present, or breaking a fast.

My job is to craft my practice and practice my craft, in all areas to which I seek betterment. My job is not to be enough each and every day.

I am not Monday, nor Tuesday.

I am the entire Week.

Nothing I do today will be enough, I feel this deeply on days like this. But I do not just have today, and I have not just had today. I have stores of subconscious practice and honing and I am a far cry from the human I was a year ago. A month ago. Last week.

I cannot pin down the solitary day in which my transformation took place. So why is it that I demand such perfection from each day? Such notoriety?

It is no use worrying about the day. It is a dark task, into which one can find meaninglessness. An architect looks at the whole picture, the entirety of the scape. An architect has big plans, big vision. A good architect does not get scared off so easily by things such as one soul-sucking day.

So I step back and breathe and appreciate the uncurling of my soul steading my wild heart.

 

Peace and Blessings,

Josie

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About Josie

I run slowly through forests, eat spoonfuls of Jif's Natural creamy peanut butter, and perpetually wear a fuzzy Patagonia sweater I found for $1.50 at a charity shop in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I deal in trees, breeze, and threes. I'm not interested in being normal. I'm not looking to pass GO. I'm not looking for anything other than breathable freedom.