This week was our second-to-last ceramics class of the session. My sibs and I have quite a lot of clay left, a few unfired pieces, and hardly anything glazed (with the exception of Asha, of course, who already has a handful of beautiful, interesting items). We started to feel the pressure.
I spent most of the class bopping around from table to wheel to the waxing and glazing area, bopping past Maria who was doing mostly the same thing. When we found ourselves in the same place there was a lot of "I don't really know what I'm doing..." and "uhh..." and "I feel like I should have this more under wraps."
And then, of course, suddenly -- it was the last half-hour of the second-to-last class and I had barely done anything. I had allowed myself to become paralyzed by uncertainty, and missed out on some potentially valuable time. I'm also pretty certain something awful will happen to my last-minute haphazardly glazed test tiles and experimental pieces. But no sense in worrying about them now.
* * * * *
This isn't a phenomenon that's isolated to ceramics. I do the same thing at work, when I have an unfamiliar task in front of me; the same thing at a networking event when I don't know who to talk to or what to say; the same thing at dinnertime, when I am making a new recipe and feel myself starting to get hungry; the same thing in relationships when I start to reach a turning point or uncharted territory; the same thing now that I'm planning a wedding and have no idea how to talk to a band or an equipment rental company or a caterer.
And yet I consider myself a fearless adventurer. I have done incredible and incredibly stupid things, whether because I couldn't pass it up or to prove a point or just to say I've done it. I have accomplished so many things I'm proud of and crossed into uncharted relationship territory over and over again and whipped up some deliciously interesting dishes and cocktails. How do I get from Point A to Point B? How can I justify my Fearless Adventurer status while being regularly paralyzed by uncertainty and fear?
* * * * *
I suppose there's always the whole "Courage isn't the absence of fear" thing. And there's Chris, a Guiding Angel, who used to do things in spite of his fear. I can find my motivation for every situation, prove to myself and whoever else that I can do it, and I will. And there's just procrastinating until I can't put it off any more.
Fear is a built-in self-defense mechanism, so as long as we are alive we can't really get away from it. We gradually get comfortable with things that used to be unfamiliar, the things that used to scare us. And then a new unfamiliar thing swoops in to take its place. Every next day and next moment is bursting with uncertainty, but every next day and next moment is going to come no matter what we do and we will do with it what we do. For me, I have to allow myself those moments of hesitation, because for every hesitant moment I have another moment where I sally forth into the mental fog. There is no sense in kicking myself for wasting time because I didn't know what to do. All I can do is shrug it off and put another finger down in the next game of "Never-Have-I-Ever."
Maybe someday my kids, or at least my nieces and nephews and mentees, will look at me and marvel that I always seem to know what I am doing; that I'm not afraid of anything (I'm even working on not freaking out in the presence of bees!)
Fooled ya.
I spent most of the class bopping around from table to wheel to the waxing and glazing area, bopping past Maria who was doing mostly the same thing. When we found ourselves in the same place there was a lot of "I don't really know what I'm doing..." and "uhh..." and "I feel like I should have this more under wraps."
And then, of course, suddenly -- it was the last half-hour of the second-to-last class and I had barely done anything. I had allowed myself to become paralyzed by uncertainty, and missed out on some potentially valuable time. I'm also pretty certain something awful will happen to my last-minute haphazardly glazed test tiles and experimental pieces. But no sense in worrying about them now.
* * * * *
This isn't a phenomenon that's isolated to ceramics. I do the same thing at work, when I have an unfamiliar task in front of me; the same thing at a networking event when I don't know who to talk to or what to say; the same thing at dinnertime, when I am making a new recipe and feel myself starting to get hungry; the same thing in relationships when I start to reach a turning point or uncharted territory; the same thing now that I'm planning a wedding and have no idea how to talk to a band or an equipment rental company or a caterer.
And yet I consider myself a fearless adventurer. I have done incredible and incredibly stupid things, whether because I couldn't pass it up or to prove a point or just to say I've done it. I have accomplished so many things I'm proud of and crossed into uncharted relationship territory over and over again and whipped up some deliciously interesting dishes and cocktails. How do I get from Point A to Point B? How can I justify my Fearless Adventurer status while being regularly paralyzed by uncertainty and fear? * * * * *
I suppose there's always the whole "Courage isn't the absence of fear" thing. And there's Chris, a Guiding Angel, who used to do things in spite of his fear. I can find my motivation for every situation, prove to myself and whoever else that I can do it, and I will. And there's just procrastinating until I can't put it off any more.
Fear is a built-in self-defense mechanism, so as long as we are alive we can't really get away from it. We gradually get comfortable with things that used to be unfamiliar, the things that used to scare us. And then a new unfamiliar thing swoops in to take its place. Every next day and next moment is bursting with uncertainty, but every next day and next moment is going to come no matter what we do and we will do with it what we do. For me, I have to allow myself those moments of hesitation, because for every hesitant moment I have another moment where I sally forth into the mental fog. There is no sense in kicking myself for wasting time because I didn't know what to do. All I can do is shrug it off and put another finger down in the next game of "Never-Have-I-Ever."
Maybe someday my kids, or at least my nieces and nephews and mentees, will look at me and marvel that I always seem to know what I am doing; that I'm not afraid of anything (I'm even working on not freaking out in the presence of bees!)
Fooled ya.
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