The Big Difference (and a Confession)

Not long ago, I was in conversation with a business woman who compared herself to me. The comment went something like, “I’m determined to make my business work. It just will, because I’m so determined. Like you are with your writing.”

She meant it as a compliment. I am absolutely sure of that fact. But the comparison bothered me, and it’s taken me weeks to figure out why.

See, from where the business woman was standing, my dogged, often masochistic ability to pursue my dreams, despite a mountain range of setbacks, looked a lot like sheer determination. And in her mind, that thing she saw as determination was strong enough, big enough, to make anything work, regardless of odds, or circumstances, or, well, economy, I guess. And the reason her comment bothered me is because I don’t necessarily believe that’s true. I don’t think determination is enough. Ever.

That thing she sees in me, the one she named determination is not actually determination at all. It’s a little voice in my head that won’t stop talking until I listen to it, a grinding in my gut that won’t calm until I feed it, a restlessness in my fingers that won’t settle until I pick up a pen or pull out a keyboard, it’s the thoughts in my brain that swirl in a cyclone of colors and light and sound, tastes and smells and feelings, keeping me up at night, occupying my mind throughout the day. It’s a part of me that’s as vital and important as air.

Confession: I have more rejections than anyone I know. More than anyone I’ve even heard proudly announce as they told their story of success. And you know what? It sucks. I hate it. Hate it so badly that every night, I decide to quit writing.

But then the next morning, I wake up, go to the gym, come home—brain brimming with ideas—go to my computer and write anyway.

Call that determination if you want. All you want. But people like me, we know the difference. Determination may get you places, may keep you going when things get rough, and might even help you succeed. Eventually.

But if you really want something, so bad it gets under your skin, squeezes your lungs until you can’t breathe, hums like electricity in your veins—that’s passion. And in my world, passion is the most important element of success.

That is what I have, and the reason I know I’ll get to where I want to be.

No. Determination isn’t enough. If it was, I’d have been able to quit a long time ago.

The Climb—Southern Utah Style

In Southern Utah, just outside Moab, there’s this enormous sand hill. I say hill, not dune, because you’re driving along on the highway, surrounded by hundreds of extremely tall red cliff formations, and then you come around a bend and there’s this hill, which is part of one of these cliff-type mountains, only it’s made entirely of red sand.

And being made of sand, of course, people have to play in it. Because that’s what sand is for, yes? So you pull off the highway and park, and stand at the bottom of this hill and you think, yeah, I can totally climb this bad-boy. Easier than the stair-stepper at the gym. Cake. It’s just sand, and what’s softer, easier than sand?

Um. Yeah. Not so much. Because then you roll up your pants and take off your shoes and start climbing. And it’s harder than you thought. But, you know, you’re in decent shape, and a little hard work doesn’t scare you away. You look up, see a few people ahead, figure they’re still climbing, so it’s possible. And you keep going.

You come to a big rock. It’s a good place to rest, so you sit on it, turn around and look how far you’ve come. It looks a lot farther down than you realized. “Yes!” you think to yourself. “I’m awesome.” And you do a little dance (but carefully, because you don’t want to tumble down). Then you look up again. And it looks so. Far. Away.

But there are still people ahead, and you’re in good shape. Plus, you’re brave. So you start up again. Once again, you find a rock and rest. This time, you don’t look up or down, you just rest, let the air cool your sweat-soaked skin, and try to ignore the throbbing in every one of your muscles. This climb hurts more than you ever imagined. But at this point, you’re so close to the top that you’d be insane to stop now and miss out on that photo op with you at the top of the world.

So you climb some more. And some more. And some more. And it feels like you’ll never get to the top. Except eventually, you do.

You look down, and wave at all the people below, feeling accomplished because you. Made. It. Then you turn around, and you look, take in the place you thought was the top of the world. And you find a whole bunch more hills. And you’ve only scaled one. But it was a big one. Maybe the biggest one you’ve ever climbed. So you hold out your arms and you scream with delight, because all your hard work got you to the top of this really difficult hill.

And now you know how to climb the next one. Hopefully, it won’t be made of sand.

The Weakest Player

My kids are into sports. All sports. They definitely have favorites, but I’m pretty sure they’d jump on any opportunity to learn a new one.

In all my years of watching them play soccer, basketball, softball, baseball, cheerleading, ice skating, and track, I’ve come to realize one fact. A team is only as strong as its weakest player. No matter how much that player is on the court or field, whenever they play, their weaknesses can handicap the entire team.

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s a learning one. If a team is truly a team, other players will know to protect that weak spot, play harder to compensate for that handicap. No matter how good we are at something, we will always have weaknesses for which we depend upon the assistance of other team members.

My kids have determined that they don’t want to let their teams down, so they work extra hard, push themselves, and are constantly looking for new ways to improve.

I think this is true in any life situation, relationship, or working strategy. And there is always a way to learn more, work harder, improve.

Have you ever been the weakest player? What did you do to eliminate that weakness?

The Songs/ Stories that Save Us

Earlier this week, I was cleaning, and came across a book with CD, written and performed by recording artist Amy Grant. In this book, she tells the story of how one of her most amazing songs came to be written. As it happens, that song is a Christmas one, and it is my all time favorites. The book reminded me of a story of my own.

The years surrounding Christmas 1995 were some of the hardest I ever hope to face, and to this day, that fact holds strong. To tell you the story would be highly personal, possibly boring, and likely require an entire novel, so I won’t go into detailed explanations.

Suffice it to say, the foundations of my entire life were shaken, and in some places shattered into irreparable pieces. My heart was broken in about a hundred different ways (not having anything to do with my husband). That year, I discovered that evil lurked in the world, that things weren’t always as we believed them to be, and that even the people you trust most are capable of lies.

During this time, I had three things going for me that saved my life in more ways than I can count.

1. I was married to an amazing man who left work to come home and hold me when I needed to be held.
2. I had a two-year-old son who was the brightest part of my life.
3. I was pregnant with my second child—a daughter—whose arrival would make my life all the brighter, better, and sweeter.

That year for Christmas, my husband bought me a portable CD player with a car adapter (I only had cassette at the time), and I also got a copy of Amy Grant’s CD. This song (the one featured in the book I found the other day) is the one that helped me find strength to push through. I would listen to it over and over again, hands on my stomach as my daughter moved around, and know that I was strong enough.

The song is called Breath of Heaven, and to this day, hearing it makes my eyes tear. Merry Christmas, my friends. May you ever find the strength you need to push through your hardest trials, the way Mary did.

Has music ever saved you in some way?

Cheerleading

A friend of mine once called me a cheerleader for writers. At the time, I wasn’t sure it was a compliment, but in the years since, I realize that friend was probably right. I have a tendency to want to encourage others, cheer them on, make them remember why they should keep trying when they’d rather quit.

I wish I could tell you why, other than it’s just the kind of person I am.

Everyone needs a little encouragement once in a while, and we all want to succeed at something, so of course we’re going to try. Sometimes we fail. Sometimes we work harder than we’ve ever worked and lose. But sometimes we succeed, and those are the times that keep us moving forward, keep us working hard. This is why we try.

But it takes faith.

And patience.

And every so often, encouragement from a cheerleader who believes in your ability to be the person you are.

I’m willing to be that cheerleader for you. For all of you. So if you’re lacking faith in yourself, I will have faith in you. If you’re lacking the patience to keep moving forward, not knowing when or if you’ll ever succeed, I’ll loan you some of mine. And if you need someone to shake pom-poms in your face and scream and cheer while doing cartwheels, I’ll do that too. (Well, maybe not the cartwheel part—I’m getting a little old for that.)

In the meantime, here is a little something to remind you what it means to be strong. (By the way, this is the true story of my cousin Jodi—who is also a cheerleader, apparently. I guess it runs in our family or something.)

Now you have no excuses left. Get to work!

Anything But Ordinary

I’m just going to ask this up front because it comes to mind. Who makes the rules, or gets to decide on what—in life—is considered ordinary? And what does ordinary even really mean? Cuz, I think the definition varies from person to person.

And really. Does anyone on the planet actually want to be that ordinary person? That boring person? Maybe. Maybe some people do. Most likely, those are the people who are anything but ordinary.

Is it just me, or are we all born with a deeply ingrained need to do something big, with our life, or in our life?

It’s not like we set out to change the world—or at least, not all of us. More likely, we need to do something memorable and special. Something good, so that when we die, people who loved us or knew us can look back and say, hey, that person did this huge, amazing thing. They made a contribution to the world, and we’re all better for it.

Maybe it comes back to not wanting to be ordinary, or boring. The problem is, doing something big, something special, takes not only effort, but courage. And courage doesn’t come easily for all of us.

That doesn’t mean we can’t find courage, just that it might take more effort for some of us to dig it up and put it to use.

Maybe courage is the difference between being ordinary and extraordinary. Courage, mixed with strength. Definitely. It takes a certain amount of courage for an artist to show his work to critics, or for an author to send his or her book to a publisher, agent, or even the reading public. Or think about a musician playing in front of an audience. It takes something we are not born knowing how to use, but which we all have buried somewhere deep down.

Do you agree? Disagree? Is there some other important ingredient that I’m forgetting to throw into the recipe? Because I have to tell you. Right now, I’m that person. I need to make my contribution to the world. I even have some ideas on how to do that. The trouble is I’m terrified. And what if that terror takes over and steals away my resolve before I get it done?

I know I’m not the only one, so spill. It takes something else. What is that thing and where can I get it?

Random Measures of Strength: Part 3

“True strength lies in submission which permits one to dedicate his life, through devotion, to something beyond himself.”

~Henry Miller

Canyon Prayer by Jessie Alexander

Jessi Alexander - Canyon Prayer (Official Music Video) - More bloopers are a click away

Random Measures of Strength, Quote #1

“Some people think it's holding on that makes one strong--sometimes, it's letting go."

~ Unknown