Archives for August 2018

Sometimes life can be so full of responsibility, necessary work, that we forget to dream. By dream I simply mean the kind of thoughts that allow us to explore anything other than what is right in front of us.

Dreams answer the “what if?” They speak of a future not yet known, and a present that need not be the way it is. But if we don’t have time to see the vision, we can’t begin to see what needs to be done to get there.

Here’s the thing. Most kids start out being curious. They ask why…a lot. This curiosity is the stuff dreams are made of. For many, though, this curiosity is squashed, buried, left aside, or deemed worthless very early in life. How can we think the world will change if no one is dreaming of a better way?

No. We must remember to dream. We must encourage our own curiosity as well as that of others. We must. It is our obligation as those who haven’t forgotten how to dream. It is the gift that we can point out in others. It is the beginning of the ideas that the may actually change the world.

There is a difference between combining things and fusing them. Both have to do with taking two things (at least) and creating one thing from the two sources. But there’s a difference in the end result depending on the process.

In a combination the two prior pieces remain distinguishable. The seam where the combination happened is also visible. The new thing feels more like a wrapper around the two sources than something new.

In a fusion the two prior pieces are indistinguishable from one another. The seams aren’t visible either. The new thing is actually completely new, not just a wrapper. This is because during the process of fusion both prior sources are fundamentally changed. A new tree is created from separate roots. Only people familiar with the prior sources and the historical context may be able to discern them while observing the new creation.

Many artists and designers attempt fusion but end up with a combination instead. If this is you, keep working. It isn’t easy. But the birth of a new form is a beautiful gift to give the world. Be encouraged. Your work lies before you.

Go slow, be specific.

More importantly, know what you’re warming up for.

Having a vision for the final activity will inform how you get there.

If the vision is unclear, do the little work that you know is in front of you.

The vision will unveil itself in due time, and you will be ready for it.

In the performing arts world especially we spend years training first in one place, then chasing the best teachers. From exclusively training we move onto a time of landing gigs. The gigs vary depending on the craftwork, industry, and audience we engage with and cultivate. We could end up in one place for a while – on a cruise ship, an episodic show, or extended theatrical show – but more often than not, we’re on the road.

Some of us like the road. The travel, meeting new people, and revisiting old friends, are all beautiful things. But the road can be hard. The rigor of travel, trying to cultivate consistent relationships, and the ongoing culture shock/code shifting, can all be challenging. If you come to a point where the road bears a heavier burden than usual on you, it might be time to think about building.

Building takes stability, consistency, and a vision for local engagement. It takes being placed – affecting and being affected by the culture of a specific people. It also takes an understanding of the relationship between the local and the global – an unescapable reality of today’s connected world. If you gravitate to this kind of work maybe it’s time to think about building.

I’ve recently come to the following revelation: No matter what I do, how I eat, or what routine I try, I will end up exhausted. It’s the nature of labor, and I’m one of the workers. It’s exhausting. But there’s a difference between being exhausted and defeated or being exhausted and victorious.

Is the work that we are putting our hands to the right work? The “right work” being the work that we are specifically made to be doing at a particular time in a particular space. Are the people we are sharing in the labor with the right people? The “right people” being the people who are also made for the work, need to bear witness to it, are learning from it, or are there to be thorn in the side (there will likely be one).

I contend that if the answer to these questions is yes, then the exhaustion will not feel debilitating. We will find moments, if not whole chunks, of rest. We will have the necessary strength to continue the work, and all the necessary provision. And yes, we will be exhausted. But that’s part of the point.

We’ll never know what we are capable of doing if we never give everything we have.

I was sitting on a bench when a young lady and her dog walk by. The dog had a tennis ball in his mouth. As they walk in front of the bench I was on the dog stopped, slowly approached, and carefully placed the ball on the bench right next to me.

The moment of choice.

Do I hand the ball back? Do I toss it? Do I give it to the young lady?

I asked if I could toss it. The young lady answered, “Sure.” So there the ball went went, into the air. The dog caught it, and began to make his way back to the bench. The young lady gave a nudge on the leash and beckoned the dog to keep walking. Playtime was over for me and the dog.

What we do when invited to play speaks to our predispositions and the context of the moment. Are we ever ready for new interactions and for moments of discovery? Or are we wrapped up in whatever we are currently dealing with? Do we trust the one inviting us? Are we familiar with the game?

It was just a ball, but it was also an invitation to moment of levity, simple joy, and connection. I’m glad to tossed it.

I spent three years attempting to do this. I wrote a blog about it, gave a TED talk about it, and was ultimately defeated by the endeavor. Love is central to the kind of world many of us wish for – where relationships are reconciled, justice triumphs, and generosity fulfills every need. Yet there is a problem with the word: it’s a kind of abstraction.

Without actual experience with commitment, generosity, kindness, correction, forgiveness, truth, or patience (among many other traits) within the specific context of relationship, Love remains a dream that we thought we had. To unveil the dream to others it demands examples or at least analogies. There must be embodiment, if not for any other reason than to serve as testimony to the reality that love does exist. Then, analogies can serve to explain the rest. Then the dream can spread. Then more embodiment can happen. Then more examples may be found. Then the world changes.

Abstraction

There are a lot of things in the world that we can’t readily observe, but that in fact exist and that we may be able to sense when turned on to them. In order to describe these phenomenon we use language. However the words used to describe what we think is happening is often an abstraction, and abstractions are equally hard to comprehend.

My entire entire I’ve had an embodied practice: tap dancing. In tap dancing, conceptual understanding means little without the ability to execute physically. The act of dancing is not abstract. Yet the practice of learning how to tap dance often is. The dance has been disconnected from its original roots for quite some time now, and teaching your body to move differently than its used to is a journey into the unknown.

What can we do when we are attempting to share experiences, thoughts, or ideas that seem very real to us, but are abstract – not yet real – to others?

Analogies.

Simple, common, grounded analogies build a bridge between the real experienced life and that of the abstract. That is until the abstract is no longer distant and disconnected, but intimate and real, as much a part of our life as the things we can touch.

Buster Brown used to say, “Tap dance is just like walking. If you can walk, you can dance.” He was smarter than most gave him credit for.