Archives for February 2019

When I first met Bunny Briggs, he sat me down and said, “Congratulations, you’ve chosen the most difficult path.” He was talking about being a tap dancer. He said that of all the performing art forms dance was at the bottom of the ladder, and of all the dances, tap was at the bottom. This was coming from someone who made his living tap dancing from the time he was a child. He would know.

In a recent long table conversation hosted by Dance/NYC, one of the participants stated something related that resonated with me deeply. They said that we live in a culture that doesn’t honor labor. Insert long pause here and think.

We hire others to do the physical labor that our lifestyle requires. We think careers are different than pursuing jobs that require skilled labor, which is definitely different than unskilled labor. Their is a hierarchy there that isn’t helpful.

If we value certain jobs more than others, it’s ever so easy to value the people who do those jobs differently. No. All good work (that which is productive, supportive of people and community) has equal value. Hard path or easy doesn’t matter so much as what the possible outcome of the work is. The fruit of the labor is what matters.

Do we really want to honor the elders who have loved and taught us? Then we should pursue the work that they were unable to finish (or maybe even start).

Every generation has its challenges and discoveries. The challenges are those that prevent the fruits of the discoveries to come to bear. The discoveries are those keen insights that could change the world if everyone got on board.

If we’ve been poured into, as I know many of us have, we have the opportunity to let our elder’s challenges go, and work more specifically, more intently, towards the solutions that they wished they had had the strength, energy, or time, to implement.

It’s our job now.

If we really want the world to change there can be no separation between what we believe to be right and the work that we set our hands to. Isn’t that the definition of integrity (to be integrated)?

Separation happens when we say, “I believe this, but I have to do this other thing which doesn’t really line up.” The reasons we do the “other thing” are wide and varied. The pressures (real or otherwise) that we feel that press us into finding defensible reasons to do the “other thing” are also many and uniquely suited to each of our weaknesses.

Let us be better than that. Let us be confident in trusting that when we do the right thing we will also get the strength, provision, and protection needed. Let us work to be integrated.

After a recent performance and Q&A an audience member came up to me and asked the following question:

“If you are at the top of your craft, who teaches you?”

This question has at least three false assumptions with it:

First is the assumption that I am at the top of anything. Second, that there could be a top of a craft. And third, the assumption in the question that lessons are only taught in formal contexts.

First, even if you perceive someone to be good, never assume that they do. It is a false measure of value that doesn’t actually help anyone. They may be in the midst of learning and feeling like a beginner again. Be thankful for the gifts that they have, and have shared. Celebrate the gift, or better, the giver of those gifts. No need to measure the person.

Second, there is no such thing as being at the top of one’s craft. That’s why it’s called a practice. You’re either doing it or not. You might have more chops or less, might have more experience or less, might be more known or less known, but you’re never on top. There is always a lesson being learned.

Lastly, lessons come in many forms. They may come from teachers in formal settings like a classroom. They may come from peers (of any age) in informal settings, like a practice session. They may come from divine inspiration, through the seeding of a question, that sends you on a journey to find an answer. Your teachers may change, but there is never no learning.

This is all contingent on having a heart of humility and curiosity, and doesn’t preclude confidence in that which already has been learned.

So why pose a question that takes our focus off of the lessons to be learned just to assess where we might be on the journey? There is no need. The journey is enough.

In every interaction we have, there is a beautiful opportunity to be used to reveal the things we love.

The words we choose, way we act, what we focus on, how we expend resources, they all are informed by what we love. They act as an amazing feedback loop. What we love may be buried under many layers, but how we express ourselves cuts through all the layers and shows us what we really value.

So here’s the thing: Even if we aren’t conscious about it, others are watching, and our values are showing.

I’ve never been a good consumer. I’ll purchase what I need for specific purposes – food, shelter, clothing, learning.

I sit in awe and wonder at the amount of goods and media we consume. This isn’t natural. We end up chasing these things.

It’s also dangerous, those who are in the “creative industries” must find a way to work without necessarily buying into (no pun intended) the industrial nature of the business. Otherwise they, too, will be consumed.

After most performances or workshops I like spending some time fielding questions. Recently, after a performance I got the following question:

“When did you know you were good?”

I was caught off guard. I responded with a long ramble about how I didn’t like to watch myself perform. How the first time I realized I had some skill was when I was listening to a performance and heard something that lined up with what I would expect to hear. I didn’t realize it was me until later. I talked about how there are stories of John Coltrane not recognizing his own playing, on account of it being something he didn’t believe he could play. I talked about what I was currently working on in my dancing that made me feel like I was a beginner again. I talked a lot. More than I needed to.

I could have just said this:

“Why do you call me good? No one is good, except God alone.”

Easy. Simple. Done.

Every time we say no, someone else has to step up.

Every time we say no, space is created for someone else to fill.

Every time we say no, we are honoring our limits.

Every time we say no, someone else gets to say yes.