4. The Moment
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Overview:
As we bring ourselves and our creations into the world, there are moments when our minds will offer up these questions: What's the point? It doesn't matter anyway? It's never going to work? Are you sure you're cut out for this? Learn how to meet The Moments like these.
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[EXPLICIT]
Hey creatives, I’m C. Jordan Blaquera, and welcome to the Whispering Worth to the World Podcast.
I’m a Master-Certified Life and Artist Coach who specializes in working with creatives. This is where I share what I would tell my younger self, if I could, what I’ve learned about the art of being human, about our inherent divine equality, and how it all relates to navigating our creative expression in the world.
THE MOMENTWhen I tell artists that I used to believe without one shred of doubt that I was a loser, and that I felt so uncomfortable walking into a room of people because I knew eventually they would figure out that I was a loser too, …the artists usually don’t believe me.
They’ll say, “That’s hard to believe. You seem so comfortable and confident. I mean I’m looking at you and you just... you seem so fine.” And I understand why they might think that.
I’m usually talking to them publicly. I make my creations and put them in the world. I sell them and I raise the price, and I sell again, hard. I’ve talked myself into why what I want to create has value, who would benefit from it, and how their lives will change. I’m finally making money at it. I say, “Artists! World! Hey, look at me. Look at what I made. I think you’d like it. Come join me. Come see how amazing it is.”
Of the people who hear my message… Most of them, the vast majority, a gigantic percentage of them say “no,” but if they say, “yes,” they will probably end up in a room with me online or otherwise where I will tell them I am just like you.
I am mortal. I bleed. I hurt. I have a human brain. I am not invincible.
I ache. I worry. I create suffering for myself. I suffer.
I have big dreams but I also don’t wanna do what it takes to create them. And I don’t feel like doing what’s on my To Do List.
I hear the ticking of time passing. Just like you. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. My mother lost her mind to Alzheimer’s. I know that things can change at any time in a second, and they often do. And time is fleeting, and we have no idea how much more of it we have left.
I procrastinate. I hesitate and I negotiate with my dreams. Negative thoughts dominate, my internal mindscape…sometimes, not as often as before. Thank God, not as often as before. But here’s the thing… Before… a moment of panic, dread, or shame would arrive, and it was Game Over. Tap Out. Recede. Fade to the blackness of:
What’s the point? It doesn’t matter anyway? It’s never going to work? I’m not cut out for this. This is too scary. I can’t be sure it turns out well for me. I might as well quit now. I certainly shouldn’t keep going because it’s jittery, vulnerable. Electricity charging through me. Dread. Like a weight. At risk of exposure. Naked. Defenseless. Wound-able.
If I show you a true part of myself, it seems like you can wound the deepest part of me. And most days…I’m not up for another wound. There have been enough involuntary wounds, quote/unquote “involuntary wounds.” Things that happened to me. What life delivered. That why in God’s name would I voluntarily open myself up to the forum of the world…only to be wounded. Why? Why in God’s name?
That is The Moment, my friends.
I’d kind of forgotten what The Moment was like. So many of my dreams sitting, dusty on a shelf from disuse and lack of attention; relegated to a shelf for years, sometimes decades. If I were to take one off the shelf, you would see the imprint of my fingers disturbing the layers of dust.
I might even open the box and see what was in there. Removing crumpled newspaper placed at the top of the box and around the perimeter to keep the fragile dream from getting knocked around and breaking. And taking it in my hand, thinking, “Oh, my God. I’d forgotten. It’s so beautiful. Why did I ever stop? I want to give this to the world. I want it to be available. I want others to benefit from this. I want to show this to the world. This is my offering.”
And there it is: The Moment…again.
“What’s the point? It doesn’t matter anyway? It’s never going to work? What if they laugh? What if they scorn? What if they eviscerate me over this thing I want to create?”
The Moment, my friends.
Right there. Right there. Right. There.
Do you put the box back on the shelf like I’ve done So. Many. Times…so that it can continue collecting dust?
That’s The Moment.
That Moment right there.
Can you find a secret passage through that Moment that says stop right here?
What can get you through that Moment to the other side…just for now…just enough to meet the Moment and not shut down, retreat, or turn back. What could keep you from stuffing the crumpled newspaper back around your fragile idea, and putting the box back on the shelf.
How can you meet The Moment and create just enough of an opening to take the next, tiniest step?
And then lather, rinse, repeat. By meeting each Moment like this, one by one by one by one. Finding your way through a very uncomfortable moment and then getting to the other side and keeping going.
I’ve found my way through by answering this:
What is the point?
Why does it matter?
What work am I willing to do for what matters to me?
When “they” oh, that fucking “they,” that amorphous “they” that seems to hold so much power over me.
When “they” laugh, mock or hate, what will I do? Can I trust myself to be there for myself in the recesses of my own mind, where it matters the most?
When my brain screams, “See. I told you. So, there is no point. It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s never going to work. They laughed. I told you they would. How humiliating. Mortifying. I cannot take this. This feeling of humiliation and mortification. Shame. Dread. These vibrations in my body that seem to signify that I have not only failed at something, but that I am a failure. What in the eff is wrong with me?“
What then when the brain is railing? I will do my very best to meet The Moment. Within myself…after the gut punch, after I pick myself up from the floor…I talk to myself like a child in pain: “Oh. Sweetie, tell me all about it. You put your whole heart out there, and they laughed. I’m so sorry. Oh, my God. I know that it hurts so bad. I know. I’m here. I’ll listen. As looooooong as it takes. Every word. Tell me everything.”
And then, I am there for myself, witnessing my own pain. And these questions are important.
QUESTION 1: The point is that I want to create this with my whole heart. This thing. Whatever it is? Whatever yours is?
QUESTION 2
Why does it matter?It matters because I love expressing myself. I love co-creating with that which made me. And not only that, I want the people who could benefit from what I create to benefit from it. And if I want that, there is no avoiding putting it out into the forum of the world.
And I am willing to work for this creative expression.
And I have found that making the Thing itself, the song, the performance, the painting, the choreography, the album, the play, the book, the course, the product is hard. And that is hard enough just to bring that thing you see in your mind and your imagination out into the world, to make it, to create it. So many Moments to meet. Just in the creation of that thing.
But here’s what I want you to know.
Once that thing is finally made Finally! And sometimes it feels like forever, the work has just begun. The real feat is how you meet The Moment when you want to draw back from showing it to the world where inevitably there will be a series of new Moments. Count on it.
In my experience, The Moments don’t disappear. In fact, when you are finally going to show your Thing to the world, that’s when the Moment intensifies. That’s when it’s all on the line. That’s when the brain rails loudly and when the vibrations in your body are the most uncomfortable. At least the vibrations in my body.
Don’t expect The Moments to disappear. They don’t. But they can be transformed. Transcended. Rewired. Re-seen. Re-known. Experienced in a Whole. New. Way. So that you can continue moving forward with the next tiniest step. Isn’t that what a dream is? It’s just a …a fuck-ton of tiny steps taken in sequence until you make that dream come true. Always just the next tiniest step...often with a jitter in your heart, or a kaleidoscope of butterflies in your solar plexus, or a pit of dread in your stomach.
And the more I meet these Moments, the more I allow myself to do, to create, to be…
The more I am me. Mortal me.
Human. Female. Freckled. Short. Overweight. Aging. Grey-haired. Over 55. Succumbing to gravity. And brimming with creativity…Brim-ming. Overflowing with so many ideas that I couldn’t possibly fulfill all of them in this lifetime.
And here I am…trying to surrender….
To another Moment.
Can I find a way through this dread-filled, panic-filled, terrifying, treacherous, shame-inducing, clenching Moment where I want to collapse, retreat…and hide? Like I’ve done so many times before I might add. So many mind-gripping times before.
Yes, I can now move my way through the Moments, way more often than before. I have practiced meeting The Moment over and over and over again and again and again and again.
It’s a pile of Moments.
I can find my way through. Not always. Not perfectly. But so much more than before. With so much more grace and compassion.
And so can you. It just takes a little practice.
The Moments don’t necessarily go away. I think there will always be Moments. I think it’s part of why we came. You and me. All of us here on this planet. But how we meet those Moments can change everything.
The Moments can happen less frequently and with less intensity. They can have less power over you. Many of The Moments soften – or they seem to. I can’t quite figure out if it’s because I’ve slowly but surely built the capacity to meet The Moments. So what once felt like a heavy ass weight now just feels do-able, 5 pound weight. Or maybe they are fewer and far between and they happen less often. I’m not quite sure.
But either way It’s better now. I can say that I’m less afraid of that Moment. It may feel just as jittery, but I’m a little bit less afraid of it now.… I have the confidence of having made it through so many times before, small Moments, huge Moments. Many, many Moments.
But they have not disappeared yet. That’s my personal report from the road. They have not disappeared yet, my friend, and I don’t think they’re going away.…I think they are an intrinsic part of life.
And If I had known this earlier…if I could have whispered in my own ear that this is just part of life…I would not have backed down from the mountain of Moments that I did in my life. I thought the jitters, I thought the dread, I thought the fear of mortification said oh, no danger, danger. Turn back. Don’t take this path.
But if I knew that I could meet The Moment, just one at a time, I would have created more and hidden less. Try it. I don’t think you’ll believe me, until you try it. And until you’ve made it through. More than once. Until you’ve gone, What was I so afraid of? That wasn’t so bad. Oh, my goodness, I made it through… and then oh, my goodness, I made it through…again and again.
Oh, shit, here’s another one. Damn it. Another Moment. Another Moment. Ok. Fine.
I’ll meet it…again.
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