Measuring Improvement

Measuring Improvement

Measuring improvement can be challenging because it happens so slowly. But when it’s occurring  in a compressed period of time, say a spring semester of university, it’s more dramatic and obvious.

I’m almost finished my two classes this term and it’s interesting to look back and see how I’ve grown and changed in both of them. My favourite class by far is Young Adult Fiction in the Creative Writing department. I’ve learned so much from my professor, the KidLit textbook and my fellow students, inquisitive budding writers who are a pleasure to spend three hours with on a Monday morning.

Then there’s my English class. It’s a first year prerequisite that every student must take, and I’m the only mature student there. Monday afternoons I’m surrounded by eighteen year olds, several of whom have strong opinions on life that are diametrically opposed to mine. It makes for interesting debate but my blood has boiled on more than one occasion.

Returning to university in the fall was daunting, but the first Creative Writing class I took was a beautiful boost to my confidence (and the A+ grade I received didn’t hurt either). My YA class is a similar experience this semester, but English has knocked me down a few pegs when it comes to my grades and my abilities.

When I come home whining about another B+ after I put so much time into an assignment or an in-class writing exercise, Jason laughs and says, “This is good for you.” I routinely tell my kids that we can’t be experts at everything and often in life we have to settle for being “good enough.” It turns out I suck at taking my own amazing advice.

Yesterday I had to hand in my second paper of three in this English class. I put many hours into this thing and I know it’s the best work I can do at this point when it comes to thesis statements, topic sentences, and formal structured academic writing. I haven’t done this kind of thing in twenty-six years and I’m definitely rusty. I think I’ve improved over the course of the semester but I won’t know until I receive my grade.

The best way I have to measure my own improvement is the difference in my attitude. I’m not angry anymore that I didn’t get a string of A’s in this class like I wanted. I’m getting the marks that are suitable for my skills at this point. As Brene Brown teaches us, we have to make peace with the messy middle. When we learn something new, we fumble around in the dark for a long while before we get any semblance of capability for the task.

I don’t have a ton of patience for my own learning journey. I want to leapfrog ahead over the awkward, uncomfortable bits, even though I spent the month of February teaching conference sessions about the value of risk-taking, going straight into the hard stuff, and modelling vulnerability and authenticity. Sigh. Ain’t it great to be human and get so many chances to practice this shit?

We are all improving, every day, but the changes tend to be so minuscule that they become hard to measure. I know I’m a stronger and more capable writer because I’m back in university. I can feel it and see it demonstrated in the work I’m creating. But I’m definitely not good at everything.

When we learn new skills, floundering comes with the territory. The only way to push through that to the golden sunrise of accomplishment is to be patient, not to quit, and in my case, to accept my B+ with pride instead of frustration.

Lost

Lost

I’m feeling lost. After a surge of excitement and scheduling after a big writers’ conference, I’m now floundering with so many possible projects to pursue and no clear direction on what should be the top priority.

Do you ever feel that way? Rudderless, slightly adrift, believing that it will all make sense eventually but for now you simply exist in a fog of too much of everything.

The cure, in the past, has been to embrace my frail humanity. To acknowledge that I am not a machine. Perhaps the worst part of being lost is the shame associated with our humanity. I want to feel like a world-beater, not a sad, confused person making my way through the dark on my own.

Life is made up of seasons. Some are bright, clear, happy. Others are murky, painful, baffling. Extending grace for the hard times certainly helps. I don’t have trouble offering love and nurture to those around me who are suffering, but when it’s me, the rules seem to change.

Eventually, the light will shine again and I’ll have a better sense of where I’m heading. I suppose I simply have to wait for that, and do the best I can in the meantime. Gentleness is the key here. Inching forward toward your goals, little by little, is better than no movement at all. After so many years of struggling with patience, you’d think it would begin to come easier. And yet it remains elusive.

I stayed after my creative writing class to chat with my professor about the number of projects I’m working on. She encouraged me to narrow my goals to four things and write them on an index card. I had a terribly hard time getting the list to four. I initially cheated and wrote eight by using slashes, essentially creating two categories out of one line.

After looking at this card for a few days, I realized there was too much on it. I worked at it again, creating four clear categories in my work life. Suddenly it was a little bit clearer, but I still feel overwhelmed.

What helps you when you feel lost? Do you wait it out? I’d love to hear any of your strategies.

Navigating Transition

Navigating Transition

Do you ever feel like you are swimming and swimming but you aren’t actually gaining any distance? You are simply treading water. Not drowning, so that’s positive, but not exactly setting any performance records.

What is this damn obsession I have with being impressive? Why isn’t it enough to do the best I can in my own small world for those I love without seeking a grandiose level of some invisible acclaim which probably wouldn’t make a bit of difference to me even if I did receive it?

I long to pull back the focus of my life, to go from wide lens to a smaller, more pointed perspective. When I was in the hospital last month it became easy to see what really mattered. I made a set of decisions then to let go of the stupid, piddly shit that hangs me up on the regular.

navigatingtransitionBut now life is back to normal and those niggling insecurities are creeping back. I am aware of them, which is a healthy sign, but I hate wasting any energy on them when I feel like I settled this issue while at my worst in an uncomfortable hospital bed.

As a family, we are in the midst of of big life transition as we move from one province to another. It’s messy, uncertain, wonderful and frustrating as hell. For the most part, the kids have both excelled, managing a ton of upheaval with grace and good humour.

I’ve done well too, provided I don’t creep the performance bar ever higher for myself. When that starts to happen, I’m sunk. Gentleness is the key here. The goal is to enjoy life. To laugh and to build in time to rest. To work, steadily and slowly, without expecting fireworks every day. To show up. To be patient.

Transition is challenging. It requires a lot from us. Managing my own expectations is a full-time endeavour. I have to remember that I’m likely doing better than I think I am. It’s not as fucking difficult as I make it out to be.

So we continue. One foot in front of the other. The sun sets and rises the next morning, offering us yet another chance to learn what we can from the unique journey we are on. Process takes a lot of time. The seeds don’t bloom unless they are tended, and flowers never appear overnight. We have no choice but to struggle through the hard times to make it to the easier ones.

Preparing for Change

Preparing for Change

Change is a process. We can’t see it clearly peering into the future, but when we look back it’s easier to plot the high and low points on our individual graph.

I’ve come to recognize that the groundwork for change gets laid days, weeks, months and years ahead of the actual shift that we can point to and identify. Extreme patience is required in the preparation stage. It’s the seeds, deep underground, beginning to grow but nowhere near ready to burst through the soil and make themselves visible.

So much of this life is preparing. We must wait, whether we like it or not, until the time is right for the longed-for change to take place. As humans, we are wired to become bored and discontent when our existence becomes too predictable and safe. We crave adventure, change, new scenery and experiences. It’s in our DNA.

preparing forBut between the desire and the reality there is a gap. Sometimes it’s short and other times it’s dishearteningly long. Most of us would not make big changes unless we first felt motivated by boredom or loss or an inner compulsion to inject fresh vitality back into our lives. It’s easy for inertia to set in, to lull us into complacency, but when the spark ignites for something new, we begin to stir up our excitement and then we usually have to wait.

I’m trying to change the way I view this preparatory period. I know that work is happening, deep in my soul, just as surely as flowers bloom out of buried seeds and not by accident. We’ve been painting our house and boy, oh boy, painting is mostly prep work. And the preparation doesn’t look like much, but without it you’d never get to those beautifully altered, crisp and clean walls.

Change is a long, messy, unpredictable process. You get great news and you’ll be flying high, then a rejection or a disappointment hits and you feel abject despair, all of that inspirational hope erased like a whiteboard. Life is a series of hurdles. Some you clear with room to spare and you are filled to the brim with success and optimism. Others you smack into and fall hard, occasionally breaking a bone or bruising your confidence, and you have no choice but to muster the courage to stand up and try for the next one.

Preparation is critical to implement change at some point in the future. We wait, we dream, we continue to work even when the odds are stacked against us. It’s better to believe that those seeds are, in fact, growing, even if we can’t see them. We show up, day after day, learning what we can and refusing to give up on what we long for most. And one day, perhaps when we least expect it, all of that prep work will turn into actual change, just in time to start the process over again with something else.