I put my hands to it, without asking whether this one small act is important enough to deserve the attention I am giving it regardless of the outcome,
I put my hands to it, because I have noticed how easily I can turn a simple beginning into something heavy by demanding that it justify itself before I have even finished,
I put my hands to it, resisting the strange hunger to make every effort meaningful, visible, impressive, or worthy of being remembered,
I put my hands to it, can I do something worthwhile without needing it to become proof that I am also worth my time,
I put my hands to it, as i acknowledge the work, the work becomes lighter when I stop asking it to carry any single identity…
I make it quietly, because some of the things most worth doing lose their honesty when I start imagining how they might look from someone else’s eyes,
I make it quietly, letting the satisfaction of having done what was mine to do exist without immediately reaching for recognition, explanation, or even any immediate approval,
I make it quietly, because I know how quickly accomplishment can become another performance when I start measuring the work by the judgement it receives afterward,
I make it quietly, would I still care about this effort if nobody praised me for making it, for pouring all of my efforts into it or even wasted years of hard work,
I make it quietly, and the need to be witnessed begins to soften, and I discover that when I stop making things to be seen, I finally have enough silence to hear what the work is asking of me…
I leave the outcome alone, even though some part of me still wants to inspect it immediately and decide whether all the effort was worth it,
I leave the outcome alone, because I am learning that finishing something does not give me ownership over how far it travels or what it becomes in another person’s universe,
I leave the outcome alone, resisting the impulse to inflate a small success or punish myself for a result that did not resemble what I initially imagined,
I leave the outcome alone, can I let something be finished without endlessly asking whether it was more than enough for my own standards,
I leave the outcome alone, and the work finally gets to exist without my interference, until I understand that letting go of the ending does not diminish what I make—it gives the work enough freedom to become more than I intended…
I return to the next thing, because there is a quiet danger in staring too long at what I have already done and turning yesterday’s effort into today’s excuse,
I return to the next thing, carrying whatever I learned without demanding that the previous result define the quality of what comes after it as all has it’s different outcome,
I return to the next thing, accepting that progress is often less dramatic than I want and more persistent than I give it credit for because is never always the motivation,
I return to the next thing, can I keep moving without needing every completed step to feel significant before I take another challenge, another task or another project,
I return to the next thing, and the ordinary rhythm begins carrying me forward, and I discover that progress does not always announce itself; sometimes it simply becomes the life I am already living…
Watchwords:
The work becomes lighter day after day
The need to be witnessed in softness
The outcome gets to exist alone
Yesterday’s effort becomes today’s excuse
The ordinary rhythm carries me forward
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream:
