Donald Miller's Blog, page 4

This Is How I Overcome Fear

I Fear. I’m good at it.

I fear you. I fear me. I fear God. I fear grace. I fear truth. I fear rejection. I fear the unknown.

So you know what I do with that fear?

I turn it into all sorts of ugly things. Mostly I turn it to worry.

This weekend my wife found a weird lump. She went to the doctor and had it checked and is going back on Wednesday to have it checked again. The doctor said it is a “somelongwierdwordidontknowhowtoprononce”. She said most women get them at some point in their lives.

I didn’t think twice.

But you know what happened tonight?

I let my fear sneak up on me. Out of the blue, after 3 days of not thinking twice about, it snuck up on me like white on rice.

When I picked Heather and the kids up from Joy’s tonight I was suddenly obsessed with the lump again.

What did the doc say again? What is she doing on Wednesday? When will the labs be back? What did she say before she said that thing she said before the first thing?

Heather looked at me like I was nuts.

She had a piece of prescription paper with the lump’s name on it.

When I got home she knew what I was dead set on doing. I went straight into the kitchen and grabbed that little paper. I sat on the sofa to open up my laptop and log onto my fear-feeder.

www.webmd.com

That site can take me down faster than a lipsticked pitbull. But no. Heather was not having it. She told me I was not allowed to look it up. I said I needed to in order to calm my fears.

She called bulls#@!.

So with everything I had in me, I ripped that freaking piece of paper into 1000 little pieces and jammed it into my piehole.

I chewed with a raging pissed-off-ness because I knew I was falling into fear again and was not going to let it take me over. When I got done chewing… it was gone. The paper with the name of her lump, and my worry.

Thank You Lord. Take that you stupid piece of blue paper.

What Profanity Is Costing You As A Communicator

Just last week I was scheduled to give a keynote presentation to a group of officers from a multi-billion dollar corporation. My job was to explain how story worked in screenplays and then explain how major corporations were using Hollywood plot structures in their marketing campaigns.

This is a talk I’ve given more than few times and it always goes well. But one part of the talk was bugging me.

You see, in order to give the keynote I break down the movie Moneyball, showing 7 critical scenes in which specific movement happens in the plot. All that’s fine, but what was bugging me was one of the scenes had profanity in it.

Normally, this wouldn’t bother me.

We all hear profanity at the movies and on television all the time. But in a room full of executives? Would there be consequences?

Would anybody be offended?

Luckily, I happened to be having lunch in the hotel restaurant when I noticed one of the executives sitting across the room, reading the paper. I stopped over and sat down and we caught up on life, then I asked him what he thought about showing that scene.

He was grateful I asked.

Even though he thought nobody would be truly offended, he wondered whether there was any way to cut that word out. I told him I could find out and do everything I could and he felt that would be best. As we talked, though, we uncovered the real reason I shouldn’t take the chance. And here’s what it was:

Showing the scene risked making me, the presenter, look immature and unprofessional.

It turns out it wasn’t the offensiveness of the word that would have gotten me into trouble, it would have been the fact I was willing to play fast and loose with proper business etiquette, which would have made me look bad.

I’ve plenty of friends who use profanity or off-color jokes in their writing.

They do so because they believe it will set them apart. I understand the temptation. But the reality is it has a downside. In the long run, people are looking for somebody they can trust. Getting a laugh or a gasp may make us feel powerful or influential, but that roller coaster high is most often followed by a dip.

I ended up cutting the profanity out of the clip and I assure you nobody missed it.

And nobody was distracted from the point I was trying to make either, a point that ended up hitting a home run with the group. Lesson learned.

Always choose long-term professionalism over short-term attention. (tweet this)

Is Your Life Boring All Your Friends?

Last week, looking out the back window of our house, I saw our dog Hobbs standing over the carcass of a possum. He was sniffing it cautiously and had a “what do I do now?” look about him. Finally, he walked away, disappointed with the end of his chase.

As he was leaving, I saw one eye of the possum open. Then the other. Slowly, it got up and started to sneak away. Hobbs noticed, and the chase resumed. As soon as Hobbs caught up with his prey, the possum feigned a heart attack again. Hobbs sniffed and left. You could almost hear him say, “This is no fun.”

I’d always heard of “playing possum,” but had never seen it in real life.

Play dead and they’ll leave you alone.

It was an amazing strategy, working perfectly for the possum. It works for people, too.

It reminded me of this time I was facilitating a men’s group in which each guy shared their story. One week, a guy was telling his story and I was bored. Feeling guilty, I looked around only to notice other guys were showing signs of boredom, too – looking down or fidgeting restlessly. One guy even yawned.

I tuned back in and realized what was going wrong. This guy was telling his story in black and white. There was no color to it. He was a detached reporter, and thus we detached. He told us his father was a drunk, but didn’t tell about the impact of a drunken father on a little boy.

Midway through his story, I asked him to pause for a moment.

Turning to the men, I asked, “On a scale of 1-10, ten being extremely engaged and one being almost asleep – how would you rate his telling of his story?”

Everyone got awkwardly quiet, looking down at the floor. The guy who was telling his story seemed understandably miffed. When no one spoke, I went first, “I’d give it a three,” I said. “Anyone else?”

Finally some of the guys began to speak. “4,” said one guy. “2,” said another. “I’d rate it a 3,” said the man to his right. 4 was the highest number.

Then I told them this:

There’s no such thing as a boring person or a boring story. (tweet this)

The only way that happens is if a person makes themselves boring. And the result is no one engages with them. People leave them alone.

He was playing possum, and we were “walking away” as if we believed his story was dead.

So I turned to the guy and said, “The story you told us was in black and white, devoid of scenes and emotion. Come back next week, and tell it in color. Bring us your real story.”

The following week he returned and told his story again.

This time, he was a character in the story, not a reporter.

Every man wept.

Every man was engaged.

Every man connected with him in a way no one ever had.

The storyteller joined us in our tears. It was holy moment, and I learned a profound lesson that day.

Often, when we walk away from people, while they may be unaware of it, they are acting in some way to repel us. It may be subtle (boredom) or it may be overt (meanness). Sadly, it usually works.

All of us play possum from time to time.

We have unique strategies to get people to leave us alone. Some people avoid connection by their humor. Others revert to anger and aggressiveness. Some simply appear uninteresting.

My challenge to you today is this: Unless someone is obviously dangerous, don’t pull away from them, even if they try to make you. Stay around them long enough and they’ll open one of their eyes. When they do, pursue their real story.

It’s in there. I promise.

You Can’t Save People (So You Can Stop Trying)

Have you ever had someone in your life who is really struggling with something and you wish desperately you could save them from themselves?

You watch a friend who is about to make a reckless career choice, for example, or who is overspending or overeating or in a relationship with someone who is clearly the wrong person—and think, if only you could help them see things from your position. If only they could see how special they are, or how much they have to offer.

If only… they would never do this to themselves.

To be honest, I’ve been around and around this merry-go-round a hundred times in my life, wishing I could save someone from their own destructive choices, all the while missing the fact that it was never my job to save them in the first place. Not to mention the fact that it is an impossible task to undertake.

We are the only ones who can save ourselves.

I was talking about this with a friend recently.

This friend also happens to be a yoga instructor and someone I admire greatly. And she said something to me that day I’ll never forget. She told me how her teacher—another yoga instructor—had said to her many years ago:

“Sarah, I give you permission to stop sitting on your students.”

This advice probably makes no sense to you (it didn’t to me at first) so let me explain.

When you take a yoga class, instructors will often walk around the room and do “adjustments” for the poses. What this means is that they’re helping you help your body get into the correct position for the pose you’re doing. So if you need to stand up taller, they might come around the back of you and lift from your rib cage.

If you’re in child’s pose, they might come put their body weight on your back, to help ease you further into the pose.

It’s a little bit of assistance—from someone who knows what they’re doing.

But what Sarah’s teacher meant to tell her that day was that there is a difference between giving someone assistance and taking on the full responsibility of getting their body into a position it’s not even ready for (aka “sitting on them). He was taking the pressure off for her, saying, “Sarah, that’s not your job.”

After all, yoga is not about getting the poses perfect every time.

It’s practice.

It’s play.

We’re all getting there.

We’re all beginners.

We’re all just doing the best we can—and the best we can is enough for now.

Of course, a little assistance never hurt anybody.

When I call a friend to ask for advice, she might remind me of how valuable I am, how I don’t need to settle for anything less than the absolute best for myself, and how if I’m about to make a self-destructive decision, it might help me to take a deep breath first and ask myself if this is really what I want.

That’s assistance.

But she doesn’t monitor my text messages to make sure I’ve taken her advice.

She isn’t going to come over to my house and snoop around to see if I’ve been lying. Can you imagine what an incredible burden that would be to her? What an amazing distraction? And what a disservice it would be to me—the only real person who has to live with the consequences of my actions?

We can all stop trying to save each other.

The only person who can save us is ourselves.

The truth is people who try to “save” other people are distracting themselves.

I’ve had to come to that painful realization in my life in the past few years—about how this thing I’m doing (“sitting on my students”) which I think is really nice and helpful and self-sacrificing of me is actually terribly destructive to all who are involved. What I’m gaining is a false sense of value and power.

What I’m losing is myself.

I’m distracting myself from my own inner work, avoiding my own obstacles and neglecting my own inner-battles. And, to be honest, the person I’m “saving” gets distracted too. When we sit on people, they never get to do the work for themselves.

They miss out on their own “practice” so to speak.

What a tragedy—right?

So I’ve made a commitment to myself. No more sitting on people. Living in front of them, yes. Speaking the truth of their value, always. Assisting them—sure, as much as I am able without losing myself. But no more sitting on people.

Thank God that pressure is finally gone.

One Reason You’re Not Making The Progress You Wish You Were

Most of us have experienced times when stories of other people’s victories leave us feeling angry or resentful instead of encouraged. Deep inside we have questions like, “Why doesn’t that happen for me?” “Why do my prayers seem to go unanswered?”

WWe may even find ourselves avoiding their stories because they leave us feeling empty and alone.

If this is where you are right now you’ve likely kept it hidden, thinking that you shouldn’t feel this way—and besides, you’re tired of hearing “easy” answers that don’t change anything.

Ironically, the only meaningful answers begin where you are, not where you pretend to be.

The truth about hope is that it is usually discovered only when hope is lost.

But to admit to losing hope is so frightening that we usually prefer staying hidden.

What if the answer is feeling the anger and the fear and discovering the true “cry out” within me? What if crying out is the very thing that brings you and me to a place of vulnerable need … at the feet of the very God by whom you’ve felt abandoned?

Admitting to my struggling faith does not separate me from God; it is the pretending that I have none that does.

It is said there was an ancient custom in Nepal that if a man loses something precious to him the rest of the tribe comes together, enters his home and takes something else from him as well. Through centuries this custom was lost to most and thought of as cruel and barbaric to others who did not understand its origin.

One day a man, who was an old resident from that tribe, white haired but full of wisdom was found and asked about the strange custom.

He said his ancestors many generations ago had been true to pass down the secret of their tradition and its blessing through their family and he explained the mystery as follows.

“Take this small piece of bread in one hand and this grain in the other. Hold them out to be seen. If suddenly the precious grain is stripped from the one hand, the other hand clenches tightly around the bread to make sure he does not lose it. There stands the man cursing this one hand that has lost his treasure bringing shame upon his whole family while his other hand grips the bread tightly to ensure he keeps what little he has left. With clenched fist he threatens anyone who would get close enough to take away what is rightfully his. What does he look like now? A man staring through eyes of suspicion at anyone who approaches him. A man cursing his misfortune, his shriveled hand, and the many others he has learned to blame. This man crushes the hope of others in need and mutilates the bread in that same fist. The blessing to this ancient custom can only now be understood.

When a precious loss occurs, the other hand clings to what is left and the heart becomes either lifeless or closed. When the tribe and their chief came to his house and emptied the other hand the man fell to the ground in anguish with open hands … open hands now able to receive … to receive from all the other tribe members who had experienced loss before him. While the man with open hands, on his knees, blinded with tears was without strength the fellow tribe people passed by filling his hands with baskets of bread, grain, jars of oil, tools for repairing, stones for a fireplace, carved shingles for a roof, and a place in their midst to call home. Yes what he had was taken away so he had room in his hands and his heart to receive abundance.”

When you and I pretend not to struggle, we close our hearts from being known and conceal our suspicion of God.

Leave behind the “easy answers” and step into the ones we usually resist: voicing our angst to someone we trust and to wrestle with God. If we do, we may walk with a limp but we may experience the mystery of healing.

Why Some of the Best Stories Are Invisible

Several years ago, while I was getting my bachelor’s degree at a (not-cheap) private liberal arts university of my choice, I learned that my mom’s monthly paychecks were being deposited directly into an account I didn’t know about.

The account was set up specifically to pay my tuition, and nothing else.

I remember feeling a little taken aback when I found out, for a moment unworthy of the gift, and for another moment shocked that it would be given so quietly. No fanfare. No parade. No “look-at-what-a-good-mom-I-am” search for acknowledgement. Just my mom, showing up diligently to her job everyday, so I could go to college.

“This is what moms do for their kids.”

That’s what I remember her saying when I asked her about it, while she stood in the kitchen chopping vegetables.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about what an extravagant act it was, and yet how invisible. I don’t have kids of my own yet, but I can tell you with certainty that I’ve never done anything that selfless for anyone, and when I do anything selfless at all, I usually I want the credit.

I have to admit: I’m terrified of being invisible.

In some moments I find myself tiptoeing around people, trying to protect feelings and relationships, never willing to be too loud or take up too much space. At other moments, probably when I get tired of being so quiet all the time, I feel like I’m slamming around in my life just to get someone to notice.


And to be perfectly honest, I’ve always wanted my story to be kind of loud too, to go down in the history books. I’ve dreaded the thought of being too quiet, wanting instead to be worth noticing, to make a splash.

But as I think about this story about my mom, and as I think about at least a dozen other quietly generous and beautifully simple and seemingly-invisible stories I’ve witnessed over the years, I can’t help but realize that a quiet story is not a bad story.

In fact, it might be the best story of all.

What happens in secret in our life is really the most important work we do, anyway. We don’t usually think of it like that. We think of those “in-the-spotlight” moments as being the most important. And while maybe they are the most glamorous…

The most challenging, most complicated, most terrifying work we do in our lives happens when nobody is watching. It’s all terribly unimpressive and quiet. And yet this is the work that takes real courage and strength.

Forgiving ourselves and others
Growing in faith and grace

.

Centering ourselves and staying present

.

Redirecting our negative thoughts

.

This is all the hard, behind-the-scenes work.

I’m starting to keep my eyes open for people who are living silent but beautiful stories.

Some of them are connected to my own, others are not. But all of them are connected to the broader story, the story we’re all writing together. All of them are valuable. I’m starting to celebrate them in a way I couldn’t have before.

And the weirdest things happens as I celebrate the quiet stories of others.

I’m not scared of being invisible anymore.

Why You Need Your Negative Emotions to Thrive

If I had a list of feelings I’d rather skip, regret would be on there. (Despair, loneliness, rage: these could all make the list, too. I’d more or less like to have all the warm-fuzzy feelings and none of the ones that make you cry.)

I’m not alone in this.

Regret is like a spider with hairy legs, or grape-flavored soda. You wish it would go away, sure, but more than that—

You wish it just didn’t exist.

At a book signing not long ago, I heard Dave Bruno talk about his year-long project to live with just a hundred belongings.

Dave wrote a book called “The 100 Thing Challenge,” so people ask him all kinds of questions about how many pairs of socks he owns and whether individual books count as “things,” and what to do with the giant pile of Frisbees the dog keeps bringing home. (I might be imagining the one about the Frisbees.)

Listening to those questions, you’d think we all want to try out new paths that might bring us joy—but we want to know the exact right way to do it first. We don’t want to make mistakes.

We don’t want to learn the hard way.

And yet… no one else knows what’s ahead on your path. If you want to go anywhere at all, you’re going to have to face the fear that says, what if I try, and this doesn’t go the way I hope it will? What if I regret this decision?

When someone asked if there was anything he wished he hadn’t gotten rid of, Dave said something kind of surprising.

He said yes, there are things he regrets giving away—and that’s okay.

That’s what he said, that it’s okay to feel that regret. You don’t always have to avoid it. It’s just a feeling.

It’s okay to feel regret.

It’s okay to wish things had gone differently.

It’s okay to feel your feelings.

What if, instead of trying to skip half our feelings, we tried to listen to them all? Those feelings have things to teach us. They’re all in our toolbox for a reason. They all color our experience, and nobody wants to color with half a box of crayons.

A full human experience includes a full range of emotion.

We can listen and ask questions:

What’s going on here? What is this feeling trying to tell me? Am I listening? Are there changes I should make?

Instead of getting stuck trying to make perfect choices that we’ll never regret, we can do the best we can with what we know.

Because even if things don’t work out, you aren’t going to sit with that feeling forever.

Every living thing grows and changes—out of despair, and into acceptance. Our of regret, and into understanding.

Out of mourning, into dancing.

And then, if you are me, out of dancing and probably into a sprained ankle, and maybe some mild regret. But that will pass, too.

And I can practice listening to it in the meantime.

If You’re Not Scared, You’re Not Doing It Right

I’ve been scared for the last 3 years…

Scared about the direction of my organization, scared about making sure I can pay the mortgage, scared I’m pigeon-holing my career before my 30th birthday.

When the noise of my own self-doubt becomes unbearable, I have a special spot I like to go in Portland down the street from my office. I sit on a grassy hill, littered with weeds, and lean against a broken light post. My spot isn’t picturesque; it overlooks a truck depot and a freeway on-ramp, but it’s mine.

Some people say God talks to them at length. Full paragraphs and jokes and all. For me, on my grassy knoll, God has been more of a broken record lately. When the world feels like it’s crashing down, all I hear are the same two lines:

“If you’re not scared, you’re not doing it right.”
“Just. Keep. Going.”

I hate when I’m in the middle of it, but fear is good.

The more you love something, the more you’ll fear it, because you know it can hurt you.

People don’t quit their jobs because they’re scared of them. People quit their jobs because they’re bored of them. You lose the fear, you lose the love.

If you remember anything, remember this…

Fear is an ally and an indicator of what you have to keep doing in life.

Steven Pressfield sums it up well in his groundbreaking work, The War of Art:

“Self doubt can be an ally. This is because it serves as an indicator of aspiration. It reflects love, love of something we dream of doing, and desire, desire to do it. If you find yourself asking yourself, “Am I really a writer? Am I really an artist?” chances are you are. The Counterfeit innovator is wildly self-confident. The real one is scared to death.”

Are you scared to death or wildly self-confident? A true creator or a counterfeit innovator? Evaluate your level of fear. You’ll know what you’re meant to do.

Why Dramatic People Are Secretly Driving You Crazy

I’ve a friend who is a bit dramatic. Well, not a friend, exactly, but somebody I have to deal with. I won’t get into it. Ever since I met this person their default mode has been drama.

If I don’t do something about that noise, my car was going to break down…If I don’t call this person right away I’ll lose this great opportunity…If I don’t leave my faucet running my pipes will freeze…and on and on.

To be honest, I fell for it the first few times.

Suddenly I was worried about things I never worried about before. I felt anxious and tense and it bothered me. So I decided to count the costs a bit.

What if my car broke down? Well, I guess I’d get it fixed. And what if my pipes broke? Well, I guess I’d call a plumber. But none of that happened. I didn’t call the friend because we all miss opportunities all the time and it didn’t seem like an opportunity I was really interested in anyway. I didn’t let a faucet drip and my pipes didn’t freeze.

My car still makes a slight noise that I may or may not have a mechanic look at when I have time.

Everything is the same as it was before.

I learned something from this interaction, though. I learned some people live a life of unnecessary drama. Mostly, I think people live in drama to pull attention into themselves. The sad thing about this, though, is they’re pulling attention into themselves at the cost of your peace and sanity.

It’s rather selfish, isn’t it?

These days, I rather enjoy ignoring all the drama.

I mean it. I can hardly stand to watch cable news anymore.

I have a friend who does little but complain about the direction the country is going, how we’re becoming communists and slaves to the government. I wonder what it’s costing his physical health to worry all the time like that?

If our taxes get raised, it would cost him about $500 more per year. But what will a heart attack cost him? Or all the relationships he’s losing because people get tired of all the bitter tribal banter?

Lately I like it when I get the dramatic text baiting me into a life of worry because I no longer buy into it. Ignoring the drama makes me feel superior and smart, to be honest. And maybe that’s selfish but it’s great for my self esteem. What’s the worse that could happen, after all? And if the worst does happen, can’t I just fix it?

I refuse to worry about hypothetical situations anymore.

So the choice became clear:

I could live in constant drama about what might happen, or live in peace till something actually does.

And even if it does, there’s rarely a reason for drama anyway. If the pipes burst I will turn off the water to the house and call a plumber. If I miss an opportunity I can catch the next one. If my car breaks down I can call a tow truck. What’s so dramatic about any of that? That’s just life.

All that to say, lets choose peace. Not drama.

Every Story Needs A Comeback

There’s that one scene in every great movie. You know the one I’m talking about. That scene where it looks like the hero is about to lose it all. When George Bailey cries out to God in a drunken stupor:

“I’m at the end of my rope.”

When Luke Skywalker finds out that his is the only spaceship left in the attack against the Death Star.

When Buzz Lightyear realizes that after all this time, he really is just an ordinary toy.

We can all relate to those characters, especially Buzz.

We start out this life believing we’re capable of doing anything, that we’re invincible, that we can fly. Then life gives us a couple of dozen smacks across the face and we’re left struggling to believe if we ever possessed any value at all.  Our disbelief opens the door wide open to Fear who invites Pain and Struggle along for the party, initiating a cycle of Pity Party Paralysis.

What’s interesting about each of the on screen scenarios is that in each case, the hero never makes it out of their sticky situation without the help of another person.

Clarence jumps into the water to save George Bailey.

Han Solo swoops in at the last second with the Millennium Falcon.

And even a former enemy in the form of an old cowboy doll becomes Buzz’s biggest supporter and confidant.

Every one of our stories is eligible for a comeback.

First, however, we need to believe that a comeback is indeed possible and we are worthy of receiving one. We need to kick some late night partyers out of the house and put Pity Party Paralysis to bed.

Second, we need to understand that most comebacks don’t happen without the help of someone else.  This is usually a harder pill to swallow than the first. Our modern image of what it means to be a hero is often framed by the cultural narratives we interact with daily, narratives that say we have to have it all together or we can buy our way to success in just a few simple payments.

Look closely and you’ll discover these narratives are written in airbrush and Photoshop.

Truly great stories are written in the blood, sweat, and tears of their heroes and those they choose to journey with.

If your story needs a comeback, cast out a lifeline.

No it’s not sexy. Admitting you need help, that you are in fact, just an ordinary toy whose batteries are worn, never feels fun. It is however, the way most comebacks begin.

Perhaps you’re living at the height of your story right now. Maybe it’s time to take a cue from Clarence, Han, and Woody and become someone’s liberator. We should all be looking to find ourselves in the process of rescue. Sometimes we’re the life preserver. Sometimes we’re the life.