Teresa R. Funke's Blog: Bursts of Brilliance for a Creative Life, page 8

Passion is Life – Cheers, Dani Rojas

Dani Rojas, a soccer-playing character on the TV show Ted Lasso, is known for his motto, “Football is life!” Dani is a Mexican national playing in England, hence the word “football” rather than soccer. He’s the team optimist, the good guy, the one who reminds everyone else to bring their love of the sport to every game. His passion is infectious. One can imagine Dani playing football from the time he was a small child, maybe carrying his ball with him everywhere he went.

I asked myself the other day what equals life for me. The answer will not surprise frequent readers of this blog. I played soccer as a kid, but I was never good at it. And I didn’t really enjoy it all that much. Something else filled me up as a child – art! In all it’s forms. Whether it was a performance by the local children’s theater or an impromptu puppet show in my living room; a finger-painting class at the art museum or a post-class “don’t touch” tour of the exhibits; singing in a youth choir or going to hear the “big acts” at the state fair; story hour at the library or writing and illustrating my own stories, I loved it all.

How many times has a piece of art moved me to tears, caused me to laugh until I couldn’t breathe, made me angry or sad for days, filled me with awe? If those emotions and reactions aren’t the definition of “to live,” I’m not sure what is.

Though writing was, and still is, the form of personal artistic expression I most gravitated toward, I was never 100% sure as a child that I wanted to be a writer. I’ve always wondered why. Now, I think maybe it’s because I was afraid if I devoted myself entirely to only one art form, I’d have to give up the others. I think my child’s mind wondered why I couldn’t be a singer, an artist, an actress, and a writer all at once.

When it came time to commit to writing as my profession, I gave a large part of my heart to that art form. I worked very hard to learn how to write, to find my voice, to complete my books, etc. But I never gave my whole heart away. I left room to plan karaoke parties for my birthday, develop and perform a one-woman show based on my book Dancing in Combat Boots, and become part-owner of an art gallery. I’ve championed local artists, donated to arts foundations, created community projects to support reading and the arts, and am getting ready to launch a major new collaborative effort to bring local artists together.

Dani is lucky. He found one thing to fuel him, soccer. His entire focus is on that sport and his teammates. And I am lucky because as an arts enthusiast, I can find joy not just in my own artistic expression, but in the efforts of every artist – professional or hobbyist – who crosses my path every single day. My perfect day is more scattered than Dani’s. In it, I might write a blog post in the morning, check out a new art exhibit in the afternoon, and go listen to live music in the evening, but I’m no less devoted to my passion than Dani is, and no less enthusiastic.

But Dani also understands life never stays the same and it’s never all sunshine and roses. In one episode, he explains, “Even though football is life, football is also death. And football is football, too. But mostly, football is life!” When his playing days are over, Dani will continue to experience his one true love as a coach, or a commentator, or a die-hard fan. His passion will continue.

It’s not difficult to summon enthusiasm for something you love, even when it’s challenging, even when you lose, even when you’re not as good as you wish you were. If you’re not feeling that passion anymore in some part of your life, maybe it’s time for a change. Loving life should not be so hard.

For me, art is life!  What is it for you?

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Not All Writers Are Narcissists – Revisted

This post first ran on April 17, 2021

My book club recently reached a full consensus about a book: none of us liked it. In fact, four of the ten chose not to finish reading it. The conversation about the book was entertaining because whenever there’s agreement, people can speak freely, and some of their comments about how much they disliked the book were actually pretty funny. The writer in me, though, felt the need to defend the author now and then. Of everyone, I was probably the one who came closest to liking the novel. I mean, the premise was original, the structure was intriguing, and the author had clearly done her research.

Last night I was watching the documentary Hemingway. In it, one of the commentators repeated an old adage that I hate. She said, “all writers are narcissists.” Then she asked how anyone could not be a narcissist if they’re happy sitting alone in a room for twelve hours engrossed in their own thoughts. I’m not sure what overly privileged writers she counts among her friends, but most of my writer and artist friends are in no position to spend twelve hours a day musing over their own brilliance. Most of us have full or part-time jobs outside of our writing, or we have kids at home who need our attention, or we’re busy running our businesses. This concept of the spoiled artist who cares for nothing but their art really annoys me.

To be honest, I feel sorry for any narcissist who does wander into the creative realm. If the definition of narcissism is, “a mental condition in which people have an inflated sense of their own importance, a deep need for excessive attention and admiration, troubled relationships, and a lack of empathy for others,” they are going to hate being artists. This whole industry is built to tear us down as much as build us up.

Sure, I can see those traits in someone like Hemingway, but he certainly suffered for them. And while I know people like to think genius requires suffering, suffering itself isn’t something we should wish on anyone. I know plenty of well-adjusted writers and artists who produce great work. Maybe it’s time we focus on them for a change.

But maybe it’s also time I admit that, yes, we writers and artists do produce work first and foremost for ourselves. We create what we want to create blindly trusting others will like it, too, and see it’s value. That might sound narcissistic to some, but it’s not. It’s a plea for connection. We’re saying, “This is me. This is what I can do. This is what I believe. This is what I see. This is what fills me up. I hope it does something for you, too.” But isn’t that what anyone thinks who is pursuing work they love?

I stared for several minutes at the author photo in the back of the book my group had read. She looked really cool, like someone I might like to know. I kind of apologized to her picture. I said, “Sorry we tore your book apart. But thank you for the time you spent researching such an unusual topic. I learned things I didn’t know. And thank you for having the guts to finish a book that so clearly lit you up, even if it didn’t quite do the same for us. And congrats on all your accolades. If my group was not your audience, I’m glad someone else was. After all, not everyone likes Hemingway either.”

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What Did Your Favorite Toy Say About You?

Did your favorite toy as a child predict your future? Is it possible we understand our journey in life long before we can even articulate it? I was pondering those questions when I decided to give a stuffed Snoopy to my friend’s daughter for her first birthday. Snoopy was my first love, long before I was able to read the comic strips. I might have known him from the holiday specials on TV. Hard to say, since I was like four years old when I saw him sitting on a store shelf and begged my mom to buy him.

Snoopy was simple. A white dog with black ears and a black collar. Among the flashier stuffed animals dressed in colorful clothes, what made him stand out to me? Did I somehow know that someday, like Snoopy, I would hover over my typewriter trying to write prose that was less cliché than, “It was a dark and stormy night?” Did I know that I would face rejection for my writing and lots of self-doubt. Did I also recognize, though, that writing would never leave me?

Or was I drawn to the Snoopy that turned his nose to the sky and danced with abandon? Whose enthusiasm was so catching that others danced with him?

I remember even at a young age, I longed for a best friend. Someone I could tell my secrets to who would stand by me no matter what. Someone who would make me feel safe. Was I drawn to Snoopy because he was lucky enough to have Woodstock?

Or was it his rebellious streak? He was “owned” by Charlie Brown, but we all knew who was in charge. Could it have been his special breed of sarcasm? Or his tell-it-like-it-is manner that appealed to me? There were no head games with Snoopy.

But he could be so loving, too. So devoted and wise. Was I drawn most to his adventurous spirit, flying his doghouse into the great unknown, or his ability to be absolutely present, lying back on top of that same doghouse, eyes closed, in perfect repose. Could I possibly be both of those things? Could I don a pair of sunglasses and walk into the world like I owned the place, but also make no excuses when I needed to rest?

My Snoopy dog was literally loved to death. I took him everywhere. I couldn’t sleep without him. His white coat turned grey, his arms and legs grew limp, and worst of all, his fragile neck weakened to the point where his once-proud head would no longer hold high. I don’t recall what happened to him in the end. I probably didn’t want to know. But to this day, seeing Snoopy in any form makes me happy.

Are children instinctively drawn toward the things that represent the people they want to be, or the things they most want out of life? Can they be that aware? Sometimes it seems obvious . . . a young child is drawn toward a toy piano and goes on to be a virtuoso. Or carries a ball with them everywhere and goes on to play professional sports. Other times, it might be less obvious, though, to them and to us.

I have no idea if my friend’s daughter will like the Snoopy I bought for her—she’s on her own journey, after all—but maybe it’s my way of passing on to her the hope he represented to my four-year-old self that all the important things in life, friendship, devotion, humor, passion, daring, and even a bit of sarcasm, will be hers.

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For Heaven’s Sake, People, Lighten Up!

I’ve talked a lot about intention in this blog over the years, mostly trying to figure out how exactly it works. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the only time in my life when I felt like intention was really clear. It was back in college, when I’d meet my friends at the bar on a Friday night, and the intention was to have fun! So you’d had a crappy week, so your roommate was late with the rent again, so your boss docked your pay for no good reason, so the world was going to hell in a handbasket. Who cared! We commiserated with each other for a few minutes, and then said, “Screw it. Let’s have some fun.”

The whole point of those evenings was to blow off steam. It was to forget your troubles, to laugh, to dance, to sing along with the band. It didn’t mean the bad things were going to go away, it just meant that for one night, they didn’t get to be in charge.

Fast forward to a time in my life when most of my friends are dealing with serious problems with kids, aging parents, houses in need of repair, disillusionment and exhaustion with jobs they’ve done for years, concerns about finances and politics and health issues. Oh my God, so much to worry about. And I’m right there with them. This is serious stuff. It needs to be addressed. But we humans are not meant to carry such heavy burdens without once in a while setting them down and taking a rest.

We can handle a lot. We do handle a lot. True, there are times in life that are definitely harder than others and you just have to get through them. But the rest of the time, it helps to stop once in a while and let it all go. It’s not privileged to forget your troubles for a night. It’s not irresponsible to put aside your worries now and then. It doesn’t make you a bad person if once in a while you just can’t be that shoulder to cry on. And if someone judges you because you’re having fun when you should be, what, grieving, toiling, struggling, fretting, then  let them. If they can’t see that raising your vibration for a bit will give you even more strength and calm and wisdom to take care of the things you need to take care of, screw ‘em.

So, I’m taking a couple of days off to have some fun. No work talk. No problem-solving. No feeling bad about what I “should” be doing. And no inner work, either. I’m leaving my inner child at home. She’s gotten a bit whiny lately. And I’m leaving my inner critic at home. She’s been awfully nit-picky. And I’m leaving my taskmaster at home, because she doesn’t know how to have fun anyway. I’m packing my sense of humor, my adventurous spirit, and my openness to awe. Instead of focusing on all that needs to be done (and there’s plenty) I’m going to celebrate all that has been done.

I have a new favorite song called, “Toast,” by Smith and Thell.  It takes me back to those college days when we danced off our grievances. The chorus goes, “So let’s toast for all the bad times, toast for all the hard nights, toast for all the douchebags that’s been breaking our hearts . . .” In verse 2, though, they sing, “But I see the lows now, as a trampoline straight up.”

I recommend you find that song and sing it at the top of your lungs. Cuz this glorious life of ours can be heavy, and sometimes you just gotta lighten up.

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What Change Are You Resisiting?

I’ve been trying a new technique that my holistic lifestyle coach and I have been calling “bookending” my day. As someone who is naturally a bit “wound up,” it’s good for me to ground myself now and then. So, we started by working on a morning routine. Ways to settle into a good mental and spiritual space before I even get out of bed or at least before I fully start my day. Now we’re working on an end-of-day practice, but that has proven much harder.

Her first suggestion was that I try going to bed earlier. She noticed an instant resistance on my part and asked why. Without knowing it, she had stepped on several triggers for me: my natural inclination toward staying up late; my longstanding and often-challenged identity as a night owl; my memories of growing up in a family of late-risers; my need for and reliance on alone time after everyone else has gone to bed; my rebellious nature; and even some childhood trauma.

By the end of our session, though, I made a pact to try going to bed one hour earlier for a couple of weeks, just to see if it made any difference. I’m stubborn, but I’ve also come to learn all things in life are open to change, and sometimes the time is right.

My coach recommended I stop ending my day by checking social media or looking at apps on my phone. That’s a logical suggestion, and a habit I was not resistant to change. But when she suggested I try not ending my day by watching my favorite TV shows (the ones my husband doesn’t like) or reading a book, I balked. Sinking into someone else’s story has always been one of the only ways I can step out of my own story and shut off my overactive and insistent brain.

Her reasoning, though, was that books and TV shows, even the mild ones that I tend to watch before bed, involve conflict and can raise emotions or ire. She’s not wrong about that. Have you ever watched an episode of Call the Midwife? You’re practically guaranteed your weekly cry before the episode wraps up.

What did that leave, though, as a means to end my day? No TV, no books, no phone? How the heck was I supposed to settle down for sleep. And when was I supposed to carve out alone time, if I couldn’t do it after everyone else was in bed?

I’ve learned over the past few years, strong resistance often signals some part of my soul knows the suggestion is correct, but I don’t want to face it. Change demands work, after all. It requires creating new habits while letting go of old ones; it may mean asking our family members to also adjust their routines; it takes us out of our comfort zones; it makes us feel like we were “doing it wrong”; it marks the “end” of something; it shifts who we think we are; it requires us to accept who we could be, and that is sometimes scary.

I’m a week and a half into this experiment. Most nights, I’ve stuck to the new plan. I’m sleeping a bit better, partly because waking up earlier means rising before the noisy street traffic near our house really picks up. I’ve noticed my mind is a bit more settled and less likely to kick into gear at 3:00 a.m. and keep me awake for an hour. I’m feeling a bit less stressed when I go to sleep.

I don’t think I’ll ever be the person who wakes up at 4:00 a.m. (or even 5:00), although I suppose I should never say never. But I do want to be the person who sleeps more peacefully through the night, who remembers her dreams, who can enjoy lying in bed for a few minutes every morning without feeling like she has to jump up and get going. I might even enjoy being the person who reads earlier in the day in a more attentive state, instead of falling asleep mid-page.

I don’t intend to beat myself up on the nights when I do succumb to the various temptations and stay up too late, at least not for now. It’s possible I really am a night owl to my core. But I don’t want to be the person who’s unwilling to try something new or to be honest with myself about whether it actually makes me feel better. And if it does make me feel better, I want to be the person willing to change, even when it’s hard.

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Knowing Your Full Measure

A few years ago, a lady said to me, “Well, you’re so cute and tiny I could just pick you up and put you in my pocket.” I just stared at her, dumbfounded. I mean, how do you respond to a comment like that? So today, I’m calling out a bit of sexism that affects me personally.

I’m 5’2”, the same height as my Dutch-Irish grandmother and three to four inches taller than my Mexican grandmother. While it’s true that I secretly hoped to reach at least 5’4”, it’s also true that I don’t wake up every morning worrying that I’m “too short.” It generally doesn’t affect my day. If I have to get something off a top shelf, I grab a stool. No big deal.

In fact, there are times being on the shorter end of the spectrum is helpful. I don’t suffer as much as my husband in airline seats and I never have to duck under low-hanging lights. We all adapt, don’t we, to our environments?

The current average height of women worldwide is 5’3”. Since I’m technically five-foot-two-and-a-half inches, that means I’m only half an inch shorter than the average. Mother Teresa was 5’0”, Princess Diana was 5’11”, Oprah Winfrey is 5’7”, and Frida Kahlo was 5’3”. Is their height the first thing that comes to mind when you think of these powerful women? Did it actually affect their ability to make a difference in this world and inspire others?

I’ve often heard people say things like this about their grandmothers, “Can you believe someone so tiny could give birth to five kids?” Well, yes, I can. Women that size have been doing so for thousands of years.

I have female friends who are nearly six-feet tall and male friends who are not quite five-six. Do I notice their height? Sure. Just like I notice their hair color, eye color, and build. Would I describe them to others referring to their height? Maybe. But would I say, “You should meet her. She’s small but mighty.” Never! Please don’t.

Why am I bringing this up in a blog about art and personal creativity? Partly because I’m calling out my fellow artists, speakers, teachers, and presenters who are shorter in stature and asking them to stop feeding into the sexism by referring to or joking about their height on stage or in front of an audience. So what if they have to lower the mic for us, the technology works the same whether they lower the mic for us or raise it for the next speaker; so what if we choose to step out from behind the podium rather than looking like a head floating above it; so what if our feet dangle a bit in the chairs they put out for us, that makes us no less skilled, knowledgeable, or talented.

I occupy 5’2” of space in this world, but it’s mine. I’m gonna own it. I can wait patiently while you lower the mic, but if you don’t have to comment on it, neither do I.

Judging someone by their height, and that includes being impressed with them because of it, feeds into sexism. It feeds into the thought that women, who are on average six inches shorter than men, are somehow weaker, less qualified, even less smart. And that sexism hurts the men in our lives as well, the ones who are not as tall as their peers.

Am I saying you’ll never hear me joke about my height? Nope. I reserve the right. But it’s my right. Confused? Let’s make this easy . . . if you’re my friend and you know it’s okay to tease me about my height, go ahead. In a professional setting, though, if you wouldn’t bring up my weight or gray hairs, don’t bring up my height.

The average height of women in the U.S. in 1967, the year I was born, was 5’2”, the same height I am now. I stand on the shoulders of all the mighty women who, regardless of how they were built, came before me and worked to make this world better for women and men. Isn’t that what really matters?

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Who Says You Can’t Find Wisdom on TikTok?

My husband adores TikTok. Whenever he finds a short video he thinks I’d like, he texts it to me. During a recent rough patch, he got in the habit of texting me a funny video first thing in the morning. Since he gets up before me, he could do it before I was awake. I’d grab my phone while still in bed and laugh at whatever he sent me. It helped ease me into my day.

Once in a while, though, he also sends me a TikTok from which I can learn something. The other day, he attached a clip of someone asking the Dalai Lama how to get rid of negative thoughts. The wise man said that negative thoughts result from two things. One, a self-centered attitude where we’re too focused on our own wants, needs, goals, opinions, etc. Two, we accept that reality is as it appears to us in the moment, and that is rarely true. He advised turning toward altruism and not automatically “accepting” the negative thought.

Those of us working in creative fields know a lot about negative thinking. We can be our own worst critics, for example. And we often feel slighted, taken advantage of, overlooked, misunderstood, underpaid, undervalued, underappreciated, and so on. We spend a lot of time wishing the systems and industries we work within were different. When it comes to our fellow artists, we sometimes dip into jealousy, envy, resentment, and judgment. We might then hate ourselves for that.

The funny thing is, we’re often wrong. Things are not always as they seem. We think because someone said our price was too high, we are being undervalued. When really it probably just means our price is too high for that particular person at that time and maybe for very personal reasons. We think a friend cheated us when they “steal” one of our marketing ideas, when really they admired it so much they wanted to try it for themselves. We think it’s our own stupid, dumbass fault when we drop the piece of art we’re working on, when really it’s just that our body is fatigued and needs some rest.

Some define altruism as, “the belief or practice of disinterested or self-less concern for the well-being of others.” Others define it as, “an action to promote someone else’s welfare, even at risk or cost to ourselves.”  When I was younger, I mistook those definitions to mean I could not benefit in any way from the act. I’ve come to understand that “doing for oneself” can at certain times be selfish, but “acting from oneself” is usually not.

We don’t have to sacrifice all of our time, wealth, talent, and effort in service to others. That’s not sustainable in any way. But when we keep the higher purpose in mind, it makes our own efforts more pleasurable, and we’re less likely to feel negative. We can act from a place that not only fills us up, but benefits others.

One sure-fire way out of negative thoughts for creatives, for example, is to sink into the world we’re creating in our art and serve the art itself, or to focus on the joy the art will bring to the people who see it or buy it, or to make something special for a friend for their birthday. It’s not about working for free, it’s about making enough money to be able to afford to give something away if you want to. It’s not about changing our styles or methods because a customer demands it, it’s about honoring our creativity enough to discern whether what they’re asking feels like a fun challenge or an unreasonable adjustment. It’s not about accepting someone else’s bad behavior because we want to be “nice,” it’s about recognizing their behavior is not moving us or them toward a higher place and standing in our truth for their sake and ours.

And it’s about letting go. When the Dalai Lama said negative thoughts often come from focusing on “I, I, I,” I don’t think he means we should never think about ourselves. I think he’s suggesting we focus less on the parts of ourselves that are always grasping for some perceived want, or need, or judgement about what is right or wrong. Instead, to take a deep breath and move back toward that “I” that is our center. The place that knows that the things that are done to us are not of us. The place where deep creativity in all its original, honest, risk-taking forms can truly thrive.

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How to Stay Grounded in Your Excitement

I’ve been meeting lately with holistic healer and coach, Brenda Carey, partly because I’ve become interested in Ayurvedic medicine and partly because after a year and a half spent on sabbatical working to get my mental and physical health back on track, I was starting to become busy again. This time, I wanted to be sure I’d experience a healthier kind of busy.

If you’d asked me when I was 16 what I wanted to do when I grew up, I’d have told you I wasn’t sure, but I knew I wanted to help people and I never wanted to feel bored. I’ve been a naturally curious person all my life and as a 7 on the Enneagram, boredom is akin to slow death. I was fortunate to finally find my way into the work I love, writing, speaking, guiding, advocating, etc. It has never been uncommon for me to juggle multiple work and personal projects while also maintaining an active social life and getting out often to support art in all its forms. And that has always been so exciting. Never a dull day. Never a dull moment.

Then the pandemic hit, followed by some personal issues, then health problems, then anxiety. My mind and body had frankly had enough. They were forcing me to take a break. A long one. And during that time, I realized I not only didn’t hate myself when I was “doing nothing,” I kind of liked it. It was a rough time, and I don’t ever want to go back there again, but there was a certain peace that came with stopping everything.

This year, though, I hit the ground running. My enthusiasm for my work returned and my ideas were sprouting practically fully formed. My husband’s work changed directions, too, and now we’re building things together. It’s all super exciting.

What I’ve come to realize, though, is for someone like me, who has always had an over-active nervous system, my body can’t always tell the difference between excitement and anxiety. I’m sure you’ve heard that anxiety is a “negative” emotion and excitement is a “positive” one. You may have seen headlines encouraging you to, “Turn your anxiety into excitement” or read articles suggesting anxiety comes from fear, whereas excitement comes from joy.

What I wanted to ask my holistic healer, though, was whether it might be true for me that excitement could also be a form of “nervous energy.” In other words, even though it’s technically “good,” could too much exhilaration rev up my nervous system too much? The answer, for me anyway, is yes.

If my mind is always racing, even thinking good thoughts. If my body is always “on,” because I’m running around making cool things happen. If I’m constantly picking up the energies of those around me, am I wearing myself out? It turns out, for me, there can be “too much of a good thing.”

So, I’m returning to the grounding exercises that helped me when my anxiety was high. And I’m learning new ones, as well as breathing and tapping techniques. I’m embracing more short meditations and trying to set better intentions. I’m giving my mind and body a break from all the stimulation when they need it. And I’m reminding myself not just to focus on the excitement, but to notice when it turns toward anxiety, and to give myself some extra TLC when that happens. Because while lots of fun changes are underway for me, there are still plenty of very real things for my overactive mind to worry about.

For most of my life, I let my mind be in control. I thought I could learn, or think, or train, or talk myself out of any bodily illness or trauma. My body has finally proven to me that a healthy life is a team effort. It sends me signals when it needs a break, or better nutrition, or more sleep. After 55 years, it finally found a way to make its voice heard above the chatter in my mind. And now, finally, I’m listening.

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Closing Time

My husband is closing out a 33-year career in corporate America. He’s not retiring, he’s moving into a new line of creative work of his choosing. Still, it feels like a huge change. He’s been at the same company his entire career and started there when we were still dating. That company has been our home, and his coworkers have been our family, from our wedding day, through the birth of our three kids, through the purchase of our first house, and on through the graduations of our children. It has taken Roger (and sometimes me) to various spots around the world, provided a host of fond memories of holiday parties, summer picnics, camping with our friends, and so much more.

For my husband, it has been not only the place he worked, but the place he grew, following his own curiosity from department to department, product to product, role to role. He’s challenged himself while mentoring others. He started there as a mullet-wearing, barely-out-of-college young man and leaves as a seasoned expert who has watched the company and his industry grow and change. He can be so proud of the work he accomplished there and the many, many people he managed, guided, developed, befriended, and served.

And now we’re skipping toward new adventures. How lucky we are. We are wise enough to realize Roger’s company will move on without him, barely noting his departure, and that’s okay. We have always known we are not our work. We are not our contributions. We are most definitely not our paychecks. We are journeyers and explorers in this wild and crazy life, and we may never know what we really leave behind, just as we don’t know what lies ahead.

Yesterday, I heard the song “Closing Time” by Semisonic, and this line really struck me, “Closing time, every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end, yeah.”

Yeah is right! As it should be. So, I’m raising a glass today to my hardworking, loyal, dedicated, smart, funny, and oh-so-accomplished husband. Here’s to new beginnings (and new endings) as we journey on!

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How to Find Magic in the Rules

I was gushing on about the Enneagram and feng shui the other day to a friend. I’ve spent a great deal of time in the past two to three years learning about both and applying the knowledge and practice of each to my life in some pretty uplifting ways.

“It’s funny,” my friend said. “I always see you as a bit rebellious or free-thinking. Someone who doesn’t fit into boxes. It surprises me you like these things that require you to follow so many rules. Why is that?”

“Ah, because the rules set me free,” I explained.

Take feng shui for example; yes, there’s a bagua map that divides your house into neat squares, yes, you’re supposed to use certain colors, shapes, and elements in each section, and, yes, you need to declutter first and maybe get rid of some things you thought you liked or needed. But, for me, feng shui also gives permission to believe that all the things identified on the bagua map matter in our lives: career; travel and helpful people; knowledge and self-cultivation; children and creativity; health and family; wealth and prosperity; fame and reputation; love and marriage. And they matter equally. Each deserves our focus and intention. Each is something we should strive to attract. And paying attention to those things makes us feel lighter, healthier, and more on track with the lives we are meant to live.

To me, the Enneagram is not about putting people into boxes at all. It’s about acknowledging that our soul’s journey is why we’re here. That other people are on their journeys, too, and must be honored. That unlike Myers-Briggs or Strengths Finder or any personality quiz, within the Enneagram, we are never just our number. We respond to different events, actions, people, motivations, setbacks, etc., in a number of ways that come from our core essence. The Enneagram is not a simple thing to unpack, and after more than three years of studying it, I still have much to learn.

Maybe, though, I have come to understand there are no boxes in life to “put us in.” Only the boxes we put ourselves in.

I don’t see “rules” as boxes, and maybe I never have. If the rule of the school assignment was to write the paper in a certain way, but I thought there was a better way, I sometimes wrote it my way and accepted the lesser grade. But the assignment itself did provide a jumping off point for my own creativity to take over, so that was useful.

I don’t typically break some rules, like the rules of traffic, for example, because I know they exist to keep us safe. But I sometimes use my own creativity to work around even those rules (without hurting anyone). I choose a backstreet route to avoid all the traffic lights or stay in a metered parking spot past the allotted time if I’m having a good conversation with a friend. And although I accept the rules outside of my car, there are no rules within my car. I can sing badly to the radio, I can sneak bites of the pumpkin bread I just bought, I can stick my hand out the window to catch the breeze. The traffic may suck sometimes, and there’s no way around that, but I can choose how I respond to it.

Embracing practices like the Enneagram or feng shui lead me back to my essential self. They give me the opportunity to focus on what makes me happy. And provide knowledge that allows me to help other people understand themselves a bit better, if that’s what they want.

It’s so exciting when I “get” something in the Enneagram, like a door has opened. And it raises my energy when I apply some feng shui magic to a corner of my house. Usually, within days, sometimes even hours of focusing on either practice, I experience powerful real-life shifts in my situations, health, attitude, and understanding that defy logic or explanation.

I’ve always believed in magic, but any magician will tell you there are rules to making the magic work. There are tools you rely on and words you say, maybe not because they are necessary, but because they help focus your scattered, fearful, judging mind. The “rules” of magic help you suspend disbelief and give you permission to find the magic in you!

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