A Beginner's Mind

“In order to do something well, we must first be willing to do it badly. We must have the humility to be once again a beginner, to admit what we don’t know and admit that we wish to know more.” Julia Cameron

For the first time in my life, I was the oldest student in the room. At age 57, I have embarked on a two-year educational adventure leading to a Masters in Fine Arts in Creative Writing, and, more than a few times in class, I seriously questioned my decision.

As classmates arrived electronically loaded, with earphones pumping music I’ve never heard, and coffee paid for, no doubt, with Paypal, this dinosaur sat with his wallet of cash and notebooks neatly arranged beside pens. As they shared their vivid work, the lack of detail in my own was embarrassing. Their colorful poetry, made my ordinary language feel like Kansas before the twister.

I wanted to run back to my old world, to my cozy study where I could sit and write as I always had, where my writing was good enough, but I knew better. If I was going to improve, I would need to be a beginner again. I would need to be willing to see my weaknesses as well as my strengths, and unlearn as much as I hoped to learn.

One of the great gifts of life is learning. The ticket for admission, however, is the vulnerability that comes with being a beginner. Admitting you are not the best at something, that there’s something you need to learn, is hard, particularly the older we are. Whether at work, in a relationship, or a hobby, learning something new can feel incredibly uncomfortable and demand more effort than first thought. No wonder so few do it.

As we draw to summer’s end, and another school year dawns, the invitation for each of us to be students again, to learn something new, stands before us. The question is, do we have the willingness to live our lives with the mind and heart of a beginner? If so, we will certainly master the fine art of living, and that is a degree well-worth getting.

Living Wide-Eyed

When was the last time you lived wide-eyed?

You know, the kind of eyes a child has when she notices a piece of sea glass on the shore before her brother walking beside her . . . The kind of eyes we get when we figure out how to make the DVD player work or fix the latch on the gate . . . The kind of eyes we have when we hear a couple is expecting a baby.

I don’t know what causes us to open our eyes wide. It certainly awakens our faces, let’s in more light, and that, in turn, makes our hearts expand and beat more quickly. Whatever the reason, it always leads to feeling more alive.

I wonder if that isn't the way we were created to live.

Too often, we limit the light. Either we close our eyes, because we don't want to face what’s before us, or squint, as if to question whoever or whatever stands before us. I suppose we do this as a form of protection, but it causes our hearts to constrict, not expand, and life becomes more of a chore, than dance.

Today we have a choice about the kind of eyes we’ll have. May we open our eyes wider than we have in the past, more often than we're used to, and let more light in so our hearts can expand enough to receive the gifts given, and beat more quickly to keep up with the dance into which we’ve been invited.

Flashlights

The camper left the warmth and security of the campfire to walk down toward her tent. Holding her flashlight tight, she shone its light ahead, revealing the rocks, bushes, and trees, as well as a portion of the path. While trying to focus on what she could see, her mind wandered to what might be out there, on her right, left, or beyond the light ahead. Such thoughts almost caused her to turn around, but she focused on what was before her and successfully made it to her tent.

I wish I was as disciplined as she.  I, too, have a tent, a place toward which I am headed, and have been given a flashlight to help me get there, but, too often, I try to see beyond the light I’ve been given and worry about what I cannot see. Even though I can see all manner of rocks, bushes and trees, as well as a portion of a path, I spend much of my time longing to see more than the light is revealing and worry about what might be on my left and right. It causes me to want to turn around, to quit the journey.

It is written that we should let God’s grace be sufficient. Another way to say that might be, let the light from the flashlight be enough for the journey. Use it to see your next step, but don’t worry about things you cannot see or control ahead. Whatever your tent may be - a job, a relationship, a life’s purpose, a spiritual destination – we’ve been given all the light we need to get there. By taking the next step, we move forward. The good news is that as we move forward, so does the light.