Practice What You Preach

I did not want to write this week's essay. There I said it, that's my truth. I finally decided at nearly 7 pm to pick up my laptop, which was 30 feet out of reach most of the day. I've known since Tuesday what I was going to write about, which makes my putting this off true to form. Each time I looked over my laptop, my nemesis, diverting my eyes away from Inside Out 2, I snarled my lip because it knew my dirty little secret: I hate to practice. I want to be good, not at some later date, but today. I am the kid who watched their dance teachers and would get discouraged because while I had learned the steps, it looked different from the teacher or the student who took multiple classes compared to my one session a week.

I've gotten comfortable with the appearance of mastery, which is void of the privilege of consistent growth. Ouch.

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This week, after session three of my dance class, I wrote, " Why am I so adverse to practice? This question came to me because a step that I struggled with in the first two classes was coming to me more easily. Repetition was doing its job, creating a pattern my brain could follow, thus allowing space for my body to move into a deeper creative relationship where form and soul could begin to take over. However, I still struggle with being a student of something. I am in class with my feet all over the place, my face alive with confusion, all while being aware that it will take many more kickball changes to make this work. For my teacher, the years of practice and the dedication to craft are evident even in her slightest movements. Her studies have made her a master of her craft, and you find in her a loyalty to honoring the gift.

Practice gives way to unifying all the pieces it takes to bring our best things to the light. We all come here with something to share, gifts we can ignore, or ones we believe in so deeply that we commit time, effort, and belief into building them into more. Writing is that thing for me. I hold space daily for the thinking that will eventually lead to words strung together to create thoughts, emotions, and connections. Then comes the doing.

When writing, I float into a space that feels like complicated bliss, but when you don't practice, the muscles around that thing weaken, and laziness and complacency take over. Placing value on your gifts makes practice easier to commit to, leading to the courage to keep trying. Getting words on paper is my daily job now. Once a week, I share some of those words with people to practice not being afraid of my shadow and to one day believe this could be how I make my life--how I shine. Sometimes, the pen is strong, and other times, it's just okay, but it must be lifted for it to be mighty (see, it's sometimes just okay). After I wiped away my tears, those folks at Pixar are good at their jobs I finally picked up my laptop and started my weekly clack.

The graduate assistant in my improv class remarked that when working with partners on a scene, you should "leave room for growth," which allows the scene to build slowly and deliberately. That is what this process of writing does for me. It leaves room for growth and serves as a ritual of gratitude for the possibility of discovering more, digging further, and giving the soul a place to dance.

It's now 8 pm, less a bit of editing, and I am done with this week's practice. That wasn't so bad.

See you next week.

Essay 5

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