I nearly missed it.
It had fallen to the bottom of the mail basket.
I fished out the tiny envelope.
It was addressed to me; blue ink; the forced cursive of a now unsteady hand.
I didn’t recognize the return address.
The note inside said: “Dear Mr. Hampton, I stumbled over your book Journeys on the Edge: Living a Life That Matters in my library. I so enjoyed it. It meant a lot to me. I’m 84 years old. Old people have dreams too, you know.”
I wept.
Just that afternoon, I had devolved once again into that self-loathing, that self-pity, that narcissistic hand-wringing that so many of us – writers, artists, musicians, entrepreneurs, creators – indulge in: what’s the point of doing the work; does anybody really care; is anybody really listening; does the message really matter; maybe the message is screwy; is the work important; am I doing it right; maybe I didn’t rehearse long enough; maybe I’ll make a mistake; maybe I should have practiced more; maybe I already made a mistake; maybe I don’t have enough experience to be doing this; do I have the right system; maybe no one notices anyway; maybe I didn’t get the launch right; maybe the marketing is off; maybe the work looks stupid; maybe I sound dumb. Yes, dumb, so let’s not do that anymore.
“God, give me a sign that the work matters,” I had silently prayed that afternoon.
“Old people have dreams too,” the Universe responded.
You see, the work we do – the work all of us do – truly does matter. And our job is just to shut up – and do it.
Of course, occasional – or frequent – self-flagellation may somehow assuage some of us. But really, all that is ultimately required of us is that we show up; every day; and do the work of our lives.
George Leonard, who was an Aikido Master and a grandfather of the Human Potential movement wrote, “the master is the one who stays on the path day after day, year after year. The master is one who is willing to try and fail, and try again, for as long as he or she lives.” The master, said Leonard, shows up every day on the mat.
Julia Cameron, author of the Artist’s Way said, “I learned to get out of the way and let that creative force work through me. I learned to just show up at the page and write down what I heard. Our only job, Cameron says, is to show up – and allow the work to move through us.
Tama Kieves in her wonderful new book Inspired & Unstoppable, says: The blank page teaches us to write. The stage teaches us to perform. Even surgeons have to learn on real-life patients with real life consequences.” “It doesn’t matter how you begin,” says Kieves. “Just jump in. Get moving.”
And stay moving, I say.
The problem with self-flagellation is that it often paralyzes us; stops us dead in our tracks; interrupts our momentum; stops the flow.
The world needs your gifts.
When we do our work – and put our work out in the great river of our lives – it takes on energy of its own. It impacts lives – and travels to distant shores – beyond our wildest imaginations.
Believe in your vision. Believe in your message. Believe in the music of your heart.
Get out of your own way; get out of your own head.
Show up. Do the work. Do it every day. Then toss it out into in the river of your life.
The Universe will take care of the rest.
_______________________________________
Dear Walt ~
Your words are always uplifting and inspiring. One of your posts from last month moved me to tell colleagues and family and get them on your list; that is how you met my sister, Cathy Siroka, a mom-blogger and publisher in Westport, CT, who reached out to you and has become a Hampton Evangelist, too.
Reading this post today moved me similarly and inspired me to reply with kudos. Thank you. It’s very timely, too, coming right next to Rosh Hashanah, which asks Jewish people to consider their life as lived thus far and this year.
Your article’s closing sentences are especially pertinent to a newer Rosh Hashanah tradition, held this year on Monday, September 17: it’s called ‘Tashlich’ and it’s a ritual where each ascribes his or her ‘sins,’ mistakes and transgressions to a small piece of bread, say a prayer for its release, and toss it into a body of water (preferably one with fish who can enjoy the breadcrumbs). Part of being like the river of our life, as you said.
In appreciation,
“Tish” Tishkoff