A Grateful Life Lived

Try as I might, I’m learning that I can’t stop the passage of newness. Eventually, every first dulls in my memory. Hallways that were once intriguing become passable with my eyes closed. And though there is much to learn, I feel sad when I consider that I can’t go back to when I first saw something or first visited somewhere. As humans, we rewrite yesterday with the context of today. We can remember newness in the present, but we cannot recreate it.

The passage of time is unavoidable. We all grow up, go home, and must retrieve the proverbial boxes we’ve left behind. Sometimes, we shove their bony edges into the closet–skeletons collecting dust and a resolve to avoid. Or maybe we take the opposite approach– we finally crack into our history and find ourselves subsequently consumed by a desire to wallow in it. We want to rip into the past until we can feel our pulse and shred our hands raw. It’s enticing to think that such an excavation will find a solution–a reason life is the way it is and how we can protect ourselves from it.

We all grow up, go home, and must retrieve the proverbial boxes we’ve left behind.

I’ll save you some time by confessing that neither path is helpful. An obsession with the past–either in remembering or forgetting–has a way of calcifying its negative impact. Now can so easily fade into then when then is the lens through which we view life.

This all sounds pretty heady, and maybe that is because words haven’t come easily to me lately. Even their sound is creaky and offputting; there’s no gentle lull like I’m used to. So I’ve done what I do with many things when I feel ill-equipped: I avoid. I’ve found myself wishing I could just unplug my brain for a day so the overthinking organ can cool down–like my dad’s old Mazda when the engine started steaming on a hot August afternoon. Overthinking, avoiding, overanalyzing… I have a love/hate relationship with each.

But I’m a creative, and as often as I fear that my talent is cascading down a basement staircase, I also know that avoiding won’t bring an end to the fear of failure that has eclipsed my desire to be a writer of impact in this world.

With that, I (finally) get to the point of this blog post: commitment.

No More Discipline

Have you ever looked up the definition of “discipline”? I recently did. I was surprised to learn that, according to Merriam-Webster, “the earliest known use of discipline appears to be punishment-related; it first was used in the 13th century to refer to chastisement of a religious nature, such as self-flagellation.”

I am a Christian. I am not a studied theologian, nor is my aim to explain the nuances of Latin to English translations in the Bible. To stay in my line, I’m referring merely to the “discipline” we refer to in everyday situations:

• “I didn’t [do whatever overworking looks like for you]. I need to be more self–disciplined.”
• “No dessert? Wow! You are so disciplined.”
• “You want to be successful? You must be disciplined. Laziness won’t cut it!”
• “He’s so disciplined! I never even see him watch TV!”

Whether you are a Christian or not, I’m guessing you agree that we shouldn’t let our emotions control us. Like toddlers in a playroom, our feelings are strong, fleeting, and self-regarding. So, hear me when I say that I’m not implying that we are better off with our emotions in the driver’s seat. From what I can tell, that’s not how we typically use the word discipline. In the examples above, discipline implies moral superiority (someone is better for doing or not doing something). More glaringly, it seems to celebrate complete control of oneself. And that’s something I simply can’t condone.

So I’ve replaced the discipline in my vocabulary. I prefer to use commitment–which is more closely tied to values and direction. The focus on discipline as our culture defines it, is damaging. I see it in the way athletes progress through the levels of elite competition; I see it in the way Type A children punish themselves when they mess up. No more discipline for me.

Instead, I choose commitment… commitment to linger in the uncomfortable moments of my existence that tell me God must regret breathing air into my lungs. Commitment is informed by feelings but not dissuaded by them. It is tied to what I believe about God and what I believe about myself.

Failure sucks, so does the realization that for the last year of my life, I’ve considered myself a failure in nearly everything. My facade was fake, yeah, but it sure was pretty. And now I feel perpetually exposed. Painful as it is, I’m grateful for it because I see how much failure cripples me. It’s kept me from writing, from trying new things, and from sharing my story. It’s stunted my relational connections and brought a cloak of shame on my identity as a follower of Christ (“flunking out” of ministry carries scars and burdens that I’m only now uncovering). 

30 Posts in 40 Days

For the next forty days, I am going to write on my blog twice a week. I’ll write more if I can, but twice is the minimum. I want to write 30 posts (of substance) in 40 days, but that’s the top-tier goal.

I’m excited to do this. It’s an exercise in creativity, but it’s also a chance to slap my fear of failure in the face. I can’t be afraid to share the words God has given me–they are literally about not being afraid, so that seems quite hypocritical! In any case, there’s nothing special about 40 days. It’s longer than thirty and will end on a succinct day of August (the twenty-fifth). Seems like as good of a time as any for a challenge. 

Thanks for hanging in there as I grow as a writer and a human.

Love,

Han