Recently, I heard myself say on numerous occasions to different friends, “I need to work with people.” I’m making a transition from gym owner and active coach to living a more solitary, semi-retired lifestyle. Accustomed to working with others, youth and adults, on a daily basis, I was not prepared for the absence of this connection. And, I moved to a community that did not know me, so it wasn’t as if I could leverage off of my name and reputation.
I needed movement aware people, writers and musicians to work with. For the past fifty years, first within an artistic community, and then within a fitness & sports business, I worked with many people. I always had some kind of project going on, depending on what focus I was developing. My new home was a perfect fit for me in many ways. A small, highly artistic community devoted to connection, sharing, well being and growth. An abundance of people into movement/dance awareness, music, writing, and theatre. But, no one knew me, and though I met people intrigued by what I was doing, by the idea of story mapping, they were used to following a marketing path for options to choose from.
I heard the mounting desperation in my voice, felt the tension building in my body as I faced the possibility of being alone on my journey. Yet, the kind of work I do, using story mapping and muscle organization awareness for authentic emergence, is not something one does alone. I could start a class, but then I would be back in business, and I didn’t want to run a business, again. If I were to reach out to artists, I would need rehearsal space, and I would still have to advertise. I calmed myself down. I actually talk to myself out loud. I reminded myself that I didn’t move to a smaller, quieter community in order to get stressed out. I told myself that fifty-some years developing the work I do was not for naught. And, I reminded myself, that I know, in my heart, that I don’t need to chase people down, that the people who are ready to work with me, share ideas and compare notes, are ready and waiting to step forth. I just needed to see them.
I changed my focus from “need” to “want’. “I want to work with movement-aware people, writers, and musicians.” The desperation, the urgent reaching out to persuade others I know what I am talking about, dissipated some. “I want” felt, at first, more direct and honest. It was something I wanted, not something I “needed”. I slowly realized that I didn’t know how to trust that I wanted something. Underneath the surface, I continued to feel I had to convince people of my goal, that I had to prove I was actually a worthwhile person.
I was stuck. How could I possibly “want” something? At a core level, I felt numb and checked out. I understand I can’t “want” unless I can want from the core. I did what I could to hold a firm line — I told myself not to sink into demoralization, or obsess about how others didn’t want to listen to me. When I desperately needed, the urgent pursual felt like taking action, getting what I want. Calmly knowing what I want meant I had to actually follow up and believe in myself.
I was able to feel the body shape of “needing“ ”— my language was forward leaning and dominant. I practiced aligning more toward the centerline and quieting my mind. At first, it felt unsettling. I wanted to lean forward, chase others down, convince them to believe in me. I reminded myself over and over, like soothing a frightened horse, that story mapping and, in particular, focusing on muscle organization, are valuable tools for authentic emergence.
I know this to be true because I have tested all of my material on myself. In the past, everyone I ever worked with told me the focuses were powerful and helpful when applied to everyday life. At last, I was able to stay calm within the pocket of “I want.”
Finally, I was ready to assume the welcome zone. I stood in front of a mirror and spread my arms wide. I visualized my heart opening and inviting people to come forth and join me in pursuing authentic emergence. I could feel when my body wanted to reset to urgent neediness, and I held the line. I practiced putting a smile on my face. It all seemed fake, initially. My heart started to beat faster as if I were in danger. I emptied the anxious thoughts as fast as they entered my mind. I dumped bucket after bucket of toxic judgment.
The practice paid off. I got more comfortable walking around knowing that everywhere I went, I welcomed the unfolding future with calm confidence. I allowed the urgency and the desperation to move through me like the weather. When the weather passed, I felt renewed and invigorated. Welcoming instead of needing or wanting is a good thing.
