beginner's mind

Very recently, Mia and I came out with a new record. The process began about nine months ago with the decision to make the record, and from there spawned many tedious hours of stress, planning and existential dread. I won’t bore you with details, but some of this included (but was not limited to) figuring out what to record, who would record with us, how we would afford to record, what the art would look like (and who would manifest it), and how the album would ever possibly come together in time for our first release concert. Now that we have the final product in our hands, it is easy to forget how it got there. 

To acknowledge a cliché, we can all agree that life is a journey.  And maybe it is just me, but I think all of humankind suffers from a problem of overlooking our successes. Although we can always do better and work harder (this being the mantra in my mind that I work tirelessly to change), one of the most difficult things to do is sit back and feel proud of the result of our efforts. Sometimes this is a less obvious result like, say, understanding better how to convey one phrase of Bach. But other times it is self-evident, like the yellow CD that Mia and I decided to call Land on Shore.  In this culture, it is all too simple to write off the hard work that goes into our process;  to say, well, dang, I haven’t created anything since last week, I must be the worst and most useless human on the planet. But before the guilt sets in, before delving back into the universe of self doubt, perhaps it is worth taking a moment to grant ourselves some appreciation for the immense amount of work that gave us a result, however big or small.

Right around the time our album came out, I began taking a class in aerial arts. To clarify, this means that I have admitted to being a rank beginner at something, and am now learning (very slowly) how to climb colorful silks and hoist myself onto a trapeze without flailing wildly. I’ve just invested in my own personal pull-up bar due to an incident last class where everyone else was able to do this special move called a “crochet” and, each time I tried to fling myself upside down, I felt my upper back give way and  gracelessly had to give up.

Though all the zen masters talk about the benefits of having “beginner’s mind,” there are few things more frustrating than being a beginner.  But when the frustration ebbs (which in my case, let me be clear, it hasn’t), we are able to feel this beautiful floating sense of liberation. I don’t have to be good at suspending myself in the air while there is nothing between me and the floor but a purple piece of fabric wound confusingly around my stomach. Oddly enough, dangling in a hip lock (as described above) is something at which I desperately wish to succeed. Will I get there?  Probably, with a little practice. And at that point, to whoever will listen, I intend to say, “look at me!” — to acknowledge and take pride in this small, miraculous achievement.