Climbing out of the Throes of Nothingness

So...nearly a month after deciding to create a blog, I begin only my second posting. This is obviously working. ;) Oh well...the point of this whole thing was to be a place where I could process, write, and get away from the endless doing that pulls at me from all sides. I'm driven here today because I have this sense that there's something inside that's tearing me apart and I need to get it out... three nights ago I slept for 14 hours - can anyone say "recovery" from a crazy week? Then two nights ago I fell into bed exhausted...and yet couldn't sleep for the life of me. My mind started racing uncontrollably. I'm not much of a worrier, but suddenly worries were coming at me left and right like those little flying space agents in video games that keep reappearing no matter how many times you shoot them down. A lot of financial worries and accusations ("you shoulda taken that job in Maine, you'd be lonely but at least you'd have money!"), mixed in with a lot of fear and shame that was somehow related to violin...

...whoa. Fear and shame? Violin? Wait, Heidi, isn't this your passion? Isn't this the thing that's burning inside you to do? Isn't this the voice of that place deep inside that no one can touch? The dance of your soul? Isn't this what makes you come alive? Isn't this where you have, in the past, felt the least shame, the place of confidently walking out on a stage and joining your song to God's and inviting the world to hear?

Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's all that...and it's also the place of my deepest wounds, my most profound failures, and the exhausting daily struggle to live my desire. Practicing violin...it's not something I can "just do." Even opening the case sometimes feels like a monumental effort. It's always been this way, but especially so now. In a lot of ways, my year in Europe was a year away -- away from endless doing, away from endless trying, away from expectations and achievements. A place to be and discover with few responsibilities. The first half of the year I kept up my practicing and made a lot of personal discoveries...it was great. The second half, as I began to travel more and struggle with my physical health and other things, practicing went by the wayside. Time was simply consumed with other things. I want somehow to justify it but I can't, especially as I stand on the verge of a year whose sole purpose is to practice like mad and audition for graduate school programs. Where would I be if I'd put in the work? I know more than anyone that you have results, or you have reasons...and I have lots of reasons. Good reasons...but reasons nonetheless. As poet Oriah Mountain Dreamer says, "I am aware of a gap I fear is an abyss between my longing to live passionately and intimately with myself and others, and the choices I continue to make." It's like being the rat on a treadmill in some cosmic laboratory...feeling for all the world like you're running for your life, trying and doing desperately, and yet getting nowhere.

It's all what brought me face to face that night with a part of myself that I don't like to see very often...a part of me that's scared shitless, trying to live as if my life has meaning, but never quite sure if it actually does. A part of me that sees that my greatest gift is also my curse. After two and a half hours of trying to quiet the voices and fall asleep, I turned on the light and started jotting down the fears that were bombarding me.

I fear that my lack of practicing in the last six months proves that I don't have what it takes.
I fear that I will never be able to do or be enough.
I fear that I've wasted too much time.
I fear that my passion isn't enough.
I fear that I am not enough.
I fear giving it my all and falling flat on my face.
I fear reprimand for the time I've wasted.
I fear being told, "Who do you think you are?"
I fear never being given a chance.
I fear looking and feeling and being foolish for daring to dream.
I fear digging only a deeper hole.
I fear being pitied.
I fear giving up.
I fear having nothing to offer.
I fear failure.

Then there's the other voice, the one that's slimy and slithery and comes in a low hum underneath all the fear voices. "You don't have to do this, you know," he sneers. "No one would fault you if you backed out now, chose a safer path, toned it down, didn't insist on this craziness of living for a surreal connection to God (there's an extra slimy emphasis on "God") through music, and just settled for a regular life. I mean, if it's such torture, why bother?"

At this point my insides are twisted and I feel about ready to throw up. It's 1:30 am, three and a half hours after I went to bed. Tears were streaming down my face and now the flying space agents weren't just assaulting me about violin or finances, but also about my health, my friendships, my family. Loss seemed inevitable. I put on a worship CD and lay there in the dark, curled into a fetal position, desperate for Christ. What started with a few random thoughts about money and violin had turned into a commentary on my life. Eventually I fell into an exhausted sleep.

The morning after an experience like that it always surprises me that the sun still decides to shine, that I'm given one more opportunity to be fully present which each beautiful moment that's ahead of me, that I have energy and hope and determination to make bull of those words that assaulted me. I'm amazed by the fact that sometimes pain is a gift that keeps the heart open, and that instead of shutting down after the assault, I am all the more determined to live true to the path God has put in front of me, the path of desire, of life, of beauty, and yes, of pain.