Hello Hedge Schoolers,
A welcome to you from the Surf Coast of the Bellarine Peninsula. My family and I are once again in our happy place, Ocean Grove. Beach air, the novelty of new routines, and plenty of rest are just the remedy for the welcoming of the Winter Solstice. The shortest day of the year marking the first steps towards Spring. Towards new life. For me, that life is the birth of a book, a process I know little about. The fumbling steps of a newborn have begun with the first draft being finished and now edited with precision and care by my dear friend Leslie Lau. It is a joyous gift I will return to Leslie as his first draft sits in my inbox. Together we are learning on the go and sharing the journey publicly.
Reading and writing have gifted me so much over the years and I find the closer I am to the holding of my own book, the more my old mate doubt wants to pull up a seat and have a chat.
This week's inquiry is a stilling of my urge to run from him and the penning of a tribute to a voice that has always had my best interests at heart but sometimes sucks at delivery.
Old mate Doubt
“Until my song comes here to learn its words, my art is but the hope of song”
Wendell Berry - The Peace of Wild Things
Old mate doubt. Someone who knows you better than anyone else. A voice. A feeling. An energy. Who knows. Doubt helps shine a light on areas you find hard to see, sharpening your eyesight to ensure that all is well in your world. A loyal soldier, as Bill Plotkin, would call it.
Unfortunately, like many of you, I feel off when they are in the room. Like their presence indicates that I'm not ok. A presence I find myself scrambling to get away from. A reign of chaos when I so desperately crave order.
Lately, I've been working on improving my relationship with doubt. Building the courage to sit in the doubt? To start with the thought (or thoughts) and move through to the emotions that the thought brings about. Can I follow doubt all the way down into the body? Can I find doubt?
With a beginner's mind, I notice. Noticing with the best tool I have, compassionate inquiry. So many questions drop into my conscious field.
How does something that does not exist have so much sway and power?
What purpose does my doubt serve?
What lessons does my doubt have for me?
I won't dare speak to your doubt but I know you will notice similarities. Charted patterns that feel familiar.
Origin stories
Doubt. Confusion. Fear. Worthiness. They have biological underpinnings. Keep life alive. Dark corners, new spaces, public expression, leave us open for a multitude of deaths. So the closer you get, the louder the volume. Step back from the edge. Are you sure this is safe? Do you trust this person? This feels off, should we hide?
What an ally! A friend that looks out for me and only me. A friend that has managed to keep me safe for 43 years on this beautiful planet. My memories of doubt's origin stories are faint. But as a father, I get to see my own origin reflected in the growth of my own kids.
My six-year-old son Quinn is beginning to meet doubt. It just happens to be in different areas.
"Dad, I am really excellent at Monkey bars."
Full truth. Full belief. Doubt nowhere to be seen.
But I see the doubt in his outstretched hand as we enter a new space with strange faces. Doubt is there to take care of him in this situation. Doubt and Dad to the rescue go hand in hand. He doubts strangers, which is awesome but does not doubt himself. What a marvelous combination. Doubt the dangerous but never your ability. This is a master lesson. This observation leads me to wonder when does doubt turns against us? Is it to protect our social status? Is it to prevent embarrassment? Where do the wheels come off?
I know school plays a part. I see it in the 18-year-old students that leave school. The wide-eyed Monkey bar legends are replaced with young adults who have let many possible pathways in life become overgrown and unavailable. I'm always deeply saddened by this. Speaking to my daughter's Prep teacher, I told her that my only goal for her at school was to leave school with the same spirit and zest for life. I actually chose more choice words than that. I don't want school to fuck her up as she is perfect as she is. And as a parent, I will fight tooth and nail to ensure that this happens.
Comparing Apples to Oranges
Mimicry plays a key part in our doubt. As our consciousness sharpens, we notice how we are different. Social media amplifies this. As we struggle through the awks of puberty, we want only to fit in. To be liked. So we wear the same clothes, display the same patterns of behaviour, and in general, sacrifice our uniqueness in a bid to blend into the fabric of friends and welcome community.
This makes doubt happy. Strength in numbers. One of the crowd.
But we are not the crowd. The call to give the gifts we were born to give keeps on calling. A calling that doubt looks to quell. A quelling using any method possible. Self-loathing. Harsh critique. Imposter Syndrome. Straight-up insults.
It is at this point that doubt goes too far. The thought attacks drive us to a standstill. We stop taking action on the things that light us up the most. I can attest to this. I have about four versions of this book written but have bailed at persevering due to doubt.
So how do we make friends with doubt?
Welcoming home the Loyal Soldier
In Wild Mind: A Field Guide to the Human Psyche, Depth Psychologist Bill Plotkin outlines a strategy to welcome home our Loyal Soldier, Doubt. To give you context, I'll share this excerpt from Wild Mind.
The image of the Loyal Soldier derives from a World War II epilogue. Hundreds of Japanese soldiers who survived shipwrecks or plane crashes in the Pacific found themselves stranded, alone or in small groups, on uninhabited or sparsely settled islands. Several of these soldiers were discovered many years after the war had ended—one of them thirty-five years later! The most astonishing thing is that, when found, these men exhibited an extraordinary, perhaps fanatical, loyalty to their military mission. Unaware the war had ended, each one, upon being found, was ready to immediately return to the war effort. They were told, of course, the war was over and that Japan had lost. But this was literally unthinkable to them: the war could not be over because their loyalty to the cause was what had kept them alive all those years.
The rescued soldiers were welcomed home in Japan with great honor and celebration. The Japanese people deeply respected the soldiers’ capacity to sacrifice their personal agenda for a greater cause. Their sustained welcome as heroes eventually enabled the soldiers to reinvent themselves and to productively rejoin society.
Source: Wild Mind
Doubt is our loyal soldier. It fights valiantly for us. Always has. Always will. But we are not always under attack. We need to bring home this loyal servant. To do so requires pause and poise. It requires compassionate inquiry.
Am I truly under attack?
Is what I'm hearing truthful?
Can I notice the doubt and welcome home the loyal servant with open arms?
If we can pause in those moments of doubt, we can make peace with our old mate. Doubt will always be in the room. Just the mere presence is a sign that we're on the right track. Our work in progress is ensuring that doubt doesn't mute the sounds of our song.
For not singing the songs we were born to sing would be a greater atrocity than a little uncomfortableness.
So doubt, I thank you humbly for your service. For your continued service. But I'm ok. I'm safe. And I have a song to sing.
Till next week,
Steve
An inside attack. Making friends with old mate doubt