My Subconscious is Getting Me Down
One son describes his younger brother: “He’s stopped playing music because he’s afraid to fail.”
I knew that. He never finishes a song. His frustrated band mate complains that his amazing music never leaves the room. It’s never good enough, never done and he won’t perform it. He trashes what seems irrelevant after a tussle and seems bored by the process. He drives me nuts: probably because he’s just like me.
I tell him that most art could be perceived as failure but we have to finish it out and we have to go on to the next thing. I tell him it doesn’t matter if it’s crap. Everyone produces crap. It takes a lot of crap making to make something you like. Who am I kidding? It’s like my yoga dharma. It’s mostly directed at me.
Some of us perceived before grade school that life was overwhelming and that we might not measure up to the job. Our consciousness is a blank page as we enter the world. What do we know of the world’s rules or ourselves in that? We first take in messages from a hypnotic state. We unwittingly form a program. Much of it is not by design but there it remains.
Some of it has to be erased.
I’m working on erasing mine. It’s not enough to write crap and toss it in the trash. There’s no courage in that. The failure comes from putting my name on it; to look judgment in the eye and say, who gives a shit.
I’ve got to help my kid get past this and I don’t know quite how to do that myself. But I’m going to be an example, even if he doesn’t care or doesn’t see it. I’m going to start writing again. I’m going to paint again too. I’m going to practice being alright with failure.
It’s liable to be a real dung heap.