A World of Possibilities

No one likes being vulnerable.

I love music but feel anxious when the DJ starts at a wedding celebration. My wife, MJ, enjoys dancing, but I feel like a fool on the dance floor. I know that no one expects an old white guy to bust a move, but that doesn’t help.

The fear of vulnerability separates us from wondrous new possibilities.

Map created by  Claude 3.7 Sonnet

My buddy Doug was a brilliant musician, he could play any song that came to mind. I loved playing guitar with him because he could almost make me sound presentable. Together, we were the entertainment around countless campfires at the cabin. 

Late one night, after other revelers went to bed, I asked Doug why he had never written original songs. “I’ve tried.” He said, “But I can’t.” 

“I don’t believe that,” I replied. “I have an assignment for you.” Doug looked up with an expression that seemed to say, “Who made you the boss?”

I told him, “From this point forward, your task is to write one song each week. If the song sucks, don’t play it for anyone. But if you like it, play it for us.”

Doug didn’t respond. 

The next time we were together, he played an amazing song I had never heard. When I asked who wrote it, he said, “I did!” In the months that followed Doug offered up more and more original material. Before long, he stopped playing covers altogether. In time he produced two professionally recorded CDs. You can listen to them on Spotify by clicking the links below:

Moons and Sons and Daughters

Voices

Doug sailed The Sea of Vulnerability and found The Land of Possibility.

It’s difficult to be vulnerable, even in areas of acknowledged skill. The years that followed were filled with Doug’s original songs. He wrote so many that he didn’t know what to do with them besides play them. Doug’s songs became a cherished component of our social circle’s get-togethers.

I miss those songs.

We had dinner with friends at Doug and Anna’s house a month before he passed away five years ago. As the evening progressed, Doug leaned toward me and asked how my writing was going, knowing I had a dream of writing a book. 

“Terrible,”  I replied.

“Why do you say that?” he asked. 

I told him I could distinguish good writing from bad and mine was not good. 

Doug persisted, “Well, who have you shown your writing to?” 

“No one!” I shot back.

To which he replied, “Then, how do you know your writing isn’t any good?”

I stared back and said nothing. 

Doug concluded the conversation by saying, “Well, I guess you’re better at giving advice than taking it.” 

I thought about that for a long time. It was one of our last conversations. Three months later, I started this blog—the first time I shared my writing.

The Sea of Vulnerability appears treacherous. Its hungry sharks are fed by the people we insist on comparing ourselves to. No one wants to drown in humiliation, or worse, be eaten by sharks. But the fear of vulnerability keeps us from a World of Possibility. 

One of my heroes is Bob Dylan. He was booed at his high school talent show and again as a young man at the Newport Folk Festival, where he presented a new electric repertoire that deviated from what made him famous. Vulnerability didn’t concern him. 

Few of us possess rock star talent, but that’s not what life’s about. A life well-lived requires full participation. Why not pick up that paint brush, start those piano lessons, or step out on the dance floor? Vulnerability is the price of new life enriching experiences. 

Facing into vulnerability isn’t easy. Sometimes, we need a little help from our friends—Maybe we can even be that friend!

—————————————————————

Installments of The Secret Within can be found here. 

Former blog posts can be found here by subject category and here chronologically. 

You can subscribe to my latest posts by filling in your email address at the bottom of this page.

My first book, Towards A Life Well-Lived, can be purchased by clicking this link. Proceeds from sales are donated to Peace In Schools, a Portland, Oregon-based organization supporting mindfulness training in high schools.