How this is all gonna go down: The Rules of RCT/AD

So, great. My goal is to get better at being uncomfortable. Why, again? Any growing experience has some degree of discomfort or pain to it. You're either exploring your existing boundaries (think stretching, yoga) or expanding your boundaries (think cardio and weight training). As my dad the Marine says, "Pain is weakness leaving the body." And, of course, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." (Yeah, he said that before Kelly Clarkson ever thought about singing it.) As Alanis said, "Ever unfolding, ever expanding, ever adventurous and torturous." That's going to be my mantra: the world, life generally, and I are naturally dynamic, changing elements. Growing and changing hurts. But it's a hurt you need, because if you're not growing, you're stagnating. Think filthy, slimy, gutter water that never makes it to the drain. It's just stuffed full of crap, garbage, mosquito eggs, dead junk, and who knows what all. It doesn't do anyone any good. It just sits there, stinking up the place and breeding disease. If it had feelings, it would probably be ragingly depressed. I imagine something similar goes on in the stagnant soul. We weren't born to just exist, we were born to learn, grow, thrive, explore, make mistakes, and live.

Life is messy. How many more trite sayings could I use? A lot. You get the idea.

So, to make sure I'm growing, and to work on my perfectionism and natural terror of trying new things, I'm setting a few goals:

1. I'm going to do at least one hard or uncomfortable thing every week. It will be best if I think it through and plan it out in advance so as not to be lazy and just say, "Oh, that was kinda hard, that'll be my thing for the week." Mindful progress is what gets results. I'll track my progress and experiences here on my pretty new blog. This thing is going to be a squashed, scribbled in, cherished journal of a blog by the time I'm done.
2. In addition to planning and recording my experiences, I'm going to be recording my thoughts and research as I go through the next year. I already have a lot of fun topics to write about. Seriously, you should see my cramped, excessive notes. Lots of lists, bullet points, and arrows all over the place. Actual blog entries will be readable. Expect more personal experiences from the life of a recovering terrified perfectionist.

Ok, cool. Do something hard or uncomfortable every week. That sounds dangerously close to what Jim Carrey was doing in Yes Man. Don't get me wrong, I love the idea behind that movie (for those of you who haven't seen it *yet*, the premise is that a life coach/guru forces Carrey's character into a sacred covenant with the universe where he has to say yes to every opportunity that he encounters) because we too often get in the habit of saying no to everything, either out of fear or laziness or whatever, and miss out on a lot of amazing stuff. But there are some dicey things that could come my way (for those of you who've seen the movie, I bet you can name at least one thing that what's-his-face probably should have declined) that I'd rather avoid doing, out of a personal interest of staying safe, legal, and moral. Growth should be challenging, but it should also be responsible. Hence...

The Rules of Roller Coaster Therapy and Applied Discomfort (RCT/AD):

1. Do no harm to self or others.
2. Stay within your personal morals/values system.
3. Not all discomfort is good. Guilt is bad. A hunch, "bad feeling," or God warning you away from something should be heeded. (But be honest to ensure you're not just giving yourself an excuse.)
4. Use common sense. Do research. Be logical and reasonable.
5. Push yourself.
6. Forgive yourself.
7. Forgive others.
5. Just because you have the courage to try something new doesn't necessarily mean you'll be good at it. If you legitimately have no talent in a particular area, accept it and don't subject others to your attempts, it's mean. This goes along with #4. Common sense. Think: You want to play the piano for your church congregation because the idea of doing so terrifies you. So you take lessons and you try really hard, but you have no rhythm or musical ability. Keep playing on your own if you enjoy it and congratulate yourself on working to expand and cultivate the landscape of your mind and talents, but you should call off the whole playing for a church congregation idea. (see #1. Do no harm to others. Winky-face.)

My nine-month-old daughter is awake and destroying my notes and being generally too adorable to resist, so that's all for now. Next time, more on the mechanics of RCT. I'll share a brief history of my long-standing and paralyzing roller coaster phobia (and how it subsequently destroyed every other aspect of my family, social, emotional, and mental well-being...please tell me you are reading that with some sarcasm...but just a tiny bit), how I smacked myself upside the head to stop myself being so ridiculous, as well as the desired "zen" outcome of RCT. You're gonna want to hurry up and book your summer trips to Busch Gardens and Six Flags*, everybody.

*unofficial and uncompensated endorsement. Although I'd be cool if anyone were to contact Busch Gardens and/or Six Flags to tell them they owe me money. I'll go halfsies with anyone who does.

What the what?

From my facebook profile: About You:

"I once heard in a funky jazzy song on March 4, 2009, something about if you're not willing to risk being uncomfortable, you'll always remain exactly the same. That was deep."

Wow. Over four years ago, and I still haven't learned.

I took the kids up to Dallas this last weekend to watch my MMA teacher in his first pro fight. The fight was awesome. My son wouldn't stop talking about it for two days before and two days after. They traveled like champs and napped prodigiously, which left me a lot of quiet time to listen to the few CDs in the car that are mine and I like. It gave me a lot of time to think, and as my ind is highly impressionable, the songs I was singing along with to stay awake started my brain gears whirring. Over the course of a few hours and dozens of repetitions of a few songs, I had worked out the thesis and plan for this blog. Today I'll tell you what it's all about.

The first song to catch my attention was "Giggling Again For No Reason," on Alanis Morissette's "Flavors of Entanglement":

Oh, this state of ecstasy
Nothing but road could ever give to me
This liberty wind in my face
And I'm giggling again for no reason

I am dancing with my friends in elation
We've taken adventures to new levels of fun
I can feel the bones are smiling in my body
I can see the meltings of inhibition

It should have been a great roadtrip song. It's happy. It made me sad. I remember what it was like to feel "the bones smiling in my body." I hadn't felt that way in a long time. Why not? What was wrong with me?

Well, probably getting older, having kids, having greater responsibilities and stresses, and developing some chronic diseases may have put a damper on things. Of course, I was kind of obnoxiously exuberant as a teen/early twenty-something. I'm probably easier to be around now. But I miss being deliriously happy. I miss giggling for no reason. Gosh, I can't wait for these kids to grow up so I can relax.

Then, the last track on the CD comes on: "Incomplete." It's refreshing. It's relaxing. It's a welcome respite and end to the sublime, manic, and tortured emotional hell-ride of the CD as a whole. (She broke up with Ryan Reynolds around this time...so I can see it :p It's the first album I've listened to and been able to follow a story, and, like all of her work, it totally clicks with my brain and resonates in my soul. But I digress). As my son would say, "This part":

I have been running so sweaty my whole life
Urgent for a finish line

Oh. Em. Gee. Alanis, you've nailed it again.

How can I relax if I'm constantly rushing on to the next phase of life? What's the point of living any part of life if I'm just hurrying on to the grave? Seriously. In school, I couldn't wait for the end of the day. I couldn't wait for summer. I couldn't wait for Christmas. I couldn't wait to get out of middle school. I couldn't wait to go to college. I couldn't wait to get married. I couldn't wait to have a kid. I couldn't wait to have a second kid. And we're not talking, "Oh, I'm so excited, I can't wait, I'm just relishing the heady wine of anticipation because it's half the fun!" No, we're talking, "Ugh, I have this major life event coming up. Let's hurry up and get it over with so I don't have to worry about it anymore." But once THAT one's done, the next one comes up, and I plug my nose, grit my teeth, and rush through it so I don't have to think too much about it. And then, I end up in a car with my two kids asleep in the back, listening to Alanis Morissette, thinking, "Holy crap. When was the last time I enjoyed my life?"

I finally had to switch CDs after the 20th repeat of the last track. I put in one of my husband's delightfully eclectic mix CDs back from the era where it was novel and exciting to rip tracks off of store-bought CDs (or download them from Kazaa, we all did it) and burn 20+ tracks onto your very own mix CD. Before mp3 players were around and awesome. Yep, that's how we did it in the old days.

Anyway, that "funky jazzy song" I referenced on my facebook profile came on. Further Googling has informed me that it is Fiona Apple's "Extraordinary Machine." Here's the part that lodged itself in my soul:

I still only travel by foot and by foot it's a slow climb
But I'm good at being uncomfortable, so
I can't help changing all the time.

I notice that my opponent is always on the go
And
Won't go slow, so's not to focus, and I notice
He'll hitch a ride with any guide, as long as
They go fast from whence he come
But he's not good at being uncomfortable, so 
He can't help staying exactly the same.

THAT. That's what been lying dormant but hopeful in the back of my subconscious for the last four years. Actually, the idea has festered sweetly much longer than that. God keeps telling me to learn a lesson, but I keep brushing Him off as I rush on to the next headache I have to endure.

But this time I had a bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper and three more hours to drive, so I figured I might as well finally look this idea square in the face. Because it really sucks to have something move you and, four years later, you still haven't integrated it into your paradigm, modus operandi, soul, everything.

Maybe I'm always rushing on to the next thing because new things are uncomfortable. If I can get through everything fast enough, it'll be over before I realize how uncomfortable it is.

Another CD switch. Natasha Bedingfield's "Unwritten," a favorite from the summer after my freshman year in college. (Have you ever heard that sometimes songs pick us and stick with us because they and something in our souls resonate together? I have. I like that idea.) The line that hit me this time around:

We've been conditioned to not make mistakes,
But I can't live that way.

I'd always interpreted that line as, "Yeah, I'm Natasha Bedingfield. I'm so cool and unorthodox and original, I have to color outside the lines/trite saying of your choice." But this weekend, following the above train of thought, it hit me upside the head with, "No, really. As me, myself, I CAN'T live my life on the stress and demand of not making mistakes. It makes me miserable."

It finally occurred to me that I have always had two great hates:
1. I hate looking stupid or incompetent
2. I hate feeling not in control

Allow me to elaborate.

My most painful memories and experiences all stem from these great hates. In kindergarten, we put on a play based on "The Gingerbread Man," you know, the story where all the people and animals chase the Gingerbread Man, who taunts, "Run, run, as fast as you can, you can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!"? I'd been in love with the idea of performing even at that young age, and I was desperate for a chance to finally get into our classroom's costume box. I really wanted to wear the dinosaur/dragon costume, but I was cast as the cat in the play, so that costume didn't work. We also didn't have a cat costume, so I ended up in a full-suit gray mouse costume, with mittens, footies, and hood with big, floppy gray ears. My mom was there to watch, and she took a picture. I look so darn cute in that picture, all in my costume, with my little cat nose and drawn-on whiskers. But I hate looking at that picture. Even imagining it now as I'm typing is making me warm with shame. Why? Because the whole play was all the different characters coming out one by one and running in place after the Gingerbread Man, and my huge, floppy mouse ears flopped like crazy, and this really loud, fat kid who had just moved in just pointed and laughed and laughed and laughed at me, with his loud, grating voice and big fat face. I remember crying as I ran in place, my overstuffed mouse ears flapping and pounding my face and smearing the tears I was trying to surreptitiously wipe away with my little gray mittened hands.

Traumatic. I'm getting hives just thinking about it. 

I have a lot of other horrible experiences borne out of my two great hates that I'm sure I'll get to record as this blog progresses, so that one will have to suffice for now. But it lays a great foundation for my life as what I term a terrified perfectionist: Historically, I will avoid anything that I feel will make me look stupid, or that will make me feel not in control (like roller coasters...much more to come on those). But, like dear Fiona says, if you're not good at being uncomfortable, you'll always stay exactly the same, and stagnation is the opposite of living. And my dislike of being uncomfortable has been precluding me from savoring, or even really experiencing, my life.

SO. That's all well good and fine. I need to be okay with being uncomfortable. But how do I do that? How do I practice what I like to call (since I created the term this weekend) "applied discomfort"? It's fine to set a goal to do more things beyond my comfort zone, but how do I track my growth? Where's the accountability?

IN A BLOG. I'll start a BLOG!

And that, dear friends, is how this blog was born.

Next time, I'll lay down the law and outline the rules for this project. Because I do intend to turn this into one of those trendy year-long projects. Maybe by then I'll have finally gotten this lesson God wants me to learn through my skull.

It's going to be one heck of a ride. :)