I’m going to say something that scares the crap out of me. Something that could draw the evil eye and smote me like Lot, the dude that turned to salt:
I can’t believe that this is my life.
Ten years ago, I could never have imagined the deal I’ve got going on today.
- A loving husband
- A beautiful home
- Two adult children (non-incarcerated) who support themselves
- World travel and outrageous adventure
- A circle of friends comprised of thought leaders, writers, and artists
- Time and resources to read and write, my two most favoritist pastimes
- A job that I ADORE
I think it’s twisted that I can natter on and on about my trials and tribulations—Iran, the second wife, the divorce, the married boyfriend, the dying ex-husband—but have one hell of a time revealing the gifts bestowed upon me.
One buys me sympathy, the other, envy.
Therein lies the answer, I suppose. Sympathy forgives inaction; envy requires work to live up to heightened expectations.
But, enough about me.
I want to talk about imagination, the ability to picture life, as you would like it to be. Because it all comes down to this worn out, tired cliché: if you can dream it, you can achieve it.
Now, back to me. (Thank God, I was starting to sweat.)
I was taught, from a very early age, to play it small, to want for very little, in order to stave off disappointment.
I bought into my parents’ post-depression, rural North Dakotan, fucked-up life philosophy hook, line, and sinker:
- Wanting is greedy and selfish
- Stick out from the herd and you die
- Go stoic, or go home
- If it was good enough for your pioneer ancestors, it’s good enough for you
- Money doesn’t grow on trees
- Nothing’s perfect
- Better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t
- You’ll break your arm patting yourself on the back
A philosophy, one might intuit, that does not encourage dreams of any size or aspirations. A philosophy that’s very easy to settle into. No taking the bull by the horns here. You build a sturdy fence around the snorting beast and do your best to steer clear.
I’m not sure what, exactly, opened up my imagination for bigger and better things. I think it was a combination of events. It was dating the narcissist, who made the most outrageous things seem possible. (Warning: do not go looking for a narcissist to date, this will not turn out well.)
And working with a shrink who was visibly horrified by the way my mind worked. (I can still see that look on her face.) And attending writing classes at Harvard, surrounded by people with the most astounding stories. And going on a bike trip to Southern France on my own; meeting couples that loved each other, madly, after 40 years of marriage.
One day I began putting two and two together.
Person just like me + incredible experience= possible
And from there, possibilities seemed to grow log rhythmically.
Here’s the thing. Imagination only grows when it’s exposed to possibility. Like horrible memories the mind can’t tolerate—that “peculiar incident” with Uncle Al, being held back in first grade three years in a row, the velvet clown pictures in your Grandma’s living room, Liza Minnelli— our ability to envision something more goes subconscious to shield us from psychic pain. Crack open the maybe’s, and the whole world opens up before your eyes.
Before you can have it all, you have to know what you want first. Very specifically. And you have to sense that it’s possible.
It sounds simple, this knowing what you want thing. But, for lots of us, that’s just not the case. You’ve got to bust through your own fucked-up life philosophy—rural North Dakotan or otherwise— first. In order to get over what a bad girl or boy you are for wanting ANYTHING to begin with. And if you don’t know how to do that, might I suggest working with a coach, or a shrink? A few pointed questions have a way of bringing these things to light.
The possibility thing comes from paying attention. From looking around. From asking questions. How did you meet your husband? Why did you choose to vacation in Vilnius, Lithuania? What on earth does one do there? Where did you find a lighthouse to remodel? What credentials did you need to become Secretary of State?
(Ever wonder how an African-American female growing up in the segregated south managed to cook up that sort of vision?)
Ask your friends. And ask perfect strangers. Get out and about. Expose yourself to different folks. People who think differently than you. (Don’t forget. We are the average of the 10 people we hang out with most.) And ask, ask, ask. People (other than me) LOVE to talk about their successes. People love to give advice. Take it. Run with it. Steal their good ideas and make them your own.
And here is the single most important question you need to start asking yourself.
Ready?
Are you sure?
Here it is: Why not me?
I’m going to leave you with one final, very important thought.
It’s possible. It’s possible for you.
