A Gutsy Guide to Getting Your Mojo Back

I missed the wedding of one of my best friends this summer on the east coast. The reasons? I had just quit my stable job and was afraid the trip would break the bank.  Plus, I was buried under so much homework and so many tasks that I barely had time to breathe – I was afraid to spend three days away from home and fall behind. Rational, sure. The decision made tons of sense. But it felt … well … gross.

Also, I haven’t written in a long time. A LONG time. And writing’s my thing – it’s what I do. It’s how I get stuff out of me and into the world. What has staunched the flow of words that normally come through me like the stream of water I hear trickling from the gorgeous fountain on the Owning Pink altar in this very moment? When I dig beneath all of the excuses that center mainly on how “busy” I’ve been (even during my two week vacation in the silent woods of Maine – I know, what? Three cheers for rationalization), I come face-to-face with the thing that’s been damming the river of inspiration. Once again: I’ve been afraid.

Afraid of what? Well, I’ve been doing a lot of work around self-exploration and discovery. I’m spending all the moments of my life that’s doing work that’s really important to me (hence the risk of letting myself down). I’ve needed to ask myself real questions and haven’t always liked the answers. In order to grow I’ve had to come to terms with a lot of my life that I thought I’d buried for good and wouldn’t have to revisit. Relationships are being examined in a new way. I’m saying hello to a lot that’s unrecognizable, and goodbye to the old and cozy.

Why in my right mind would I want to write about any of this? What if my oldest friends see a side of me they never knew? What if I hurt my mother by writing about something I don’t like about myself, perhaps born of our relationship? What if my boyfriend is embarrassed by me sharing too much? What if my clients (colleagues, employer) lose faith in me when my vulnerability is hung out like so many socks on a clothesline? Again … makes perfect sense. But … the feeling. The feeling …

We often hear about someone being “paralyzed by fear.” The image that comes immediately to my mind is the deer-in-headlights stance assumed by the chick in the horror movie as the guy lunges at her with the machete while everyone in the audience screams “RUN, you nitwit!” But for those of us who have ourselves been paralyzed by fear can attest to the fact that it does in fact feel life-threatening –not “life” in the sense of survival, but rather of aliveness. Of Mojo. Fear has that power to drain the spirit right out of our bodies, leaving us corpse-like.

Because really, what comes of this focus on the What Ifs? On the fear? A whole lot of, well, nothing. I just don’t go there. I let the fears get so big that I back down. I freeze. I stop doing what I want to do – stop living, really. That’s what fear can do to us. DOES do to us.

So what’s the alternative? Is there one? Of course. We always have a choice. I’ve been finding lately that the only choice we do have is where to put our focus. In the case of fear, we can focus perhaps on its opposite – love. In any given situation, for everything there is to fear, there is something to love. Here’s the thing: fear is born in our heads, and is often a composite of all we’ve been taught and told. Love comes from somewhere else – somewhere more ancient, more true, and far bigger than we can possibly imagine.  There’s a fabulous quote I carry around with me and heave onto anyone who will listen: “the mind is a wonderful slave, but a terrible master.” Our minds are supposed to carry out a will that comes from a deeper truth. What it’s not supposed to do is call the shots.

Anyway, I wonder – and will always wonder, especially when I look at the pictures of what was clearly an amazing time and happy reunion of all my girlfriends – how things would have shaken down if I’d focused solely on the fact that I loved my friend. Loved her family. Loved how happy she was. What if I concentrated only on my desire to celebrate with her, instead on what I would theoretically miss and lose? I’m quite certain I would have gone, enjoyed, savored, LIVED and, upon returning, re-inserted myself into a life that was – that is – flowing exactly as it should.

And as for writing, I am thankfully a member of the Pink Posse – and not only that, I have the almost impossible-to-believe blessing of actually working WITH Lissa – she who encourages, holds space, extends compassion and patience, and LOVES like no other being on the planet. (In fact, as I type this, she is saying, “it doesn’t matter what you write! Just write!” Ack! Love! Oozing!)  It’s easy here to focus on the fact that everything I do and everything I am is okay. Slowly, timidly, but undoubtedly, my voice is re-emerging, like a snake that just shed its skin and slithering out from behind the bushes for the first time. Because here, it’s safe to do so.

Sure, I am blessed with this luxury, but we all have these safe spaces in our lives. You know you’ve found that space when it’s accompanied by that warm, fuzzy feeling – the feeling of love. The feeling that you are doing the thing that makes you feel alive, authentic, and fulfilled. Perhaps the inner knowing that you are spreading an important message can be the safe space away from the fear of speaking in public. The warmth and acceptance you always feel from your extended family could be the refuge from your fear of getting on a plane to go see them. Your fear of riding a roller coaster might be nothing in the face of the powerful feeling of joy you experience while in a hands-in-the-air, giggling free-fall.

Next time you stand paralyzed in the face of fear, take note of the sensations in your body. Where is the fear coming from? Is your head telling you not to move even though your gut is saying “go, go, go?” Be aware of the origin of the messages. Tap into your truth. I can guarantee you that in that place, there is no fear.

Pinkfully onward,

Joy