Growth

One of the most fascinating things about being an aunt is watching my nieces and nephew grow. I have held them as infants, giggled as they maneuvered their first steps, winced as they got cuts and scrapes from playing outdoors, and laughed with them as they developed more thoughtful senses of humor. At times I miss the days before they were too big and independent for me to scoop them up in my arms, but it brings me joy to witness their growth.

Every single thing that lives is destined for growth. What doesn't grow individually dies or collectively becomes extinct. Physical growth is easier for people to accept because they expect it. When a baby is born, the expectation is for her to develop into a toddler, then a child, then a teenager, and finally, an adult. The expectation is for her to grow taller, stronger, and more independent. What is the expectation, though, after? What happens to the expectation of growth in adults?

The measure of an adult is attached to responsibility. On the surface, growth is evidenced by building a family and a career with pay raises and title changes. Adulthood comes with countless lessons, but because we are no longer measuring height changes or advancing in school each year, after we start a family and a career, we unfortunately expect stagnation.

Being an adult is more than building externally. Structures cannot stand if all of the attention is placed on their exterior. The foundation must be solid. The interior must be strong enough to support the weight of the structure itself, but also the impact of age and the stress of external forces. For that reason, as adults, our most important area of growth is internal.

Maybe the conversations and activities that once entertained or sustained you are becoming mundane. Maybe you realized that those who support you only provide support on conditions. Maybe where you are professionally does not provide the same satisfaction or excitement that it did initially. Maybe your life plan, including the people in it, needs an adjustment or an overhaul. Your first responsibility, as an adult, is to pay attention. Listen to those internal bells and alarms that indicate a need for change. Next, be strong enough, responsible enough, and adult enough to accept and grow into who you are becoming from within.

The Process

We are obsessed with outcomes. We look for muscle tone immediately following workout one. We weigh ourselves after eating our first healthy meal. We expect to feel better after an initial physical therapy or counseling session. Focusing all of our attention on outcomes causes us to miss what develops along the way and what we gain in the process is often more beneficial than the outcome we desire.

I recently had to initiate a difficult conversation. Its difficulty was multifaceted. It was over a sensitive, emotionally charged matter with someone I love. It was one of those conversations that had the potential to forever change the relationship. I dreaded making this call. Dreaded! The trepidation was attached to the sensitivity of the discussion, but mostly to the outcome. What if made this difficult call and it didn't end with the action—outcome—that I felt was fair?

Prior to making the call, I thought out my points. I tried to anticipate reactions and build arguments based on those anticipated reactions. After imagining every possible scenario I realized that no matter how intellectual, emotional, or persuasive I could be, the possibility existed that nothing would change. My words, well thought out, clever, and emotionally charged, might not change a single thing. That acknowledgment changed my focus. I shifted from a place of persuasion to a place of reconciling from within. I was no longer trying to deliver a pitch. I was trying to release what I felt so that I could be at peace. During the process I learned to release myself from the outcome.

I have no reason to believe that the conversation will change the circumstance. In fact, I have every reason to believe that all will be just as it was prior to our talk. Still, in the process of preparing for it, I relinquished my need to convince for a need to be at peace. The moment I freed myself from the outcome I grew and growth should always be the ultimate goal.

Maybe you recently started working out. Not seeing a hint of muscle tone or definition should not deter you from continuing to workout. Similarly, if you have engaged in better eating habits, a lack of shed pounds is not reason to give up. In your quest for physical or emotional healing you may not recover as quickly as you prefer, but during your therapy sessions you will become stronger. It is during the pursuit of an outcome—muscle tone, weight loss, healing—that you develop a new lifestyle. In your pursuit is where you experience movement, develop strength, build character, establish emotional intelligence, and make progress. In the process is where you become whole.

Read last week's post, Life Storms.

The Spirituality of Natural Gifts

As a kid I developed a love affair with stories. I was fascinated with the idea that people, events, and places could be created from someone's imagination. Over time my fascination evolved and I began writing my own plays, poems, novels, and short stories. My love for writing makes it easy to consider that I'd pursue publishing. I would take what I already love and share it for public consumption. What would be surprising is if I expressed myself utilizing a method that I'm not naturally inclined to do. Using my talent where I feel most comfortable and safe—creating fiction—is not nearly as impressive as tapping into something greater.

The space outside of your natural comfort zone is where spirituality patiently waits. It is where your skill becomes larger than you and any pleasure you receive from engaging with or producing it. This is where your gift becomes more than a source of inspiration and encouragement for others, it is when your gift inspires you.

My gift began to inspire me when I gave myself permission to not just write stories but to tell my story. I felt a tug of responsibility to shift from writing for entertainment to sharing a story that would invoke change. That internal tug led me directly to a place that I feared. I wrote stories so that I could mask my emotions. Openly expressing what I felt and not hiding behind a character or situation was terrifying. It demanded that I use my natural talent in a manner that I never intended. At that point I wasn't just writing, I was sharing my soul.

Take your natural talent to another height. Stretch yourself and acknowledge that your life absolutely matters. Your gifts matter. They are to be nurtured, strengthened, surrendered, and shared. When you extend your talents outward you welcome internal fulfillment. Your internal dialogue stops discouraging, doubting, and crushing your confidence. You become less focused on natural, short-term elements and more aware of spiritual, lifelong development. Be brave and committed enough to fully foster your gifts. When you thoroughly exercise the range of your natural talents you position yourself to thoroughly experience life as your story has always been written, through the lens of security and spirituality.

Read last week's post, A Life of Gratitude.