Gleam

These early mornings during the holiday season, at the crack of dawn as my mother used to say, I find myself on the living room sofa with my gingerbread latte in front of the Christmas tree ablaze in white lights.  Strung with globes, flames, icicles, and twinkling minis, this tree still somehow positively glows in spite of the fact that an alarming number of bulbs are burned out. Next year we’ll be overdue for new lights and I’m hopeful energy-wasting incandescent white is still out there somewhere (did I really just say that?); the blue cast of LED lacks all warmth.  I’m spending my quotidian five minutes of “me” time here, soaking in a little energy before yet another crazy day begins.

 

When this practice starts, it’s time used to "armor up" as Brene Brown puts it, to decide how I will steel myself against everything each new day brings for me to fear:  That big (or little) presentation where I socialize a new idea, challenge the status quo, or compel someone to add yet another task to their already full plate, that conversation I need to have with a wayward teenager about consequences for veering off the path to adulthood, anything that takes me out of my comfort zone.

It can feel like we live in our suits of armor; we’re never quite comfortable enough to leave them in the closet.  They become heavy, laden with the smell of fear, if that’s possible.  Public speaking, pitching new ideas, defending our opinions, crucial conversations and reasons to uphold unpopular decisions are ubiquitous.  These are not just periodic events with plenty of prep time, which also bring the requisite time to get properly worked up; they are roiling fast and furious like the life-giving pains of labor speed up as the moment of birth draws near.  We need to learn how to roll with them because there is literally no breathing space in between.

When we armor up to protect ourselves from failure and hurt, we live a life that becomes all about just getting past the next scary thing.  We want it over with quickly so we painstakingly script an approved message to be presented stiff and frozen, praying there are no questions to ad lib. Or we avoid conversations completely, choosing to stay on the surface, never clearly resolving issues or requesting exactly what we want. We give only part of ourselves to those we engage with because bringing everything we’ve got means being vulnerable.  We think if we can squeeze ours eyes tightly shut, clench the bar pinning us inside the seat of this rollercoaster, we can take the next stomach-turning plunge and cross ourselves when we make it out alive.  Life is a tumultuous ride, for sure, but we miss it when we live with our eyes, our lips and our hearts closed.

Maybe what we’re really afraid of is when we embrace who we are we unleash a blinding light so powerful we truly can change the world? 

  

Instead of suiting up during my morning five, I’m challenging myself to look differently at what I fear. How can I approach situations from another place, bringing the best of me to the table, so that I’m not living to get beyond the moment, but living through the moment?  I want to commit to the belief that everything I’ll ever need to live my best life exists inside of me.

When we think we’re too flawed to put ourselves out there, the unique gifts we possess to light up the world remain buried beneath our protective armor.  But I need only to look at my Christmas tree to see that despite broken filaments extinguishing countless bulbs it’s still possible for an incredible, fiery glow.

Perfection is not required to change the world (or your life for that matter), nor is it a prerequisite to worthiness.  Go ahead, open the gift inside you; light the world on fire. 

gleam.