The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

On Thursday evening of this past week I attended an awards dinner hosted by the Delaware Press Association. And I'm delighted to share with you that I won a first-place award, for the second year in row, for my column in Living.Well magazine. (I also discovered I'd won an "honorable mention" award for another piece I'd submitted - happy surprise!) The dinner was lovely, the speaker was truly inspiring, and I had a welcome opportunity to connect with my fellow writers at the magazine. As we were called forward one by one to receive our certificates, the judges' comments about each winning entry were read aloud. I was honored and humbled by their kind and generous words about my writing. As you can imagine, it was a wonderful evening and I floated home on a cloud of contentment.

Once home I opened the envelopes that contained copies of all the entries I'd submitted along with the entry forms on which the judges had recorded their comments. I reread the comments about my first-place column, basking in the glow of appreciation. Then I noticed an envelope I hadn't opened - the one that contained my book, which had not won an award. I pulled the book and judge's comments out of the envelope and began reading. My glow vanished and was quickly replaced by a heavy, dank cloud of anger and shame as I read the damning words. This particular judge - unlike the one who had offered such rich and affirming comments about my column - did not like my writing. At all. Words and phrases such as, "...fails to live up to its potential..."  "...amorphous..."   "...readers will be confused or put off..."   "...New Age jargon..." floated off the page and assaulted me with their acrid smell. The review was lengthy and unkind, and suddenly I had difficulty breathing.

I stared in numb disbelief at the comments. After an initial puff of anger and disdain I fell headlong into self-doubt. My God, maybe my book is just terrible and I should stop promoting it immediately! I'm probably embarrassing myself personally and professionally and queering any chance I might have of successfully publishing my second book! In a blinding instant I went from feeling affirmed and confident in my work to believing that I was a certain failure. I would have to rethink everything, it seemed, since clearly I couldn't succeed on this path.

A little current of energy zapped me out of my paralzying malaise - anger again, tinged with a familiar self-righteousness. I began an inner debate with the judge, defending my skill and my choices and proving how wrong he was, how obtuse! I challenged his comments one by one, trying to satisfy myself that they were completely without merit. I didn't quite succeed.

Throughout this personal drama a part of me remained apart, watching. She is the wise one, and she knew that my reactions were coming from ego. She let me rant and rave and call home for a little comfort, but then she gently reminded me that I had some work to do. I had to find the learning and the healing in this situation, and she was ready to guide me through it. I decided to let her take charge.

She asked me gently to remind myself what I know is true about all painful situations. I took several deep breaths and said what I've said countless times to my clients: "This is an opportunity to love yourself more deeply." The wise me knows that hurt can only be felt when we turn away from love, and so I vowed to turn toward love. And with just that simple inner choice I began to feel more at peace. But there was more to do.

From this new perspective I read the comments again. In all honesty they baffled me. They just didn't make sense. Which is not to say that I believe there is no room for improvement in my book - there is plenty. I've got a laundry list of inner criticisms about it, but none of the judge's comments mirrored my own. They seemed illogical to me, and I realized that my writing seemed that way to him. We simply didn't understand each other.

As I sat with the comments a bit longer, I was able to experience them as a whole. When I stopped challenging each statement one by one, what emerged was a complete picture of his confusion, especially with the book's title. The book is called, 10 Ways to Find Peace Rather Than Panic (When the World Has Gone a Little Crazy), and I realized that he'd been expecting a how-to guide, a step-by-step instruction manual that leads one from panic to peace. But the book I wrote doesn't offer that; it offers ten perspectives we can hold as we navigate the unknown, which are intended to suggest different ways of relating to our fear and different priorities for making choices as we move through transitions in life. It is not so much a how-to book as a how-not-to-book: a book about how not to cave into fear.

And so I found the merit in his comments, a possible source of his confusion and an important consideration as I develop titles for future books and articles. (Coming up with great titles has always been a challenge for me!) That may not be the merit he wanted me to find - he may have wanted me to agree that I'm a terrible writer. But I have a choice about what I take from this situation, and this is where the opportunity to love myself more deeply comes sharply into focus. Am I going to let another person's opinion of my writing distract me from my soul's longings to teach and write? Or am I going to let them strengthen my commitment instead?

I choose the latter. I realize I have a long way to go before I master the art of writing, yet it is the journey itself that enlivens me. And the only way I can develop mastery of writing is...to write! So I will continue to write, to practice, to sharpen my skills. I will continue to blog! And I will continue working on my next book. And I hope you'll continue reading.

It's funny, as I was contemplating this post the phrase "thick skin" came to mind. We are often told that in order to be successful, we need to develop a thick skin so that others' criticisms don't derail us. And while I can understand how that perspective originated, I think it's misguided. We don't need thick skin, for thick skin is a barrier to connection and engagement. What we need is a greater depth of compassion for ourselves and others, a willingness to see our work - and their criticism - in the highest light. And to know that criticism can never degrade the true brilliance of our soul.