Hang Ten: Riding the Waves of Dismay

Over the past two years, I’ve provided feedback to writers on WEbook with rather predictable results:

* A writer asks me to review something. 

* I review it and provide him or her with the type of feedback I like to receive – direct, honest, and to the point.  

* In response, the writer gets angry, annoyed, discouraged, and/or disheartened. 

Why? 

Isn’t that what a writing site is for?  Isn’t that what they wanted me to do?

One writer described his own writing (in the piece he asked me to review) as “lame.”  I suggested a few revisions ~ including taking out HIS reference to the lameness of his writing. 

I viewed my feedback as encouraging, not disparaging.  He responded by immediately removing the piece from the project to rewrite it, but not until after he expressed surprise at my comments . . . 

He said that he was new to WEbook and that several “great” writers on the site had told him that his writing was “great,” giving him a sense of “greatness” that he had come to rely on. 

Ah, yes, the danger of receiving insincere feedback ~ we are told so often that we are “brilliant” that we begin to believe our press.

Another writer asked me to take a “glance” at his novel to see if there was anything he had missed.  After explaining that I do not read (or proofread) entire novels on the site, I agreed to take a peak. 

I suggested a few revisions, which he thanked me for in an e-mail.  Good.  Better.  I sent him an e-mail back saying that I was glad that he had taken my suggestions in stride, rather than getting annoyed and angry with me for providing constructive criticism. 

He replied back, admitting that a “wave of dismay” had washed over him as he read my words about the confusing nature of his first chapter ~ which included introductions to at least ten characters, many of whom were not even on the “stage” yet.   

Why would my suggestion that he wait to introduce a few of those characters until later in the book cause a wave of dismay?  

He asked me for feedback, and I gave it.  It’s just my opinion which he, as the author, can choose to incorporate, or not.  

As John Lennon would say, “It’s nothing to get hung about.” 

Or is it?

In response, I asked a rhetorical question: 

How would I have learned to play the piano if my teacher hadn’t pointed out the wrong notes when I hit them?     

He responded by saying that, in his view, writing is different than learning a musical instrument.  His opinion, which I suspect many writers share, is that writing is the most personal of all the arts (painting, writing, singing, etc.) because writers view their writings as extensions of themselves. 

Since they are sharing their inner most thoughts, they feel personally  rejected (and even ostracized) when others don’t immediately embrace those thoughts.

Aha! 

That’s the reason my feedback (aimed at helping writers clarify their communication skills) is not embraced with joy more often ~ because people think their thoughts are an extension of themselves. 

And I, generally, do not. 

In meditation, the meditator learns to clear the mind of thoughts and be the silent observer.  As thoughts enter the arena of the mind, the silent observer is instructed to watch them, like drifting clouds across a blue sky, and let them go . . .  without chasing after them. 

In time (or, more precisely, in the absence of time), the silent observer  realizes that those thoughts arise independently, without any effort on the observer’s part. 

With that realization comes the understanding that you are NOT your thoughts and your thoughts are NOT you.  Instead, you are merely a disinterested observer watching the clouds (thoughts) go by.

For a different analogy, think of your mind as a TV, and your thoughts as the shows broadcast on the TV. 

Are you the TV?  No.  Are you the shows?  No.  Who are you then?

You are the silent observer sitting on the sofa with the remote in your hand.  You are the controller.  You are free to change channels or turn off the TV entirely at any time. 

Talk about power! 

Once you realize that you hold the remote, your inner power becomes your own ~ you stop giving away your power to others.  They lose the ability to make you feel angry, or sad, or slightly off balance, or riddled with guilt.  You become less affected by what others around you do and say. 

You rise above the fray and watch the daily dramas play out before your eyes without getting sucked into them.  You more often are able to remain calm in the midst of mayhem.   

Once you stop taking everything so “personally,” you realize that you are more powerful and “in control” than you ever imagined.  

You cannot, of course, change “what” happens to you ~ but you accept the “what is” more readily because you now know “how” to look at what happens to you in a new way, an empowering way.      

And . . . if you are a writer . . .  you are finally able to accept feedback (from people like me) in the spirit in which it is offered ~ just the pointing out of a few “wrong notes”  ~  nothing to get hung about.   

When you agree with the feedback, you nod knowingly and play the notes you meant to play all along (by fixing misspellings and other typos).  When you disagree, you continue to make your own kind of music ~ introducing characters in your novel where and when you want, thank you very much.

Your thoughts, whether on paper, or swirling around in your head, should be tools used to help you maneuver through life ~ they should not be stumbling blocks to get hung up on.  

So the next time a “wave of dismay” washes over you, just click your heels together and repeat after me: 

“I am NOT my thoughts.  My thoughts are NOT me.” 

Related posts:  Meditation 101 * Don’t Believe Everything Your Think * Attack of the Killer ANTs * The Serenity Principle * The Path to Enlightenment * A Warm Hug for a Sad Child * We See The World Behind Our Eyes * Maybe You’re Right * Doubt