Resistance

The counterfeit innovator is wildly self-confident. The real one is scared to death. - Steven Pressfield, The War of Art.

I just put down The War of Art after reading the last page. I could say that I was finished with the book, but that would be a lie, because the book is not finished with me. The phrase that runs the treadmill of my mind today echoes like plainchant off of cathedral walls. Beautiful, haunting, enlightening, disheartening.

Miles, your whole life has been a lie.

No, I did not just learn that I was adopted. My life is the same right now as it was when I sat down to read this unassuming book yesterday. The only difference is that I am now distinguishing between my inner voice, and the inner voice that lies to me unceasingly. Even as I write this, the voice - which sounds distinctly similar to my own - whispers "you're not a writer" and "no one will read this" and "if they do, they will say how poorly written it is" and "you should probably delete that phrase" and "this will never last."

This voice, which Pressfield calls Resistance, has been lying to me my entire life, and I can only just now, at 24, tell the difference. This voice is not my own. Let me explain, not for your sake, but for my own.

When I took swimming lessons when I was maybe 5 years old, Resistance told me that I couldn't trust the swim instructors with my life, so I quit. I still can't swim freestyle.

When I played kid-pitch baseball - I'm going to guess I was 8 - Resistance told me that I wasn't good enough to justify the pain and humiliation of getting pelted with baseballs in front of strangers, so I quit that too. Haven't set foot on a baseball field since.

In middle school, I sat down to write a book for a writing competition at school. It had something to do with a superhero which I think came to me in a dream. I typed out the first chapter on my old desktop computer, read it over once, and heard the voice of Resistance say "that's terrible, people are going laugh at this." I abandoned it.

In high school, I took guitar lessons from incredible guitar player. He asked me what type of guitar I wanted to play, and Resistance said "better play it safe" so I replied, "uh. I don't know. I guess rhythm." In my head, I pictured myself shredding like Jimmy Paige and constructing masterpieces like John Mayer. Two weeks later, my teacher canceled my lessons because I wasn't practicing. To this day, I can strum about 5 chords.

In college, I rediscovered my love for poetry. I sat outside on a crisp fall morning, watching deer in the distance and wrote this poem:

The Nature of God

Wild, the world before me springs to life.

Every motion a sound with mystery heard.

A stag, fraught with sudden strife,

The chirps of cricket, squirrel, or bird.

But what sayest thou on mornings first breath?

Dost thou speak thy name, thy wit, thy call?

Or Thee shall I ponder until my death?

Never having know thy truth, they all.

Are you playful as the happy fawn suggests,

Or firm as the trees so deeply rooted?

Are you as the squirrel never taking rest,

Or with the charms of fox would you be better suited?

"As I spoke then Myself into all that be,

So now I speak, and answer thee."

When I wrote this, it didn't matter that it wasn't a masterpiece. It was art. Art which my soul was appetent to indulge in. This time, in a burst of confidence, I submitted the poem into a poetry contest to be judged by accomplished poets. I never heard back, and learned months later that the results had come and gone, and that my poem wasn't selected. Resistance chimed in with a "see, told you that you couldn't write, what were you thinking?" 4 years later, I haven't written another poem.

The voice of Resistance that Pressfield writes of is no illusion. My inmost being has been trying to fulfill its purpose from the advent of my memory, and this voice of Resistance has been slamming doors in its face at every turn. Fortunately, Resistance's function is also its demise. Because Resistance murmurs "no" and "turn back" and "stop" and "give up," Pressfield points out that it can be willfully overridden, and thus becomes a tool of inner navigation.

I haven't always given in to Resistance right away. When I was in high school, I let my true, creative self out on the stage. I heard Resistance say "you're not good enough," but others around me told me differently, and I told Resistance to shut it. When I pushed through the Resistance, I found passion, purpose, and fulfillment like I had never known. I brought to life characters who shared a piece of my soul, and who's fictional emotions, struggles, and triumphs brought me real life meaning. I weathered adversity and criticism knowing that I was creating for myself, and realizing that each failure and each success was propelling me to a better version of my work on the stage. Until, one day, Resistance called and said "you can't keep this up," and I listened. 6 years later, I find myself running in circles looking for something that will make me feel the way I did when I gave Resistance the middle finger. When I oppose the voice of Resistance, my path breaks from the circle, and leads me towards my true self. My true self knows my purpose.

I am meant to create.

Not because I'm immensely talented or skilled. Not because it will bring me recognition or success. I am meant to create because it is who I am. Resistance told me so. As I read The War of Art I felt a hum somewhere deep within urging me to write something, write anything. Suddenly, much louder, was a voice that said "what are you going to write?" and "you don't have anything to say" and "even if you did, you're a terrible writer, no one would read it." That's what the voice said, but this time, what I heard was you must write, it is your calling in this moment.

So here I am, nearing the end of a blog post that very few, if any will read. But I didn't write this for anyone but me. I didn't write this to tell anyone anything new, or to receive recognition or praise. I wrote it because I had to. Because I was meant to. I needed to create something for me, because Resistance told me that I shouldn't.

I wonder what else I "shouldn't" do.