Reading Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art at the recommendation of a coach and dear friend, I am struck by what the author calls ‘Resistance.’ It has its own Wikipedia entry, this Resistance; now I think of the voices I’ve accomodated instead of shouting down:
“No one reads blogs…not worth it.”
“The product has to be finished the second you put the pen down. If it’s not good enough then, you’re not good enough. Don’t bother.”
“The changes you want to make are too audacious…you need a PLAN to start. You can’t just wing it. You can’t just, like, do it.”
“You’ll never lift that much again. Do something different. (It wasn’t that much.)”
“You didn’t have kids when you ran that fast. (It wasn’t that fast.)”
And the killer, the one since forever: “no one cares that much about this stuff.”
Anyhow, after I finished the book yesterday, I went to get lunch. A boy and his father were in line ahead of me; the boy was 10,11, the dad about my age. As they made their order, the boy put his hand on the middle of his dad’s back and rubbed it for a few seconds.
I don’t know why that hit me so hard, but it did. Seeing a kid reach out like that, show his dad some love–the ease, the freedom, the purity of that gesture got me somewhere deep down.
On the car ride home, I realized:
10 year old kid’s not supposed to hug his dad unbidden? Nah, no Resistance.
Dad’s on his phone, in his own world, looks like he doesn’t want to be bothered? Nah, no Resistance.
They’re in line, lots of people around? Nah, no Resistance.
Like the Spacemen sang…be yourself, don’t hesitate.