Some say we have an “inner child” — a part of ourselves that’s “emotional,” vulnerable, and open about its wants and needs.  Lots of personal growth work is about accessing and nurturing this “inner child” part.

Personally, I’m not a fan of the term “inner child.”  In our culture, it’s usually seen as a criticism to label someone or something a child.  If I call you “childish” or “childlike,” I’m basically saying you’re weak, spoiled, selfish, irrational, and so on.

I think I’ve got a better name for this vulnerable, emotionally open part.  I want to call it the “inner adult.”  After all, doesn’t it take maturity and courage to step up and say what we’re feeling, and what we need and want?

I don’t know about you, but expressing desires and emotions can be scary for me.  It can feel risky to tell someone that I want to spend time with them, that I’m angry with them, that I love them, or something along those lines.  It took a lot of growth for me to get comfortable being that open.

Our Culture Has Adulthood Backwards

Of course, the conventional wisdom says the opposite.  It seems the ideal adult, in our culture’s eyes, is emotionally closed, and never asks for anything.  We’re supposed to be tough and self-sufficient, and “never let ‘em see us sweat.”

Self-development, from this point of view, isn’t about learning to express what we feel and want — it’s about acquiring money, credentials, and other stuff, so that we’ll become “important” and others will start giving us what we want even though we don’t ask for it.

Ironically, though, this “superman” or “superwoman” image is often just a manipulative strategy, developed in childhood, for getting our needs met.  The idea is that, if we look invincible and “unemotional,” we’ll please our caregivers, and they’ll give us the love and attention we crave.

That invulnerable façade is really a ploy by a scared kid who fears that his parents will criticize him for expressing his needs, and thinks they’ll only care for him if he impresses them with his need-lessness.

It Takes Maturity To Be Vulnerable

What usually passes for “adulthood” today, I think, is really a deep-seated insecurity and immaturity.  It’s the qualities we tend to see as “childlike” — openness, vulnerability and curiosity — that take real wisdom and maturity to develop.

To be clear, I don’t mean to say that, in order to grow, we should imitate children.  We don’t need to throw tantrums or grab stuff we want from other people.  One important distinction I think we come to see with age is the difference between telling someone what we want, and using force or acting out to get it.  Children aren’t always aware of that distinction (though, of course, adults aren’t always either).

My point is that self-development, in many ways, is about unearthing the parts of ourselves we buried because we learned, as children, that they weren’t acceptable.  A big part of “growing up,” I think, is rediscovering who we’ve always been.

Recent Guest Posts

I was excited to recently contribute two guest posts to Lifehack.org:  “What Meditation Can Teach Us About Productivity” and “What Yoga Can Teach Us About Productivity.”

I didn’t announce these posts here earlier, because they are meant as introductions to my work, and I know this blog is only read by my advanced, graduate-level students.    But seriously, I thought I’d mention them here in the hope that my regular readers might get some value out of them.  I hope you are among those value-getting readers! 

Upcoming Talk and Workshop at EastWest Bookstore

Also, I wanted to mention that I and yoga instructor Rosy Moon will be offering an interactive talk on July 1, and a full-day workshop on July 2, at EastWest Bookstore in Mountain View, California.  If you’re in the Bay Area and you’re interested in finding more focus, peace and motivation in your work, this is definitely the place to be.  Looking forward to meeting you in person if I haven’t done so yet.

Best, Chris

Here’s something that doesn’t make much logical sense.

I imagine that, at some point in your life, you worked on a task that felt really “make or break” to you.  Maybe it was a project for an important client at work, or perhaps you were a student and preparing to take a test worth a big share of your grade.  Whatever it was, your whole career seemed to depend on your success at it, and “failure was not an option.”

When Starting Is Not An Option

Have you ever noticed that these “make or break” projects are actually the ones you have the most trouble starting?  That, the more that seems to be “riding” on the outcome, the harder it is to make progress?

From a rational perspective, this is hard to understand.  You’d think we’d dive headfirst into a task we see as “mission critical.”  Isn’t that what all the motivational bestsellers tell us — that we need to “chase success as if our lives depend on it”?

But when we look at this issue from an emotional perspective, it starts to make sense.  After all, if I really believe that making a mistake in my project could “break” me or my career, that probably means I’m basing my sense of self-worth on how well I perform.

If my self-worth depends on how my work is received, of course I’m not going to start my project.  This is because, if I finish my task and present it to the world, I’ll run the risk that people will see what I’ve done as inadequate, and then I’ll have to feel inadequate.

I think this is one reason so many people seem to have a book they’ve been “meaning” to write, or a business they’ve been “planning” to start, for the last ten years.  They’re worried that, if they come out with a final product and others don’t appreciate it, they’ll stop appreciating themselves.

Being Okay With Our Non-Okayness

Now, it would be easy for me to say that “the solution is to be okay with yourself no matter what.”  But as I think you know, that’s not so easy in practice.  Building up our basic sense of “okayness,” in my experience, takes work, and there’s no “30-day miracle cure.”

One practice I’ve found simple and effective, though, is to watch carefully for moments when you’re basing your sense of self-worth on the results you get in your work.  When you notice yourself thinking this way, just acknowledge what’s going on, without trying to change it.  Simply admit to yourself:  “I’m worrying that, if people don’t approve of my work, I won’t approve of myself.”

When I do this, I often feel the sense of heaviness in my body dropping away, and find myself chuckling out loud.  When I look directly at the painful story I’m telling myself, rather than trying to push it aside or pretend it isn’t there, the light of my awareness tends to burn it away, like the sun burning off the clouds.

On a practical level, when I let go of the sense that a project can “make or break me,” and see it more as a chance to play and experiment, I find concentrating and finishing my work so much easier.

There’s been a lot of hubbub about a recent study on the relationship between men’s facial expressions and their attractiveness to women.  According to the study, when presented with photos of smiling and brooding men, the female test subjects said they were more attracted to the unhappy-looking men than to the happy-looking ones.

Not surprisingly, lots of people writing about the study concluded that, if they want to attract women, men should try to look tough or even ashamed, and avoid smiling.

Am I a Betazoid?

When I read articles that say I should put on some facial expression, or display some kind of body language, to get people to like me, I tend to feel a little alien.  I start to wonder:  am I the only one who finds it painfully obvious when a person is trying to look a certain way?

In my experience, when someone smiles, I can instantly tell if they’re really enjoying themselves, or just trying to look happy for my benefit.   By the same token, it’s immediately clear to me when someone’s trying to look puffed up and tough to hide their fear.

Though I’m a fairly empathic guy, I suspect I’m not the only person who can tell when someone’s hiding what they truly feel — what with me being human just like everybody else, and all.  But if that’s true, why is there so much advice out there about “winning body language”?  Don’t the people who give that kind of advice see how unhelpful it is?

No Empathy Allowed

What I’ve come to believe is that, in our culture, there’s a sort of unspoken agreement that we won’t admit how empathic we are.  I’ll pretend I don’t see that you’re unhappy, so long as you act like you don’t know I’m angry.  You’ll smile back at me, although you know my smile is fake, and I’ll do the same for you.

I think this unspoken agreement is rooted in our fear and distrust of each other.  We’re afraid that, if someone saw how we were really feeling, that might put us in danger.

After all, if you saw I was feeling sad or distressed, maybe you’d make fun of me, or attack me in my moment of weakness!  So, it seems easier for us all to pretend we can’t sense each other’s emotions — that way, nobody needs to feel unsafe.

The trouble with this unwritten rule is that it leaves a lot of us starving for real connection.  If I have to pretend I don’t know how you’re feeling, I can’t offer you compassion and a chance to talk about what’s going on, unless you come out and ask me to.  And to many people, asking for another person’s compassion sounds about as inviting as sticking their head in a lion’s mouth.

Are You Really “Fine, Just Fine”?

So, because I want to feel genuinely connected to people around me, I’ve taken to letting people know when something seems “off” to me — when I get the sense that their words and expression don’t match how they’re actually feeling.

I try not to put this in an accusing way, as if they’re lying or doing something wrong.  I just ask whether something’s going on that they’d like to talk about — “are you really ‘doing fine,’ or is something up?”  This isn’t always easy, and people don’t always want what I’m offering.  But much of the time, it creates a far deeper and more satisfying conversation.

In a few months, I’m starting a graduate program in psychology.  I’m thrilled that this is finally coming together, and that I’m going to build new skills that will help me do my work.

When I considered writing about this, I noticed both a desire to share my excitement with the world, and a bit of anxiety about announcing my plans.

This didn’t make sense at first.  Why would I feel reluctant to tell people about big news in my life?

After a little pondering, the reason became clear.  If I told you I’m going to grad school, wouldn’t I be admitting that I still have more to learn?  That I don’t “have all the answers”?  And if I don’t have all the answers, why should people want to read what I write about personal development?

Do You Like “Answers” or Authenticity?

But then, a question occurred to me:   what kind of writing do I like to read?  Do I like articles that give me a list of 100 things I should do to succeed, be happy, or something else?  Or do I prefer writers who are willing to let down their guard with me, and tell me what’s really going on with them?

It didn’t take a lot of reflection to answer this one.  When another human being lets me really see them, in all their perfect imperfection, that’s a greater gift to me than all the “tips and tricks” out there put together.

And doesn’t it stand to reason, I thought, that if I like honest, vulnerable writing, other people might appreciate that too?  I mean, I’m an unusual guy and all, but doesn’t it make sense that you and I might share some of the same tastes?

Giving Ourselves Permission To Be Human

At a deeper level, I’ve found that, when someone genuinely shares with me — particularly if what they share involves a “negative emotion,” an insecurity, or something like that — that actually helps me do my own “inner work.”

This is because, when they tell me about one of their foibles, quirks, or hangups, I feel a sense of permission to have my own hangups as well.  I feel my own worries about looking imperfect melting away, and more compassion for myself and others.

This is why, recently, I’ve tended toward exploring issues that feel embarrassing or difficult in my writing.  I’ve been doing this in the hope that, the more of my own truth I share, the more others will start feeling free to share their truth.  (Not that I find going to grad school embarrassing — I think it’s pretty cool.)

The View From The High Horse

In keeping with this theme of honesty, I’m going to mount my high horse for a moment, and say I’d like to see the self-development blogosphere move in this direction too.  I think we could all stand to give each other a little less advice, and offer a bit more of our personal experience.  Nobody’s really “got all the answers,” and it would be a relief, at least for me, if we could just admit that to ourselves and each other.

Anyway, this has been my long-winded way of breaking the news that I’m going to grad school.    I’m looking forward to more learning and growth, and to contributing to others’ growth in whatever ways I can.

Evelyn graciously asked me to share some thoughts about self-love for a compilation of posts she’s putting together.  I thought I’d start by sharing a story about a moment just a few days ago when I showed myself some love.

I must have looked a little mopey, because my friend asked me whether I was all right.  At first, I decided I didn’t want to “burden” her with my problems, and I told her I was fine.

But my friend, thankfully, wouldn’t let me off the hook.  “No, really, what’s going on?” she said.

Finally, I dropped the façade and told her what was up.  “I haven’t been getting enough done,” I said.  “I’ve been sitting around watching boxing matches instead of focusing on my projects, and I feel really embarrassed about it.”

The Truth Will Make You Laugh

Suddenly, I found myself laughing, and my body felt lighter.  There was something about telling my friend how I was actually feeling, without making any effort to look “okay,” tough or reasonable, that felt so liberating.  The grim story I’d been telling myself about how irresponsible and bad I was started melting away.

This is a good example of what I think self-love is all about, because — for me — it’s about letting go of my resistance to what I’m feeling.  I’m most loving to myself when I fully accept my experience, without demanding or pretending that I feel differently — even if what I happen to be feeling is embarrassment and shame.

Self-Love Isn’t Easy

What this story also illustrates is how difficult and vulnerable self-love can be.  It can feel risky to admit to ourselves, or to someone else, what’s actually in our hearts, rather than pushing away our anger, hurt, and sadness, and acting like everything’s all right — like I did when my friend first asked me how I was.

After all, many of us worry that, if we told someone we were feeling grief, fear, or some other “negative emotion,” they might criticize or reject us.  Many of us also fear that, if we just let ourselves feel the hurt that’s present, rather than running from it, the pain might go on forever.

But I’ve found that, when I’m willing to fully accept how I feel in this moment, no matter what it might be, that’s when I get access to the joy and lightness I want in my life.  Any energy I was using to avoid what I’m feeling gets freed up and becomes vitality.

Loving Our Unloving Moments

It’s funny — this is even true in moments when I’m being hard on myself.  By acknowledging that “I’m not being very compassionate to myself right now,” without pretending to be happy or confident or anything else, I honor myself, and open the way back to wellbeing.

I think real self-love, at the core, is about caring for ourselves deeply enough to be honest — with ourselves and others — about what’s going on inside us.

I usually don’t feel drawn to doing “list posts.”  Some of this is because of my unease about doing something “everyone else” seems to be doing.

So, as a personal growth exercise, I’m going to jump right in and do a list post!  I also think this is a pretty cool and valuable list of questions for building awareness about how we limit ourselves with our ways of thinking and being.

Without further ado, here are some questions I’ve gained a lot from asking myself.  Some of them may be uncomfortable to think about, but I think that kind of discomfort is usually a sign of growth:

1.  What quality in other people irritates you most? (For example, is it ambition, shyness, laziness, or something else?)  How do you have this quality in the way you live your own life?

2.  What quality in other people do you envy the most? How do you already have this quality in the way you live your own life?

3.  What emotion do you least want to feel? Is it fear, anger, sadness, or something else?  What do you do in your life to avoid feeling it?

4.  What do you most want people to think about you? What do you do in your life to make sure others think that?  What is that costing you?

5.  What do you least want people to think about you? What do you do in your life to make sure others don’t think that?  What is that costing you?

6.  What have you done that you least want people to know about? What do you do in your life to make sure no one finds out about what you did?

7.  What have you done that you most want people to know about? How do you go out of your way to make sure people know you did it?

8.  If you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the only reason you’re alive is to enjoy every moment, would you change the way you live?  How?

9.  If you knew that, no matter what you did or didn’t do, you would love and respect yourself, how would you live your life?

10.  What would you create if you knew no one would ever see it? In other words, if you were 100% certain that your work would never make you famous or rich, and the only thing you’d ever get out of it was personal satisfaction, what would you choose to do?

11.  Here’s another interesting way to put Question # 10:  How would you live if you knew that no one would ever approve of you? If you knew that nobody would ever be happy with the way you live, and that you might as well do whatever fulfills you, what would you do?

12.  How are you trying to please your parents with the way you live? What is that costing you?

13.  If you knew that you were 100% forgiven for everything you think you’ve done wrong, how would that change the way you live?

14.  If you cried in front of a stranger, how would they react? (Take the first answer that comes to mind.)

15.  If you got angry at a stranger, how would they react? (Same rule as Question # 14.)

16.  In what situations do you try to look happy when you really aren’t?

17.  In what situations do you hold back from speaking the truth to avoid hurting someone’s feelings?

18.  If you’re a man, how do you think a man is supposed to act? How do you make an effort to act that way?

19.  If you’re a woman, how do you think a woman is supposed to act? How do you make an effort to act that way?

20.  How is the “public you” different from the “private you”?

Whew!  And we’re done.  It was an intense experience for me writing and thinking about those questions — I’m curious what it was like for you to read them.  You don’t have to share your answers to the specific questions, but if you want to that’s great too.  Thanks!

In other news: I did an interview with Evita Ochel of EvolvingBeings.com on meditation, how to do it and the benefits it can bring.  I hope you enjoy it.

I haven’t been on the internet much lately, because I’ve been deeply engaged in a new project.  I’ve been creating a computer game with a friend.  It’s built around an adventure story, as many games are, but the main focus is my ideas about what the spirituality of prehistoric people was like.

Being a reflective sort of guy, as I’ve worked on this, I’ve been asking myself from time to time “why am I doing this?”  Two reasons have come to mind.  One is that I think this game could really stimulate the personal growth of people playing it.  The other is that I want to be recognized, and for people to think I am cool.

Are My Wounds Behind The Wheel?

The second reason has troubled me a bit.  If I’m doing this because I want people to think I’m cool, doesn’t that mean my ego is driving the project?  Doesn’t that mean my wounded child part — the part that feels abandoned and needs approval — is really behind what I’m doing?  And if so, is it healthy for me to keep moving forward?

I hang out with lots of folks who are “on a spiritual path,” or interested in self-development, and many of them are dealing with the same dilemma.  They worry that, if they work on a project they feel called to do, they’ll be feeding the “selfish” part of themselves, instead of doing the seva, or selfless service, they think they should do.

After a lot of thinking about this issue, I’ve come to the conclusion that an “ego-free project” is a pipe dream.  No matter what I do, I’ll probably be motivated, to some degree, by a desire for approval — and, I’ll also be driven by a genuine wish to serve.  In other words, there will always be a mix of “healthy” and “unhealthy” motives behind everything I do.

Real Self-Love Loves The Ego

Although I can’t totally get rid of these “unhealthy” motives, and the ways I operate from a sense of lack instead of abundance, I can choose how I relate to those motives.  I can choose to acknowledge and accept them, rather than pretending they aren’t there or beating myself up because they exist.

When I can admit, without self-blame, that “part of me is wanting attention,” a weight lifts from my shoulders, and my body feels lighter.  In those moments, I’m practicing real self-love, as opposed to just loving the parts of me that I label as pure and righteous.

On the other hand, pushing those “unhealthy” parts away, in my experience, just creates more unhealthiness.  When I pretend I don’t have a “selfish” part, I end up projecting my selfishness onto others — judging them as self-centered, and casting myself as superior.  That’s an unpleasant experience for everybody.

I often notice the same dynamic when I’m with people whose spirituality is all about “selflessness” — when they talk about the volunteer work they do, with no expectation of reward or approval, I usually notice an undertone of aggression that sounds to me like “and how much service do you do?”

I’ve harped on this theme lately, but I think it’s important — that personal growth in its highest form is about getting comfortable and familiar with all parts of ourselves, including those we tend to label as bad, inappropriate, embarrassing, and so on.  The more “okay” we get with those parts, I think, the more peace and focus we can find in all areas of our lives.

At a corporate job I did a while back, there was a manager whom everybody saw as a “royal terror.”  People regularly left his office in tears, and left the company soon after.

One day, I asked a colleague why this man acted the way he did, and my coworker’s answer was interesting:  “he’s earned the right to act that way.  He’s worked his way up to the top.”

At first blush, this sounded silly to me.  “What do you mean, he’s ‘earned the right’?” I thought.  “Did God appear and tell him he could treat everyone like dirt?”

Waiting For Permission To Be Me

But later, it dawned on me:  in a way, I was trying to do exactly what this difficult boss had supposedly done.  I often had thoughts like:  “if I do really well at this job, I’ll start respecting myself, and I won’t be so scared of getting put down by other people,” or “if I get a lot of praise for my work, I’ll stop being so hard on myself.”

In other words, just as this manager had, according to my friend, “earned the right” to rage at his subordinates, I was trying to “earn the right” to treat myself decently.

This may sound weird to you, but if you take an honest look at your own life, I suspect you’ll find some place where you’re striving to “earn the right” to be the person you want to be — and denying yourself permission to be that person right now.

For example, some people I know tell themselves:  “If I work hard enough and make enough money, I’ll be able to spend more time with my family.”  Or maybe, one day, they’ll finally “deserve” to relax, be with the partner they want, or something else.

Giving Ourselves Permission

This idea that we have to “earn the right” to be or feel a certain way is deeply ingrained in our culture.  Unfortunately, I think, it leads to a lot of suffering.

After all, like I said, God doesn’t seem to be in the habit of showing up and telling people when they’ve made enough money, received enough degrees, or developed firm enough abs to be who they want to be.  If we’re waiting for someone to give us permission to be fully ourselves, we’re setting ourselves up for disappointment.

At a deeper level, I think, “I haven’t earned the right to be that way” is a story we tell ourselves to keep at bay feelings we’d rather not experience.  If I convince myself that I “don’t have the right to be angry,” the payoff is that I don’t have to feel the discomfort, and handle the conflict, that can come with expressing anger.

The trouble with telling ourselves this kind of story is that, when we cut ourselves off from feelings that are hard to be with, life takes on a dull, muted quality.  Keeping ourselves from feeling angry, sad, compassionate, or whatever the emotion might be takes energy and leaves us drained.

So, I think we can all stand to ask ourselves:  if I gave myself permission to do what I want to do, and feel how I want to feel, how would I show up in the world?  Where am I holding back from expressing my joy, anger, or sadness?  For me, it’s been a scary but powerful question.

I do something kind of unusual when I’m writing.  (I know, shockingly enough.)  I keep a journal of what I’m feeling and thinking when I’m faced with writer’s block.

To an outside reader, this journal would probably seem painfully repetitive, because it talks about the same worries again and again.  Some common themes are:

* “I think I had the last decent idea of my life a few days ago, and the well has officially run dry.”

* “I’m not sure I have the brain cells left to do this kind of piece anymore.”

* “I’m never going to finish this article — I might as well delete it.”

Why would I want to keep an angst-filled journal like this?  Because I’m a masochist?

I’ve Been Through It All Before

Actually, this has been one of the most helpful techniques I’ve discovered in a while for staying focused and motivated as I write.  The fact that the journal sounds like such a broken record is really what makes it so helpful.

Why?  Because the goal of this journal is to remind me that, no matter how much hand-wringing I may be doing as I’m writing something, I’ve been through it before.  There’s no moment of blankness, doubt about the originality of what I’m saying, or concern that I’ve “lost my mojo” that I haven’t experienced in the past.

And yet, even in the face of those doubts and fears, I’ve managed to finish my piece.

On one level, this is simply a reminder that I have the strength to handle whatever writing-induced suffering I’m going through.  But at a deeper level, it’s a way to keep in mind that, just like every experience we have as human beings, that creative blankness we call writer’s block is fleeting.  It passes away quickly.

From Black Hole to Break Time

My sense, from looking inside myself and talking to people, is that a lot of the suffering we do around writer’s block happens when we worry that it will never go away.  That sense that we’re empty of ideas can actually be kind of scary — almost as if the emptiness might grow and swallow us up if we let it.

Naturally, many of us tend to write in fits and starts, running off to fold our socks or play Solitaire when the emptiness arises.  Unfortunately, when we write this way, we usually don’t make as much progress as we’d like.

But when we keep in mind that the emptiness is fleeting, those blank moments become so much easier to be with.  Instead of looking like a black hole threatening to devour us, that blankness starts to seem more like a welcome moment of rest before we unleash our creative energies again — just as our bodies naturally cycle between waking and sleeping.

I think “this too shall pass” is a great mantra for moments when we’re feeling creatively empty, just as it is in other parts of life.