It occurred to me on Thursday, 9/18, that the essay I had planned to release Monday, 9/22, was no where near ready. Long ago, I learned that to submit sub-par work was akin to career death. This was during my screenwriter journey. Competition in that business is fierce.
So, I reminded myself that my 37 subscribers may forgive me not posting an essay every fifth week as promised in my re-launch. If that includes you, dear reader, thank you for your grace.
With heart shape, there is no six figure production bonus on the line. I don’t have an agent breathing down my neck. Nor, is there a principle photography deadline of which I am beholden to deliver.
Yet, I felt an itch, like the kind beneath a pair of tight jeans that you cannot scratch fully, until you peel the garment off. Maybe that analogy is familiar. Maybe it’s not. Maybe you, dear reader, are free from all itches and irritations. Please let me know. I would love to try on your pants.
The delayed essay in question deals with my childhood wounds around my brother. This goes back to our childhood, long before his death. I have found myself stripping away the layers of Self this last year; my identity as Georgena Grace’s son, brother to Reed and storage unit re-arranger-extraordinaire with my dad, Edward.
From an early age, I felt like my life was a performance. I was living to illicit a positive response of contentment or entertainment from those in my life. If I didn’t earn that response, I shut down. I learned to perform at the cost of my truth. This was patterned for me by Mom who was a self admitted people pleaser and over-giver.
On a professional level, I under promised and over delivered for clients. This endeared me to them. Yet, it created a level of expectation that became exhausting to sustain. I quit doing what I loved because I no longer loved what I did. I have had the luxury to quit, again and again.
Part of what has called me back to the work in the last 28 years has been the performance of ritual. This began with my Hot Yoga practice. It grew as I studied the Ashtanga Yoga practice.
Ashtanga is a daily practice. It is an act of devotion. The only reprieve were on “Moon Days”, either a Full or New moon. These were days of rest and reflection. Eventually, Astrology was introduced to me where Moon rituals of release (Full) or intention setting (New) created a connection with the cycle’s of nature.
On Sunday, 9/21, there was a New Moon coupled with a partial Lunar eclipse. I will spare you the details, but in the world of Astrology, this was a big deal. The photo is an alter that I created. It was centered around Mom. She was my voice of wisdom with all things Spiritual.
So, I reminded myself that my 37 subscribers may forgive me not posting an essay every fifth week as promised in my re-launch. If that includes you, dear reader, thank you for your grace.
With heart shape, there is no six figure production bonus on the line. I don’t have an agent breathing down my neck. Nor, is there a principle photography deadline of which I am beholden to deliver.
Yet, I felt an itch, like the kind beneath a pair of tight jeans that you cannot scratch fully, until you peel the garment off. Maybe that analogy is familiar. Maybe it’s not. Maybe you, dear reader, are free from all itches and irritations. Please let me know. I would love to try on your pants.
The delayed essay in question deals with my childhood wounds around my brother. This goes back to our childhood, long before his death. I have found myself stripping away the layers of Self this last year; my identity as Georgena Grace’s son, brother to Reed and storage unit re-arranger-extraordinaire with my dad, Edward.
From an early age, I felt like my life was a performance. I was living to illicit a positive response of contentment or entertainment from those in my life. If I didn’t earn that response, I shut down. I learned to perform at the cost of my truth. This was patterned for me by Mom who was a self admitted people pleaser and over-giver.
On a professional level, I under promised and over delivered for clients. This endeared me to them. Yet, it created a level of expectation that became exhausting to sustain. I quit doing what I loved because I no longer loved what I did. I have had the luxury to quit, again and again.
Part of what has called me back to the work in the last 28 years has been the performance of ritual. This began with my Hot Yoga practice. It grew as I studied the Ashtanga Yoga practice.
Ashtanga is a daily practice. It is an act of devotion. The only reprieve were on “Moon Days”, either a Full or New moon. These were days of rest and reflection. Eventually, Astrology was introduced to me where Moon rituals of release (Full) or intention setting (New) created a connection with the cycle’s of nature.
On Sunday, 9/21, there was a New Moon coupled with a partial Lunar eclipse. I will spare you the details, but in the world of Astrology, this was a big deal. The photo is an alter that I created. It was centered around Mom. She was my voice of wisdom with all things Spiritual.
My alter contained light and dark feathers, a splash of wine as an offering, a Divining tool of hers, a hummingbird (a representation of her), a list of my intentions and a photo of us. I lit the candle, then spent about an hour in meditation. My intention was to empty myself of thought to create a container for wisdom to pour in.
Before I began, I set an intention for “clarity of vision.” The silent, still practice was a mix of frustration, invigoration, calm and the occasional squawk from my neighbor’s easily excitable chickens. Along the way, the word intention whispered from the void. By the end of the hour, Everything with Intention became my mantra.
Devotion.
Intention.
Coincidentally, on Monday, 9/22, I started a week long program with Neuroscientist and best selling author Nicole Vignola. Recently, she signed a six figure book deal for her second release aptly titled, Mental Currency. The program’s focus is to bring our awareness to what we give our attention and how to maximize our attention as a means to create.
Dopamine regulation is the cornerstone of focus. I won’t dive into that in this post. Yet, what has been re-emphasized by Nicole’s program is that we always have a choice on where to condition our attention, whether we realize it or not.
A choice to scroll aimlessly, because if we’re honest, those crazy cat videos can be hilarious!
A choice to say yes to another person, place or task because that’s the way we’ve always operated.
A choice to say no, this is not important to me (or, no longer important to me), now.
There is much more psychology to the art of choice. At it’s simplest root is intention. As I build heart shape through my cycles of posts, the intention of the work is to reflect to the gift in the wound.
Mom’s gift to me: an unbound belief that anything is possible.
Mom’s wound to me: being all things to all people and losing the self.
I share this essay this week to ask you, do you see attention as an asset?
Do you use devotion in your life? If so, where?
What sparks you to act with intention?
Intention + Devotion + Attention = Dreams as Reality?
I would love to hear more about your equation. For now, I look forward to sharing more about the variables which create mine.
Be Well & Wonderful 💜
Very nicely written! Thank you for sharing such wise and intentional words. Acts of devotion bring joy, focus and greater meaning to my life.
Thank you for sharing this. I try to stay intentional with my time, especially as I map out a new career. However, I'm also intentional about leaving space for whimsy (and cat videos). It's a balance for me.