the shortest distance

Noticing my preference to find the shortest, most direct route between here and there. 

I was massaging recently, finishing up the 60 internship sessions that I am required to do as part of my certification process - I thought I would be feeling relief. Instead, I felt confused. I've been moving through my training thinking I was on a straight line, thinking I knew where I was headed, thinking I just needed to keep my eyes focused on the goal. Even while I couldn't articulate exactly how massage and psychotherapy would come together for me professionally, I was under a spell of believing that, eventually, the logic would reveal itself. But the further I go, the less clear I am.

Wilmot, NH

In fact, the more I open and the more I learn, rather than seeing the road that lies ahead, I find myself staring in wonder at the terrain around me. And rather than relaxing into the vastness, I get tangled up in possibilities. Because there's this voice inside my head that directs me to stay focused. "On what?" I reply. "On the course you set a year ago when you set out on this path!" "But back there, I didn't know all this existed."

It took me many, many years to find something to do in this life that felt like it had traction for me. Business school, Native Studies, raft guiding, Law School, health food store, demolition derbies and monster trucks . Through nearly 2 decades of exploration and experimentation, when I came to Transpersonal Psychology there was a sense of arriving back to a place I knew but to which I had never been. I kind of wanted to rest there, go vertically into the depths and heights of understanding - I didn't feel inclined to venture away again. I didn't want to risk again feeling lost.

Ben on straight path

And so, as I look back at the stance I held while undergoing massage training, I noticed one foot was fixed in place, firmly attached to the ground of familiar. I was unwilling to leave behind a belief that I had found something firm, professionally, to stand on. I see, however, that the more attached I am to being focused, the less able I am to seeing possibility. My need to know where I am going and find the shortest distance between 'A' and 'B' is squashing my amazement and awe in the process and bringing me more into contact with my neurotic attachment to outcome. Security and stability trump rapture and wonder every time.

I've spent years priding myself at how efficiently I could get between here and there on the road systems of Canada and the US (17 hours straight between Boulder, CO and Fernie, BC - one driver, one dog). Roads that meandered through mountains and valleys, towns and communities, along breathtaking rivers, massive stands of forests, infinite fields. Likely I'll never take that drive again. Shame I wasn't there the first time.

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Does a straight line make a life?