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… That’s why it’s so comfortable doing it over and over again. I repeat myself to confirm that that Matt, that conception of myself, is indeed who I am. Of course, there is no stable identity. I work so hard to maintain this person to whom I’ve become attached – all in vein. Recently, however, I have been shedding some of the attachment. And when that doesn’t occur, at least I am observing (with a loving, humored gaze) my attachments and predictable actions. “Oh Matt, I say. Oh Matt you’re so young and you really want to be loved and understood.” I observe this without the disappointment to which I am accustomed. I observe and with recognition I defeat the pattern.
I woke up this morning dreaming about baseball. I had, for the first time in my whole life, a desire to hit a ball with a bat. I remember Little League: a horror every weekend. I played far left field because eight year olds don’t hit that far. When my team was up to bat, I rarely left the dugout. When I did, I always struck out. An entire season passed and I did nothing for the team, I did nothing for myself. I hated that game. I hated the people. My ego raged the whole time. I couldn’t get their approval as a person and I couldn’t get their approval as an athlete so the elementary school version of myself thought to himself, “Fuck it. Fuck you all. And fuck your caveman-like desire to hit a ball with a club and run around in a circle.” My high opinion of sports has persisted to today.
Why then did I wake up craving the crack of the bat?
I am realizing that since I was very young I have avoided the position of beginner. I resisting learning the guitar and piano from my father. I avoid sports because I’m not great at them on first try. I avoid friendships with people that won’t give me the approval I think I need. I look for sexually power as a source of security. I end up in bed with men that like me more than I will ever like them… only to realize that that’s the only reason I’m in bed with them. All of this is low-risk living, it seems to me. I do what my ego can handle. And the ego can’t handle very much. It is subtly debilitating.
What is strange is that even though the ego craves what it can predict it doesn’t take into account what is actually predictable: imperfection, failure, death. If I accept these things as possibilities I won’t always have to live life as if they can be avoided. I will be embarrassed at some point. I will miss the ball. I will move sometime when I meditate.
Last night I went to my first West African dance class and on Tuesday night I went to the Zen center. I am taking the position of beginner and it feels right. It is scary, but I no longer feel like it’s going to kill me. It is because I have rejected the authority and supremacy of my ego. The wild horse that used to throw me around is turning into a little lap dog that I can walk on a leash. And all of a sudden I think I could surprise myself again.
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