Hello,
“I am afraid,” I said, “that if I start feeling sad… I won’t ever stop.”
And then, I burst into tears and cried for two minutes straight while a dozen of my peers watched in silence. Joseph Campbell said every feeling fully felt is bliss, but I’m pretty sure he never had group trauma therapy.
Lately, I’ve been writing a lot about life and creativity and how the two seem to influence each other. Art imitates life, they say—and vice versa. What keeps me captivated, though, is this exchange of energy between how we make a living and how we make a life.
I love filling my life with deep and meaningful experiences, whether that is a great cup of coffee or a delicious conversation with a friend. One such experience recently was with a group of men I’ve been connected with for the greater part of this year. I can’t recommend the power of masterminds enough; it has been the single greatest contributor to my sanity and so-called success in this silly little writing career of mine.
Something I learned from this group when we met for a recent weekend retreat is how often I hold back from speaking up. I am afraid of saying too much, of even being too much. But something I kept hearing over and over from this group was: “Jeff, we love it when you share.”
I’m trying to listen to my life these days, paying close attention to the messages that keep coming up through my experiences. What wants to be revealed? What is my life is saying to me? What comes up is this:
Speak up. Your voice is a privilege, and each privilege comes with a duty. You not only have a right to share but a responsibility to do so. Tell your stories. Show up in ways that require courage.
The retreat concluded with an ice bath and a Wim Hof instructor saying, “It’s just a little discomfort, that’s all. Just a little discomfort.” As pain shot like needles through my legs and I sank deeper into the cold, cold water, my instinct was panic. Letting the water rise to my neck, I wanted to squirm, wanted to leave, wanted to scream. But instead I settled in, and I… relaxed. It wasn’t bad, not bad at all at all. Just a little sensation in my body, some fleeting thoughts. In fact, part of me imagined it would have been colder.
After thirty seconds, I started to actually enjoy the ice bath that was quickly cooling my blood, causing me to lose some sensation in my fingers and toes. And just like the crying before, it didn’t last forever—in fact, only about four minutes. And then, I felt better. Much better. What was initially uncomfortable became a form of healing.
What I am trying to say is this: you have a story to tell, a message to share, something to say. And for those of us who can speak up, we must. Yes, it will be uncomfortable. Yes, we may fear discomfort, sadness, or pain—or even the water lasting forever—but as Rilke wrote: “no feeling is final.”
“Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. Just keep going…”
This is what it means to be alive. This is what it means to be a writer. This is what it means to be human. Not everyone gets to do this, you know. Not everyone gets to tell their stories and share their truths or even jump in an ice bath.
It is a privilege and a duty to have a voice. I hope you use it.
Best,
Jeff
