Firstly to give it a bit of context, I realised some months back that the show I was allegedly going to do about Charlotte Charke just wasn't going to happen. Sitting down with that damn book was like pulling teeth. However, it seems to me that anything I identify as actively wanting to do, quickly goes into the pulling teeth category, which makes me feel really quite despairing. I realised that the 'elephant in the room' is in fact - da-da-dah - my procrastination. That's the show right there. Plus, it's something that everyone can relate to, at least to some degree (although they might not win prizes for it like me) and I would like something good and creative to come out of it, since it causes me so much self-annoyance and grief. I have also realised that despite not being a conventional, run of the mill-type person, when it comes to doing these things, I suddenly become super 'proper' and linear in my approach, trying to be all conscientious about it and quickly get stuck in a rut, where I don't progress any further. The bit I already have which is practically 'stage ready' is the 'Twelve Step Procrastination Busting Programme' from last year's workshop (you can read the entry about it here) where I force-feed myself marzipan through a gimp mask as a self-punishment. To help me with this I am having coaching sessions with one of the managers at work, who's thankfully quite happy to focus on my creative stuff outside of my 'civvy job' and also Simon who I worked with in London on Geo Goynes. The funny thing is, he does for me what I know I can do for others (seeing possibilities, the bigger-picture, generating material) but have real issues doing for myself, so I am very fortunate. Obviously my procrastination isn't a made-up problem, so weeks can go by where nothing's done. My procrastination is mostly fear-in-disguise, masquerading as laziness, so the idea of actually performing it to people who will be paying is terrifying!
Anyway, I had a great coaching session last Tuesday, where Lou, my coach, said she was going to do a visualisation exercise with me. She'd not done it before, she said, so if it didn't go well, it'd only be about an hour of my time wasted. "Don't worry", I said, "I'm great at visualisation". Then she asked me to point to where my past is spatially, my present and my future. Then she asked me to picture my future, i.e. where I am and what I'm actually doing. Immediately, I just said I couldn't do it. I don't know why (although I sort of do - fear) but I find it so hard to picture my future - it's so murky. Also, I think I've become so 'good' at being in the present (and there's lots of mindfulness stuff about 'being in the now') and not raking back over miserable bits of my past and not engaging with my future, that I just sort of shut down. For a moment I could see Lou struggling with what on earth she was going to do with me - neither of us were expecting this! Then she changed tack and asked me to visualise something that represented my present. I'm used to doing this - years ago I bought a book about using visualisation to examine aspects of your life and solve problems and although part of me tends to scoff at these things, thinking it's 'hippy-dippy' shit, and I never (or haven't yet) read all of it - I utilised some of the exercises on 'this or that' problems or to examine how I felt about something and I found it to be incredibly powerful. Straight away came an image of a yellow Labrador chasing its tail. The book says not to dismiss an image but to work with what comes up. Immediately this seemed fitting.
The dog's name was Harold and he was persistently chasing his tail because he had fleas, but had become very attached to them, because frustrating as they were, that's all he knew and they provided a distraction and he invited distraction, so as not to think about things too much, because he was scared (Sound like me? Much?! Cough, splutter!).Then we looked at Harold's environment and what he would have to do to let go of his fleas:
Harold's owners were out all day and he was bored and scared. Eventually Harold agreed to give up his fleas for a period of two weeks. They would be placed in an old fashioned film canister for this time, after which he would have the option of having them back. After this though, they would die off through lack of blood and it would be too late to go back, because even if he got another set of fleas they would be a different eco-system.
The first week without his fleas, Harold became very withdrawn and depressed, sitting with his yellow head on his paws in his basket, looking very forlorn indeed. He just didn't know what to do with himself. Realising he couldn't remain like this, after the first week, Harold began to explore his environment - sniffing everything, building up a rich picture of his home, getting his nose everywhere, until he saw outside and started to feel a different sort of an itch - one to go out there, into the garden. Outside he had a kennel where he could retire if it rained, but could also feel the sun on his fur and hear the birds and the hum of the bees. Soon he became aware of a crack in the fence and was suddenly really afraid. He knew what was behind there, because he'd been taken there as a pup to the duck pond that lay beyond the strip of woods in front of the house, and the ducks and the geese had attacked him when he bounded over to play.
Harold withdrew back to his kennel and stayed there a while, gathering up his strength and his energy. he started digging through the fence. It wasn't easy and it took him several days, which allowed him time to get used to the idea. When he finally managed to break through, he went out on little excursions - short ones at first, where the strangeness of his new environment made him run back in terror, yelping before gathering up the courage to go further afield. Once day, Harold was ready to go back to the duck pond. The first time, all the horrid feelings came back; he felt out of his depth and he didn't stay long. But he went back and back again. The duck and the geese, spotting him, came up hissing in his face, but he stood his ground and they backed off. After several visits passed and the unfamiliar became familiar, he realised that he had as much right to be there as the ducks and the geese and felt very at home there. So much so, he took new dwellings in a lovely shady tree house in the woods overlooking the pond, with a patio in front where he could sun himself as he surveyed his surroundings.
In his new home, Harold started to express himself creatively, realising there was an audience who were interested in his quirky take on life (the universe and everything). He started to feel an urge to perform these pieces and was now growing in confidence so this was no problem for him, as Harold had found his bark. Harold was by now creatively fulfilled and much happier in himself, he could sit and be still and contemplate but was still young at heart and could bound around with the best of them and had lots of energy. He began to crave some female company. In time Harold met a lovely bitch who lived on a barge and who shared his oblique view on life. They enjoyed each other's company very much, sniffing along the banks of the canals, the woods and of course the duck pond. If Harold was to be offered back his fleas, he would give a derisive snort. He was half the dog then as he is now and it's hard to believe he was so scared of the possibilities of life that he actually invited fleas to bite him, to keep him in a perpetual present. Now Harold's present to himself, is himself.
The End.
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