My Playing Big Journey, Part 1

About a decade ago, my career looked very different. I worked at a very large charitable foundation. I’d get up in the morning, put on business suit pants and a tweed blazer, hop on the train, and get to my desk. I’d spend the day reading grant proposals and meeting with committees to make decisions about how money would be given away.

I didn’t hate it. I liked working for a good cause. I adored my colleagues, actually, and I found it inspiring to collaborate with donors and volunteers.

And yet.

And yet, there were some other wisps of thoughts I’d hear in my head occasionally, and that I’d started to hear more and more.

What about that desire to work in the world of psychology and personal growth – the things you’ve loved your whole life?

What happened to that artist girl? The creative writing, and dancing, and doing theater?

And honestly, what about the part of you that wanted to be in the media – that grew up watching talk show hosts, thinking, “I want to be up there,” that stood at the bookstore studying the titles and the authors’ names on the spines, thinking, I want to do that?

Then there were these thoughts about all those dreams:

Yeah, but aren’t those just old, immature parts that I’ve found other ways to channel now?

Aren’t these just silly ego fantasies?

Okay, but how the heck would I even start working toward any of those? I have no idea.

And then, there was this thought – more a feeling really – that would sometimes show up:

Life doesn’t need to feel this dry, or sad. It can actually feel different. You could feel more free.

I had become the skeptic in relationship to my dreams, instead of the ally. Instead of standing at the side, arm in arm, with that little voice in me who wanted something different than the life and career she had, instead of standing next to her and saying, “Honey, tell me more. Honey, I’ve got your back,” I was saying to her, “Not that not that not that not that not that no.”

One night I was up late, sitting in that discomfort of feeling like I was not living out the life that was inside of me to live. And a phrase popped up in my head, “I’m being more loyal to my fears than to my dreams.”

That night, staring out at the trees through the window, I realized in some sense it would be very easy to do that for the next thirty years – keep advancing in my current career, enjoy some aspects of it, buy more (and nicer) tweed suits.

Except in another way it wouldn’t be easy at all. It would in fact be excrutiatingly painful, and if I took that path I would see even more of what was happening in myself – a certain kind of crankiness and short-temperedness, a sadness and resentment, and a feeling that life was somehow happening in black and white, not in full color. My life would feel safe, but deadeningly so.

I realized I really didn’t want to take that path.

What happened next? Something that looked quite confused and disorganized from the outside – a jumble of steps I took to move toward the territory I wanted to be in: I booked a weekend at a personal growth and wellness center I’d long admired – part of this new field I wanted to work within. I opened up the office closet and pulled out my old favorite books on spirituality and psychology, and started reading them again. And, for the first time, I hired a coach and began working with him to find out a little more about what that voice inside me had to say.

I noticed that my coach was very interested in that voice, and very respectful of it. He was happy to give it time to speak up, and to just listen. And so with this help I did what at the time felt like prying open a long shut, dusty box of dreams.

I got back on my own side. It almost felt like a literal move from standing across from that voice with arms crossed and a disdainful face, to a move closer to that voice, and a leaning over, quietly, to wrap an arm around her and listen intently.

I discovered something: backing myself 100% had nothing to do with knowing how I was going to get what I wanted. I could say to the dreams and longings, “Okay, I have no idea how we are going to get any of these things, but I can commit to this. I’m going to do what I can to help you get them. ”

The part of me that was stepping into the help out was the in-the-world, decision-making, action oriented Tara, a part that had an option to judge or to respect this other voice. And the part of me that was being helped was more innocent, more instinctual perhaps – a part that just longed for what she longed for.

For a long time, I just took one step at a time on a foggy path that I couldn’t see the whole of.

I signed up for a coaching training that I could do alongside my current job, not knowing where it would lead, figuring this was one way to start exploring the personal growth world while continuing to work my current job.

I started to make some small changes to how I dressed that reflected a vision I saw in my head of a freer-spirited woman. I started going to more art shows. I started to make my home more reflective of my real style.

Months later, I accepted that part of what the persistent voice inside was saying was “Write, just write.” I did not know what that meant. I did not necessarily like the message. But I started to sit at the computer and to try to write about the things that mattered to me. At that time, I hadn’t written much – other than emails or white papers – for seven years. My inner critic and fear had taken writing away from me.

Months later on Thanksgiving day in 2008, I wrote my first blog post, about gratitude, to a blog that had no readers, no subscribers, and I wept with the joy I got from writing again. I was, indeed, so grateful.

That is chapter 1 of the journey. The next part of my story is coming later this week, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

In the meantime, I want to invite you to come visit here, to learn about the Playing Big course that’s getting started in just a few weeks. I hope you’ll join us for this incredible experience that can help you start playing bigger in just the ways you want to.