Attachment “draws our eye to the mirror instead of the work.”
Note: Links in this post may be affiliate links, which means I’ll receive a commission, at no extra charge to you, if you make a purchase through such a link. Learn more here.
Notes
The first obligation, à la blogger Rohan Rajiv, is the obligation we have to our community (for feeding us, teaching us, connecting us, believing in us).
The second obligation doesn’t exist: there is no “reflexive matching obligation” on others’ part. “No one owes us anything. Or, if they do, it’s in our interest to act as if they don’t.”
Believing that the second obligation exists:
- is a form of attachment (a foundation)
- destroys the ability to do generous work
- destroys the meaning of any response (applause that comes because of obligation is meaningless)
- takes us out of self-trust and into the search for reassurance, guarantee, external feedback
- “It draws our eye to the mirror instead of the work.”
“The feeling of being owed (whether it’s true or not) is toxic. Our practice demands that we reject it”.
Thoughts
The image of paying attention to the mirror rather than to the work resonates with me. It explains something that I’ve known about myself, but haven’t really articulated (perhaps because I was avoiding it): when I was younger, I spent more of my time practicing my guitar focused on an imaginary audience (“and the crowd goes wild!” type stuff), and less of my time on actually improving. (More precisely, I’d start focused on improvement and drift into fantasy.)
I would write songs, but I’d generally settle, rather than deeply crafting, in part because I wanted the songs heard—and the compliments that would come with that.
The same was true of writing stories, etc., too. The point was to be received.
Part of that was age, I’m sure. Part of it was a desire to be liked, given that I’d spent so much time being ignored or bullied or dismissed as a nerd (this was long before nerds became cool). Immaturity and desperation: an intoxicating cocktail.
Now that I’m older, I am, for the most part, reasonably secure in my skin. (It helps that the world has changed, too.) But I will say that the habits—not so much the reasons for the way I practice or write, but the actual way I do it—is still pretty distracted. There’s still a bit too much mirror-gazing (even if with only one eye). I move on from this awkward rhyme, or that faltered solo, or that other merely tolerable tone much more quickly than I should.
As I develop the practice that Seth is encouraging, I will need to keep this realization in mind. I can be too impatient—to move from writing to recording, to get to the next part to be recorded, to get the songs out so I can hear the reaction. And even if this isn’t from the same teen/young-adult desperation, the way I approach the work is still influenced by those old habits, those old ways of practicing.
This series is meant to capture my thoughts as I work through Seth Godin’s The Practice. It’s a book with over 200 (very short) chapters, which I hope to work through and, I further hope, to implement over time.
If you’re interested in more of Godin’s ideas, or my thoughts about them, you can check out this collection of posts. Note that if you’re more interested in the former, you should probably get Godin’s book and read it yourself; my notes will be both incomplete and idiosyncratic, and my thoughts will relate to my own experience.
But if my thoughts resonate with you, or if you think I’m just silly, I welcome your comments.