• I finally said it.

    “I don’t want you to coach me any more. I don’t want your advice. I’m done with it. I’m going to do it my way from now on. You don’t get to tell me how I should do it any more.”

    When it did come, I kind of blurted it out, the pressure had been building for two years.

    Our business partnership was over.

    We both got vulnerable. I was able to soften my rebelliousness. He was able to let go of his need for control. It opened us into a closeness that was only possible now we were separating.

    I had spoken my truth. And a new chapter of my life begun.

    Truth speaking, what is it?

    It’s a horribly clichéd term for something powerfully beautiful.

    It’s saying what’s true in your heart. It’s saying something that feels risky. It’s saying something and not knowing what’s going to happen next.

    It’s saying something that disrupts normality.

    I remember those powerful moments when I spoke something I’d been reluctant to share. I’d been trying to avert the nightmare in my head by not saying it. I remember the sense of deep relaxation as the final echo of my words vanished into the moment just passed.

    It’s out.

    It’s not mine to leash any longer.

    God will take it from here.

    It’s a practice

    It’s a spiritual practice – discovering yourself through sharing your vulnerable experience.

    It’s a business practice – revealing who you are to those you can serve.

    It’s a powerful practice – one that can revolutionize your life and work.

    It’s also a practice that, like any practice, can be misunderstood.

    What we believe to be ‘our truth’ is not always true. What we believe to be authentic, is not always authentic.

    Here are four key distinctions that will help you avoid the traps of speaking your truth.

    1. Opening or Closing

    My friend Lisa first taught me this – will your share open or close people?

    The trap is thinking you can share whatever you want in service of authenticity.

    Will this open their heart, expand their mind or show them something more of what is possible? Will this expand their state, have them feel more, desire more, experience more?

    Or will this contract them, shrink them, close them? Will it trigger a state of anxiety, or defensiveness? Will they walk away from your share feeling less of the world, and less of themselves?

    Yes. It’s your truth. But are you conscious of the impact it will have on people you care about?

    You’re in the midst of a bout of existential depression and anxiety. Everything seems pointless, you seem pointless, your work looks completely meaningless. In a moment of lonely desperation, you tweet it to all your followers and clients.

    “What’s the point? Life is a joke. Don’t want to do any of this shit anymore. Thinking I’ll close down my business.”

    Is it true? Maybe.

    Have you opened them? Probably not.

    You probably freaked them out, and compromised your business and work.

    Are you conscious of the hearts of those you speak to? Can you feel them? Can you tune into where they are, how they are? Will this serve them? Will this open them or close them?

    Are you conscious of even making that judgement call?

    Truth speaking is not saying whatever the hell you want to whoever the hell you want, and expecting everything to turn out authentically.

    It’s a conscious act. You’re conscious of your heart, and their heart, and the connection between you, as you open your mouth, and say what’s there.

    2. Covert Neediness

    You say it like you’re just ‘speaking your experience’, all the while you’re actually hoping for people to meet the needs you haven’t actually confessed to having.

    Maybe you need them to commiserate with you and tell you they love you.

    Maybe you need them to congratulate you and tell you how amazing you are.

    Maybe you need some advice.

    You’re secretly hoping they’ll meet your needs, but you haven’t admitted it to yourself, or them, and it ends up giving your share this weird, creepy or disingenuous feel.

    It’s like those weird incomplete facebook posts.

    “Wow. It’s amazing. I never thought this would happen.”

    And then hopefully someone takes the bait asks what happened, and you get to have that need for attention and confirmation met.

    Except it feels covert, and unowned. And weird. Because it is.

    If you need something, own it.

    I saw a beautiful facebook post from someone recently. She’s a very successful coach and trainer. She was having a really hard time, really struggling. She shared what was going on, very honestly and vulnerably, and asked people to express some love toward her.

    Hundreds responded.

    3. Opinion dressed as truth

    “You didn’t do what you said you would. That’s why your business is not growing like you want. I feel like you’re unprofessional, and it’s never going to change. You should get a job instead. I know this might feel hurtful, but it’s just my truth.”

    No it’s not. It’s your opinion.

    Opinions are powerful, when you share them truthfully, which means sharing them as opinions.

    “You didn’t do what you said you would. I’m deeply questioning whether you actually want to grow this business of yours.”

    Too often, we throw out our assessments and analyses inside this box of ‘our truth’ which actually just squeezes truth out of the connection.

    When I offer my opinion as truth, I leave no room for your truth.

    “I hear you. I do really want this business. But I think I’m following a strategy that just doesn’t fit with my deeper vision. And I’ve felt ashamed about that.”

    Opinions are not true. But they are true opinions.

    4. Vulnerability not vomit

    Brene Brown says vulnerability without boundaries is not vulnerability.

    I agree. I think its vomit.

    It’s throwing up your unprocessed thoughts, feelings and stuff all over other people, without context or consciousness, and expecting them to sort the chunks of importance from the chaff of confusion.

    It’s unpleasant to receive.

    Sometimes our relationship to reality can get messy. And we don’t know how to make sense of it, or connect with it. Sometimes it feels good to splurge. It helps. My woman does it regularly. It helps her get it out of her system, and feel herself again.

    But don’t confuse vomiting for vulnerable truth.

    You’re on the phone with a client. They just asked you how you are.

    “Oh man. I’m feeling kind of funky this morning. I was up late last night. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I was rocking out on pot, porn and pistachios. I just don’t know how to kick these addictions, you know? Psshhht. To be honest, I’d rather not be doing this call now. I feel pretty shitty. But hey ho, here we are. How are you?”

    What you say may be true, but it’s not appropriate.

    Vomit is not vulnerability.

    Vulnerability is conscious. Vulnerability is choosing to share something you’d rather not, while maintaining conscious connection with the person or people you’re sharing with.

    Vomit is not even really noticing who’s in front of you, and just throwing up your undigested material all over their awkwardness.

    Your truth is real

    Rilke said…

    “Near here is a land they call life,
    You’ll know when you arrive by how real it is.”

    Truth is like life. It’s so real that those who hear it are moved by it, opened by it, enlarged by it.

    Are you being real? Or are you hiding behind ‘the truth’?

    Your heart always knows.

     

    Ewan Townhead

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  • It all just came to me, and I realized the truth. My world changed, the heavens opened up, I saw the light. It was beautiful. I was beautiful.

    It’s a mistaken story.

    Transformation is not the euphoria that we think it is.

    Realization can be exquisite. The alethic moment, when what was once hidden, is now revealed. What was once obscured, is now seen.

    “Aahhh.”

    And then there is the consequence of insight—the unpredictable roll of a great change released upon a static body.

    Transformation is not joyful insight. Transformation is what ensues from insight.

    Transformation is the painful shedding of an old skin that no longer fits. Transformation is the shocking realization of looking in the mirror, day after day, and not recognizing the one who stares back at you.

    Transformation is slow, and unpleasant.

    Can you submit to the deepest change?

    To transform is to go beyond your current form, your current shape. It is metamorphosis.

    When you change shape, you hurt.

    The old dies, the new grows.

    Who you considered yourself to be, is not someone you can find anymore. What you assumed would always be true is no longer true.

    “I’m struggling. I don’t really know where I am. It’s all so confusing. I’m anxious, and I don’t really know what’s going on. Nothing seems to be working anymore.”

    It’s not working anymore, because the old things can’t work anymore, when you realize they’re old.

    Transformation has this glittery idealistic reputation. A breakthrough at a weekend workshop. An epiphany during a heightened state. An intense moment of spiritual realization.

    The reality of transformation is dark, confusing and painful.

    Who are you?

    You think you’re this one? Ewan. Who was born in England and likes pecans? You think that’s you?

    You think you’re the eternal one? The one who was here before your parents were born? You think that’s you?

    You are this. This moment. You are the culmination of a thousand lives, brought into this body by a thousand desires. You are this one, a cacophony of selves, loosely tied together with a narrative we call ego.

    You are this one. The one who cannot choose his destiny. The one who does not choose her true name.

    You are a thousand voices, channeled through a single throat. You are a thousand hearts, held by a singular love.

    You think you are the same one as 10 years ago? A month ago? A second ago? You are the one that transforms in every single moment.

    And yet you resist this eternal transformation. You seek to categorize yourself, to define yourself. You form a picture frame around your form.

    “This is me. I’m like this. I’m not like that.”

    It’s a frame you create. One that helps you link together the past memories, with a future possibility. A frame that gives your ever changing nature a sense of sane continuity.

    And when one day, you see the frame you’ve been seeing through, when one day you see the eyes you’ve been seeing with, your security is shattered. You are enveloped by the visceral anxiety of impermanence.

    “I thought I knew who I was. I do not.”

    It is in that moment, that transformation starts to wind its ruthless will around your being. And you will realize you are not who you considered yourself to be…

    You cannot choose this

    The plague is coming. The dead are walking. What was once, will never be.

    And it is into this inevitability that you throw your sense of will.

    You believe you can choose to be transformed? You believe this is a ‘personal development’ that improves you, that gives you more of what you want?

    Transformation is not a choice. It is the great surrender.

    When she comes for you, you have two choices.

    Resist her power, fight for your right to choose, and suffer, immeasurably.

    Or you can bend over and spread your cheeks.

    It may or may not be gentle.

    Part of you is dying. You cannot cheat the reaper.

    Let God have you. You cannot choose his claim on you. You can only choose your acquiescence as He has His way with you.

    He does this from the greatest love you can imagine. He is not punishing you. God no. He is opening you. He is fucking you into the vulnerable and beautiful truth that you dare not admit.

    What are you going to do?

    Struggle? Or spit on your fingers, and help him enter you.

    You have one choice only

    The circle has turned. The rot is setting in.

    That identity you had, where you knew who you were? It’s breaking down. If you try and hold onto it, it will decompose between your very fingers.

    That idea of what was true is turning to dust and clogging up your throat.

    What dies is no longer you. Let yourself fall apart, and you will discover that from the composting remains of your former identity, springs the new shoots of a greater consciousness.

    This is the cycle. Life, into death, into ever changing life, into ever deeper death.

    You have one choice.

    Suffer. Or surrender.

    If you submit to His will, you cannot fuck it up.

    If you do not submit to His will, you cannot fuck it up.

    Yet resistance is optional.

    Where do you still cling to your outmoded sense of entitlement? Where do you still grasp to a concept of fairness, or rightness?

    These are human ideas. Beautiful ideas.

    But now you are in the realm of God. And here there is one choice only.

    How deeply will you allow Him to enter you?

    She loves you.

    Die to Him.

     

    Ewan Townhead

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  • Entrepreneurship and anxiety go hand in hand. You can’t separate them. Though I tried.

    I spent the majority of my early adult life trying to run from anxiety. I was scared about feeling scared.

    My first job was putting cheese on shelves in a big supermarket. It felt perfect at the time, because it was almost impossible to fuck up. And I was horrifically anxious about fucking up.

    Throughout my professional life, I used my considerable intelligence to avoid things that scared me. I turned down promotions, I dodged taking on more responsibility, and I tried to stick to stuff I knew I could do.

    Anxiety was something I felt but didn’t want.

    It was also something I considered a dysfunction.

    “People who are successful, and have their shit together, and are talented don’t get anxious. Anxiety is for people who get burn out or panic attacks.”

    And then I started getting panic attacks.

    It started right around the time I quit my last corporate job, nearly four years ago now. It scared the shit out of me the first time it happened – an intense pain across my diaphragm and solar plexus. 30 minutes where I struggled to breathe and keep my head above the panic.

    There was nothing in particular that would seem to trigger them. One would just erupt, and I’d try and ride it out. When I started getting woken up by them in the middle of the night, I got really scared.

    Something had to shift.

    I got interested in anxiety

    Even as an entrepreneur, I’ve spent considerable time and energy avoiding things I felt anxious about.

    It’s why I liked being the marketing guy. I could hide behind the scenes, and construct powerful strategies and funnels, without having to actually face people.

    My anxiety hit new levels during a hugely challenging, yet ultimately transformational period where I started asking the most powerful question I know.

    My relationship had fallen apart, my work was a mess, and I was living back in England with my parents at the age of 32.

    Things were not going well.

    I felt stuck in a loop. Desperately wanting to quit the start-up I’d co-founded, but having no idea how on earth I could earn money without it. I’d churn it round and round in my mind, day after day.

    The anxiety levels in my body were so high that I started meditating every day, simply to allow myself to function. I’d go on long daily walks in the woods or fields, caressing myself through panic and hopelessness.

    It was during this period that I started to actually get interested in anxiety.

    Anxiety comes in two (very different) varieties

    It was last year that I got interested in work of the amazingly pioneering, yet frighteningly under-celebrated business philosopher Peter Koestenbaulm.

    His work is quite unlike anything else I’ve read, and was a huge inspiration to me while I teased out my early ideas for The Realized Entrepreneur.

    In a freakishly synchronous moment, I discovered that one of my clients had been a student of Dr. K (as she called him). During a work week with her in Colorado, I found myself thumbing through an old out of print book by Dr. K that she’d lent me.

    I came across a distinction that has utterly fascinated me ever since. He said there are two kinds of anxiety.

    One is dysfunctional. One is not.

    One is inevitable. One is not.

    Neurotic Anxiety

    “Anxiety is experiencing failure in advance.” – Seth Godin

    Neurotic anxiety is simply a poor use of the human mind.

    As human beings we have a quite remarkable gift. We can imagine the future. We can imagine possibility. Neurotic anxiety is taking that gift, and using it to envision futures that we really don’t want.

    “But if I publish this thing, what happens if no-one at all likes it? What if it doesn’t work? And I discover I’m actually talentless, and a fraud, and I have to go back to stacking cheese on shelves for the rest of my life, and die, miserable and alone…?”

    Neurotic anxiety is experiencing failure in advance.

    The failure hasn’t even happened yet. Yet you’re already imagining it, and visualizing it, and expecting it.

    But your nervous system can’t tell the difference between your neurotic dragon, or a real tiger in front of you. The sensations in your body are the same.

    It’s an insidious habit. It’s a destructive habit. It’s a useless habit. It’s a warped and kinked experience of the true nature of anxiety.

    Existential Anxiety

    “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.” – Soren Kierkegaard

    Or to put it another way. Anxiety is the feeling of the unknown. Anxiety is what you experience when you step into something you don’t know.

    The feeling in my nervous system is exactly the same, whether the anxiety is neurotic or existential. In other words, my body is hard wired to feel anxiety when faced with something I can’t predict, and something important is on the line.

    Anxiety is not an emotion. It’s a condition. It is the natural condition of a human being

    It’s the condition of aliveness, and being faced with a level of freedom that no other being we know about has access to. It’s the condition of having our feet on earth, our head in heaven, and the consciousness to notice.

    Are you scared of your own freedom?

    You are. It’s hardwired. When faced with the possibility of greater freedom, wider awareness, larger wealth, we’re built to pull back. Is it safe? We get dizzy, like vertigo.

    Anxiety is just the feeling of unexpressed creative potential. Anxiety is the jittery pulsing of a manifesting force, yet to be uncovered. Anxiety is the consequence of not daring to grasp the latent power we carry.

    Anxiety is the material from which the road of growth is made. Anxiety is the excess energy that you haven’t yet learned to conduct. Anxiety is the inevitable consequence of creating something that didn’t exist before.

    It’s not something to be avoided.

    It’s not even something to be tolerated.

    Anxiety is something to be sought out, like the bread crumbs of God, leading us deeper into the magnificence that we are.

    Ewan Townhead

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  • Human beings feel.

    And these days we’re feeling a lot. There’s a lot to feel.

    We’re desiring connection with one another. We’re feeling scared at the prospect of actually doing what our inner-guidance asks of us. We’re feeling hurt when people don’t like what we create.

    We’re feeling increasingly free, as we discover that our livelihood and quest for meaning can be the same thing.

    And we’re feeling increasingly frustrated as the ‘simple 3-step solutions’ turn out to be neither simple, nor a solution.

    What are my true feelings?

    “I feel called to a new and deeper embodiment of my purpose.”

    We’re called. We feel it. The tug of possibility. The yearning of the soul. It’s real. Visceral.

    “I don’t feel like I’m good enough to build this business to the next level.”

    It’s hard. It’s not flowing. We’re coming up short. It starts to feel like a mistake, the dream was a mirage. What happened?

    “I feel confused.”

    What’s true? I’m trying to trust my experience, listen to my feelings, and yet they seem to contradict one another.

    6 Different kinds of feeling

    Feeling one thing is not the same as feeling another.

    Leonard Cohen said “I don’t trust my inner feelings. Inner feelings come and go.” Which is a pretty provocative statement from one of our most feelingful contemporary mystics.

    But what I think he’s actually pointing to is the fact that we’re confused about the nature of feelings.

    When I say “I feel…” I think it’s one thing. It’s a feeling. It’s true, and it’s the same as other feelings. All feeling are made equal.

    They’re not.

    So let’s unpack feeling. There are at least 6 different kinds. Probably more. But let’s start with 6. They’re really different. Even though each one uses the verb feel.

    1. Sensory Feelings

    This is the most basic kind of feeling. And perhaps the original meaning of the word. It’s a sensory feeling.

    “I feel your hand in my hand.”

    I feel your touch. It’s undeniable. It’s not open to interpretation. I feel your hand. And it’s touching my hand.

    However I can also feel internal sensations. These can be a little more elusive. But they’re the same awareness of sensation.

    “I feel a contraction in my belly.”

    If I can be quiet and still enough I’ll notice it. I slight pulling, dry sensation in my lower gut. It feels contracted.

    Sometimes it may not be so subtle. A raging suck in my entire lower body.

    Feelings on the level of sensation are very direct. They’re closest to the source of experience. They require no interpretation. They simply require observation.

    2. Emotional Feelings

    “I feel angry.”

    It’s not a sensation. Though it has a sensory base to it. Probably a hot sensation, rising. But it’s more than that. Anger is an emotion. And again, we feel it.

    “I feel sad.”

    It doesn’t require too much interpretation. Although sometimes it can take us years to actually recognize an emotion. It took me a long time to recognize anger in myself. I misidentified it a lot. And it would get twisted into depression.

    There are four fundamental emotions: anger, sadness, fear and joy.

    There are hundreds of shades of emotion. Some of things we call emotions are not really emotions.

    3. Feelings of Desire

    “I feel a desire to kiss you.”

    Desire is not an emotion. It’s a pull. It’s the pull of Eros. Eros is the root of erotic, but erotic doesn’t mean suspender belts and baby-oil, it means the mysterious force of nature that has us want something. It’s love with movement. It’s evolution rising up.

    “I love writing. I want to write.”

    We feel it. We feel desire. Desire is not sexual. Though it can be expressed sexually. Desire is the movement that wants to push out and through, into something new.

    “I feel a desire to help you create your new teaching program.”

    It’s not an emotional feeling. I just feel I want it. I desire it.

    4. Intuitive Feelings

    “I feel it could be powerful for you to explore your relationship to money.”

    I said that to a new client recently. I just had a feeling that exploring his relationship to money was going to unlock a lot of the things he was struggling with.

    It wasn’t an emotion or a sensation. It wasn’t a desire. I didn’t want him to explore it necessarily. But I had a feeling it could open up some things neither of us could quite see yet.

    It was an intuition.

    Dan Siegel, the famous Neurobiologist says intuition is a feeling based in science. It’s the ability to draw information from the neuronal webs that surround all your bodily organs.

    We think our brain is in our head. It’s not. We have neural networks throughout our entire body. The biggest cluster is indeed in our head. But we have two enormous clusters around our heart, and in our gut too.

    “I have this really strong feeling we should go meet this guy. I don’t know why.”

    Intuition is the ability to feel the messages from our body.

    5. Relational Feelings

    “I feel really close to you.”

    Closeness can mean physical proximity. But when I say “I feel close” I normally mean that I feel connected to you. It’s a relational feeling.

    We’re mammals. We’re designed to attach to one another. Young mammals attach to their parents in a way that other species don’t. It’s one of the things that separates us from reptiles, birds, insects and other creatures.

    We can feel the texture of our relationships, in the moment.

    “I feel really seen by you” is not about literally being observed with the eyes, it’s feeling understood. In other words, you and I are connected, and we’re both feeling the mutual understanding that we’ve created.

    Relational feelings are the felt experience of being connected with another human being.

    “I feel you.”

    6. Shadow Feelings

    There’s a bunch of stuff that we think we feel, that aren’t actually feelings. Or they are feelings, but they’re masquerading as something else.

    We’re now into the territory of language games.

    Language births consciousness. But it also warps it. We can say things in language that are impossible to actually experience in reality.

    The philosopher Alfred Korzybski was one of the first to write about this. He pointed out that in language we can talk about the distinction between our bodies and our minds. And yet, if you really look, you can never find the split. It’s always a body-mind. You cannot actually experience one without the other.

    “I feel like I have to work harder to succeed.”

    It’s not a sensation. You can’t find any sensation in your body that’s labeled “I have to work harder.”

    It’s not an emotion either. Or a desire. It could be an intuition. A calling to work harder.

    When I ‘feel’ this feeling though, it’s not an intuition. It’s an assessment.

    Some part of my mental map of the world says that the level of hardness with which I’m working is insufficient.

    And yet if I try and experience the scale of sufficient and insufficient I can’t find it. I’ll discover that my idea of ‘sufficient’ is completely arbitrary.

    This is a shadow feeling.

    And this particular one is simply a ‘belief’. It doesn’t rest on anything true. If you follow it down, you’ll discover that it’s simply a concept, resting on another concept, resting on another concept. There is no solid ground under it.

    There’s no feeling there at all.

    We’re misreading our feelings

    We’re making category errors. We’re mistaking one kind of feeling for another. A lot.

    We misinterpret emotions as intuitions. I feel fear at the prospect of starting a new project (which is utterly inevitable), and yet I misidentify that as an intuition that I’m not meant to be doing it.

    We misinterpret relational feelings as sensations. I experience disconnection with someone close to me, and then ‘feel’ that person has ‘pushed me away’.

    We misinterpret beliefs as emotions. I get pissed off in relation to you, but I then tell you that “I feel you shouldn’t have said that thing to me.”

    We’re confusing our feelings. It gets us into trouble in our relationships, in our businesses. It warps our connection to reality.

    It confuses us, as we walk the winding path toward realizing our work in the world.

    I don’t feel like it

    I was taught that “if it feels too hard, I don’t have to do it if I don’t want to.”

    Which is true. I don’t have to. I don’t have to do anything if I don’t feel like it.

    The freedom to ‘trust my feelings’ growing up has probably given me a much higher level of emotional awareness than many men of my generation.

    But what I’ve had to learn is that the momentary “I don’t feel like it” always contradicts and obscures a deeper feeling.

    I love to write.

    I love the feeling when I can birth something new, and say it in a way I’ve never thought of, or heard someone else say. I love discovering who I am, through writing about what I see.

    It gives me such a sense of fulfillment. Soul deep fulfillment.

    When I imagine myself in 10 years, I imagine a man who’s a recognized writer. The author of published books and the speaker of new ideas.

    That’s something that’s important to me. I want it. I desire it. I feel called to it.

    Yet each morning I wake up, and I don’t want to write.

    “It’s feels too hard” the voice inside me says.

    “You’re not good enough. You won’t write anything good today, better to not try.”

    If I trusted my ‘inner feeling’ I wouldn’t write that day. I’d wait until I felt better. Which is what I did for years. I waited until I felt ‘in the mood’ to write. It meant I wrote occasionally.

    Now I write every morning. Whether I feel like it or not.

    Because I’ve learned to recognize that I’m just feeling afraid. I’m afraid of stepping out of my comfort zone, because I don’t know what’s out there, and I don’t know myself in that unknown place.

    It’s fear. Not intuition. Or desire.

    So I’ve learned to ‘not trust’ that inner feeling.

    Which feels like a much better strategy.

    Ewan Townhead

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  • I started a group coaching program last week. During the session our couch asked us a question.

    “What are you extraordinary at? World class?”

    We were invited to share our answer with everyone.

    I’m English. We don’t like to talk about such things. It’s not polite.

    But I jumped in. And found myself saying that I am an extraordinary writer. It was uncomfortable to say. I hadn’t said it out loud before.

    I remember a couple of summers ago sitting around in the garden one evening drinking wine with a group of close friends. We were with our sifu – our kung fu teacher – and he and I spontaneously invented a game for us all to play.

    We each had to stand up, and tell each other what we were truly great at – what we were better at than any other person we’d ever met.

    I have never seen a group of smart, conscious people get so twitchy. We were literally squirming in our chairs and laughing weirdly. We all felt extraordinarily awkward.

    What is it about speaking of our own extraordinariness that can feel so nauseating?

    I’m not the only one suffering from the affliction. I see it in my friends, my coaching clients, my facebook feed.

    We’re suffering from a virus of equality

    It’s an epidemic. The symptoms?

    Chronic modesty. Cold sweats at the thought of boasting. Severe aversion to the prospect of arrogance. Unremitting reserve.

    It was a wonderful thing when it first infected the populous. It changed people’s minds. It had them see the inherent value and beauty in every single human being, regardless of gender, race, social status or sexual persuasion.

    But somewhere along the way, we lost our right to boast. Or maybe the rules just changed.

    I feel my own aversion when I see someone proclaim their greatness while their heart is closed. Instead of their greatness, I simply see their insecurity, propped up by a proclamation they don’t really feel.

    I feel my own fear, when faced with the prospect of claiming my own extraordinary qualities.

    My friends at school used to call me ‘Mr. Modest’. I wasn’t actually modest, I was just scared of claiming a standard I could fall beneath.

    We like to cut down great people. Find their faults. Condemn their shadow. Discount their brilliance. The higher they reach, the more eagerly we hack at their pedestal.

    But can you feel that tender spot?

    The one underneath the crusty criticism and condemnation? The one where you know all that judgment is just your own un-owned ambition?

    It’s more vulnerable than pain and suffering

    I remember sitting in a circle at a workshop.

    People were telling me I was extraordinary. They told me I looked like Jesus. They wanted to kiss my feet.

    I was in severe pain. Telling them I didn’t want it. That I didn’t ask for it. I was angry. And upset.

    Mostly I was afraid.

    We don’t ask for it do we?

    God doesn’t check with us before giving us phenomenal, world class greatness. We have to live with it. And we have to use it, or get sick, in weird ways.

    I know how incredibly vulnerable it has been, and continues to be, when I admit my extraordinariness. It makes me quake, and squirm, and rebel.

    It feels more vulnerable than owning my shadows and wounds.

    I got a great education in loving my weakness. Loving my greatness?

    I’m still afraid of that one.

    Mostly.

    You’re extraordinary. Let’s celebrate it.

    I know you’re extraordinary. I know you know it too. How much false modesty are you carrying?

    Let’s play a game…

    What are you extraordinary at? Seriously, ask yourself. Take a moment…

    Does it come immediately? Does it surprise you? Excite you? Scare you?

    What are you better at, than everyone you know? Something that when you say it out loud, the stink of your boasting makes your eyes water.

    You’ve got to go audaciously at it. We’re so adhered to modesty, it needs a bit of bending the other way.

    It’s time to boast.

    Ready?

    I’ll go first.

    4 Things I’m extraordinary at

    1. Writing – I’m seriously fucking good at writing. Despite my superego telling me every single time I sit down to write that I’m not. Most people can’t write like I do. I’ve made a lot of people cry with my writing. I move people, inspire people and amaze people with my writing. A dear friend told me once I wrote like Rilke. Not many people can boast that.
    2. Listening to depth – I’m an extraordinary listener. I can listen with deep presence, the kind of space where people share things they’ve never shared before. And, I’m exceptionally good at listening to what is not said. Sooner or later, I’ll pick out the answer to the pattern before anyone else has even realized there’s a question.
    3. Seeing ideal futures – I’m a master at seeing what’s possible. My mind just sees it as a vision, vividly. I can look at something, and use my imagination to repair all the dysfunctions I see, unblock the flow in the system, add time, and describe what it would look like in the future as a result. Like, I’m shit hot at that. And scarily accurate most of the time.
    4. Marketing – I didn’t want to write this one. Because I have an exceptionally ambivalent relationship to marketing. But I have skills. You know what I’m sayin’? My super-charged strategic mind can map out master plans, and my writing and charisma craft compelling stories. My marketing talents have made a lot of money for myself and others the last few years.

    OK, your turn

    Put on your boasting socks, and strut your stuff.

    The more it makes you squirm the truer it is (probably).

    Own it, and it won’t own you.

    Speak it, and it will speak through you.

    You’re incredible. I know it. You know. So proclaim it.

    What are you truly extraordinary at?

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    Ewan Townhead

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  • It is I who am your greatest longing.

    I long for you to open yourself and receive all that is.

    For when you do so my dear, you will realize that there is only This. Only Love.

    Can you feel me when you are moved?

    Can you feel that there is no other way but to surrender yourself to the beautiful pain that is the very substance of This?

    Can you be ignorant enough to allow that which you don’t realize you know?

    Can you be big enough to feel that which is bleeding for you, in every moment?

    As I sit here, looking out over the fields of a simpler existence, I feel the sadness. Not of loss, or not having, but of that which I dare not fully allow myself to feel.

    Out there, beyond the trees is a golden sun, waiting to burn you up in its glorious fire.

    Can you allow yourself to burn in Love and release that in you which is not really alive?

    14604002_mI am so in love in with my own reflection.

    I’ve worked very hard to preen his image, and yet I hate him for it. I hate him for being something untouchable, like the stranger in the mirror. A reflection of something I invented.

    Every crumb of suffering I am fed has the same elusive imprint.

    And as I invite the taste of them in just enough, so as to follow the trail back to the one that dropped them, they lead to the same lakeside.

    The one where I’ve forgotten who I really am.

    The one where before I knew how to, I created an image in the water, and loved him so desperately.

    I cry for him, as I hate him for stealing my skin and pulling the strings of innocence.

    I curse him for doing all he can to keep his own freedom. He who has been my greatest love, and my oldest friend. So delicate.

    And yet, as I feed him I starve. And I am so very hungry. Hungry for the beauty that I am. Hungry for the space that I am asked to exhibit.

    I love you my young friend, so very dearly. You are everything I thought I wanted.

    You are nothing like me, and for that I love you unconditionally, as I offer you up.

    Remember. There is only This. Only love.

    Ewan Townhead

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  • “It’s not about you Ewan. It’s not about you! What right do you have to say people aren’t worthy of your help? That you aren’t worthy of theirs!? What right!? It’s blocking you. You’re not fully giving your gifts to the world.”

    Her words echoed around my consciousness for weeks.

    As any great friend would do, she’d let me have it. The loving sledgehammer applied with precision to a fragile pride. My heart felt the truth in her words immediately.

    My ego felt rather grumpy about the whole thing.

    “What the hell do you mean it’s not about me? I’m very special don’t you know!”

    When I think of ego I think of a small child. One who has just discovered their will, and power. I want does get.

    “Look at me mommy, I’m climbing really high, look at me, look at me!”

    Yes, dear.

    And we celebrate it don’t we? It’s new and fresh, and beautiful.

    But it doesn’t stop with children.

    “I just made $12,000 in a single phone call. It was so easy. This is the sign of progress, and really owning your power. All you need to do is just believe in yourself, just like I did, and you can have anything you want, whenever you want. Look, I’ve got 274 facebook likes on this already. Wow, it’s so simple!”

    It may be dressed up in adult drag, but it’s the same voice at the core. “Look at me, look at me! I’m a big boy!”

    At some point appropriateness kicks in.

    Just like it’s generally not appropriate to shit in our pants past the age of 3, it’s probably not the best idea to wave a 3 year old ego about when you’re 33 or 63.

    But hold on, let’s also put this in perspective.

    Getting an Ego is a Groundbreaking Move

    It’s a developmental stage.

    In child development, the development of the ego is paradigm shift in perspective. Groundbreaking. Suddenly you can see your own identity as distinct from everything around you. You’re no longer fused. You are you.

    “I’m TOM! And I like trains!”

    You can possess things, want things, have things, take things.

    The ego transformed culture too.

    It enabled people to determine want they did and did not want. To realize they could take it or defend it. They had their own power. It’s what enabled humanity to move from small tribes, to big powerful clans.

    It was a totally groundbreaking shift. And, it was also 10,000 years ago now.

    We don’t consider it particularly cool or honorable to just take other people’s stuff anymore. What was once paradigm-busting, is now hopelessly insufficient for our ideals.

    I Have an Ego Apparently

    And then it happened.

    I got hit over the head by a priestess.

    “It’s not about you Ewan. It’s not about you!”

    What? But surely it’s about me? I’m the one impacting people, blowing their minds, transforming their lives. I’m the one they’re paying a lot of money to, to coach them. What do you mean, it’s not about me!?

    Of course, my heart actually knows already. I’ve known all along. Much to the annoyance of my partner.

    “Stop being a moron Ewan, why do you always make it about you?”

    She’s a priestess too, and relentless in her teaching of me. I hazard to think what would happen to my ego without her.

    My ego thinks about what would happen without her a great deal.

    “Freedom! No more complaints! As much lazy, bullshit self delusion as I can stomach!”

    Today it sounds like hell. Sometimes, it still sounds like heaven.

    Apparently I need to be reminded. A lot.

    It’s not about me, or propping up some idea of who I need to be to feel worthy. It’s about answering the call, burning through the karma that is required, and serving those I’m sent to help.

    I forget that sometimes. So, thanks to the women, and two in particular, for reminding me.

    And What About You?

    This is the part where I want to not make it about me, and make it about you instead. Because then I’ll be ‘serving you’. Or something like that.

    But what I actually want to say is…

    You’re amazing, and beautiful, and powerful. You are worthy, by the grace of being alive. You are as worthy as worthy gets.

    It’s just that you have to open your heart wide to truly remember that. And there are a squillion reasons not to do that.

    For me, they’re all some variation on “Fuck that! I’m not going to show the real me, no-one will love that!”

    My coach said to me: “what would happen next week Ewan, if you just didn’t make it about you?”

    It felt like such a yummy question.

    So, I’m posting this blog…that’s about me. Except it’s not really. It’s about each and every one of us, and how we’re all scared to truly show up in one way or another.

    I know I’m outing myself, because my ego is begging me not to show it to you.

    It’s saying, “you can’t post something that’s almost all about you”.

    Ha, the irony.

    So, here’s to not making it about me. Or you.

    What would happen today if you didn’t make it about you?

    Ewan Townhead

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