“I’m worried that someone will steal my idea.”
Sometimes that thought will:
– prevent you from moving forward on your project
– prevent you from talking to people (some of whom could help you) about your project
– keep you stuck
– keep you in “getting ready to get ready” mode
– make you paranoid and suspicious (ick)
And since we want you to be in a state that is clear, flowing and free from psychological impediments, let’s see if we can’t unpack that anxiety a bit.
First of all: I don’t believe that it is possible to steal an idea. But let’s try it, just to see. I would like you, right now, to COPY someone else’s work. That’s right. Pick a piece you like (a book, a painting, a song, a jewelry design…whatever medium you like) and plagiarize. Copy that piece as closely as you can. Write in the style of that author, sculpt in the style of that sculptor, play in the style of that musician. As much as possible, try to mimic them exactly.
How’d you do?
My guess is that it still came out more like you than like them. (But let me know, OK?)
I will tell you that Elvis Costello actually recommends this practice to beginning songwriters. His theory is that by attempting to mimic the artists you admire, you will both develop your own voice and also learn some of what makes your heroes great.
So even if someone does steal your idea, they can’t do with it what you can do with it. Only you can execute your ideas your way.
Secondly, people who steal tend to have pretty lousy karma, and chances are that “your” idea will eventually just turn to dust in their hands. While you, as a creative genius, are a never-ending fountain of ideas! You can just create and create and create. Someone steals your idea? Bless them and let them go. You’ve got an even better idea coming down the pike right now.
Finally, the fact that more than one person is promoting “your” idea is actually great for business. After all, the Impressionists wouldn’t have made nearly as much of an impression if there had been only one of them.
So take whatever precautions seem prudent (register dramatic works with the WGA, ask for non-disclosure agreements when appropriate, check with experts: an entertainment lawyers, literary agents, whomever…) but please don’t keep your work to yourself.
The world needs your art, and if they need so badly that they have to steal it, well, then, perhaps you’d better just give it to them.
Here’s how I know: because if you really needed to lose weight, you’d be doing it already.
In the same way that you always feel like you need more money, but it’s when the rent is due (or those shoes go on sale) that you actually find the money.
So if you’ve been torturing yourself about how you look and you are letting your mind be filled up with an endless swirl of thoughts like, “Why is my belly like that? And my hips. I used to be so much thinner. I should go to the gym. That girl over there is so skinny. I wish I looked like that. I wonder if I should try hula-hooping or pole dancing? Silly. I wish I could just snap my fingers and change my body. Maybe a juice fast? I don’t really like juice….”
(Familiar?)
Then I am here to tell you right now: CUT IT OUT.
(Now, clearly, if your weight is a medical issue and you still aren’t doing anything about it, then you must just rally all of your internal strength and get a bunch of people to help you right now. Seriously. I don’t care if you are thin or not, but I do care that you stay alive.)
I have a little story for you.
Here’s what happened:
I was meditating the other day (and, as usual, half-running my list of complaints about myself) when I suddenly felt a BOLT of energy – like a wrecking ball of energy had just hit me square in the chest – and I suddenly saw the complete absurdity of my endless self-criticizing.
1) I have a BEAUTIFUL life.
2) Life is very, very short.
Therefore, for me to spend ONE MINUTE obsessing about something as trivial as my weight is not just ridiculous, it’s a bit obscene. In the way that having a bowling alley in a private home is a bit obscene.
I was suddenly shocked at myself. That I would spend even one minute of this glorious life beating myself up seemed, at the very, very least, pitifully ungrateful.
I seized a pen and wrote:
My Poor, Ever-Lovin’ Body…
My precious, delightful, ungainly, grace-filled body
That has lived through
So much neglect
So much disdain
…and you have only ever loved me
Breathing for me even when I forget
Patient so patiently waiting for me to love you
Or even like you a little bit.
You always do your best
Even with me disapproving all the time
Oh the things I have said about you
Still you helped me as best you could.
Stockholm Syndrome.
Tell me what I’ve done
Show me every scar
Each tender spot
I’m noticing how soft your skin is
Right here
Right here
And this light I see in your eyes
How could I ever miss how beautiful you are?
© 2011 Samantha Bennett
So, as a consequence of that blazing moment I have started a new spiritual discipline:
I have spent the last several days mentally refusing to worry about how my body looks.
And I gotta tell you, it is appalling how many times an hour I start to think, “Oh, my weight is so…” and then I have to say to myself, “Stop. Think about something more interesting.”
And then 3 minutes later I’m right back. “My thighs…” and then, “Stop. Think about something more interesting.”
I cannot begin to count the amount of time I have spent over the years just idly hating myself.
Well, as of now, I am reclaiming that time and that mental energy.
I have made a sign for over my desk that says:
IF YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT YOUR WEIGHT YOU ARE JUST BORED.
GET BACK IN THE GAME.
And I challenge you to do the same.
Let me know how it goes, OK?
Having Trouble Communicating With An Overworked Partner?
This totally made me puddle up. I think Audrey sets a fine example for us all 🙂
“Hi Samantha!
I am on your email list and receive your beautiful poems and ideas.
I just wanted to thank you cause those emails have been inspiring for me.
I recently wrote something for my boyfriend that I titled: In Praise of The Stressed Worker inspired by your poems and that was the only way I could reach his heart. Everything else didn’t work but that poem that I did – more for me in honor of him – really spoke to him.
So thank you for the inspiration and also for all the love and understanding of others.
Thank you,
Audrey”
When everything starts to feel out of control, it’s easy to get hard. Hard-headed, hardhearted and hard to get along with.
When we get rigid, we often try to exert some autocratic form of control (“Get into bed right now, young lady!”) which leaves everyone feeling alone and depleted.
Next time your world starts spinning, take a deep breath and concentrate on softening your heart.
Let me know what happens, OK?
Attribution Some rights reserved by C. K. Hartman
Or schedule a concert.
Or a recital or “an evening with…” or a first rehearsal or a meeting with a mentor or…
I double-dog dare you.
I know. You think you’re over it.
You’re old, you’re tired, you’ve already tried it, it’s somebody else’s turn, who cares, you’re over it, no way, not again, oh, please, forget it plus what’s the use anyway…
I feel that way too, sometimes. It’s usually a sign that I need to take a rest. Possibly several rests.
Discouragement and battle-fatigue get to all of us eventually, but the only real problem comes when you start to feel that despair is a permanent condition.
Because it’s not.
Your spirit (once it gets some rest) is an irredeemable optimist.
Your heart’s true nature is: exuberance.
Your mind is always turning toward the better, the improving, the, “well, we could try…”
And maybe those little green sprigs of hopeful thoughts cause you to groan.
“Oh, not again…” you sigh.
But, yes. Again.
And again.
And again.
And again and again and again and again and again and again and again.
And then a few thousand more times.
Because that is your real self – as resilient as a child and as bouyant as a red balloon. It’s OK. It’s the human condition. We’re tinkerers, improvers, dreamers, thinkers, grass-is-always-greener-ers.
We keep moving. (That’s the hunter-gatherer in us – always on to the next idea.)
Here’s my test: as long as you still have a solid sense of humor about Whatever-It-Is that’s wearing you out, then you’re OK.
If, however, you are feeling rather consistently grim and humorless, then it’s time for a new strategy. So rest. Do whatever it is you do to get your mojo back. Then look around, see where you are and check out the little new ideas that have started dancing around your head.
See – there you go again – dreaming new dreams. For all of us.
Thank you for that.
