The Hidden Way

I’m going to be honest: sometimes I write because I have something I need to say to myself. This is one of those times.

And here’s one more disclaimer: this is not a post about dance. But it does begin with dance, because that’s one of the clearest lenses through which I see the world.

The idea behind these words has been formulating since October 2, 2018, otherwise known as World Ballet Day. A popular practice among dancers on this day is to post artistic photos of themselves in lovely dance poses on social media with captions about how much and why they love ballet. A caption I’ve seen more than once on this day runs along the lines of, “Are you even a dancer if you don’t post a photo on #WorldBalletDay?”

I guess I’m not a dancer.

Which is funny, because I am. And yet even I can feel intimidated by these perfectly polished and filtered photos, or by the videos dancers post of themselves doing impressive tricks. I can only imagine how non-dancers might feel: inspired by beauty, maybe, but also walking away with the impression that all dancers love every minute of what they do and have perfect lives. They don’t see all of what’s hidden behind these pictures. They don’t see the grueling hard work, endless repetition, exhaustion, frustration, injuries, disappointments, unhappiness. In short, they don’t see the humanity.

Of course, dancers aren’t the only ones who may be guilty of only putting their best foot forward (forgive the pun) on social media – we all know this. Instagram allows us to curate our lives to an eagerly scrolling world. It allows us to showcase only our best, most representative, most dramatic or exciting moments, alongside the more ordinary ones like an hour spent with coffee and a book, but even those are carefully arranged so as to proclaim, Don’t mind me, I’m just living my best life over here. I mean, I’m as guilty as anyone of this. But I’m starting to question our attitude as a culture towards this trend. I work at a bakery, and sometimes people order cakes with elaborate designs for almost the sole purpose of posting photos of it on Instagram. Really? People post about the peaceful, solitary afternoon they spent at a lake to get away from it all. Doesn’t that seem a bit ironic? And now we have people essentially questioning my very career or identity based on whether or not I post photos of myself doing it. Seriously?

Here’s my point. I’m afraid we have lost the value of the hidden and unseen in our culture – the behind-the-scenes, if you will. We want to share and applaud the visible tip of the iceberg, but in so doing, I wonder if we pretend that the monumental remainder of the iceberg beneath the surface simply doesn’t exist. Why do I post photos of my dinner plate, but not photos of me making meal plans, writing grocery lists, squeezing in a trip to the store between the rest of my busy life, crying as I’m chopping onions, setting the table, stressing over the food not being ready when it’s supposed to be? Because everyone does that stuff and it’s just ordinary, right? It’s just, you know, life. So I start to conclude that all we must really care about is the end product. The performance, if you will. The part that’s glamorous and impressive. The part we want people to see.

And indeed there will be time…
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet…

And where does that leave us? Well – it leaves us with the lingering idea that only the tiny piece of what we do that others can see is what actually matters.

What I need to tell myself by writing this is that that is simply not true.

I’m personally in a season of needing to slow down. I could enumerate all the things I did last fall leading up to Christmas, but suffice it to say that I totally burned myself out and was left exhausted by the time the holidays arrived. To drive the point home, I got sick three times between mid-December and mid-January, and I’ve still got a lingering cough. Looking back over my planner from last year actually scared me. Here’s what I realized: I’m passionate about a lot of things, which is both a blessing and a curse. I do a lot of things. My friends even comment on how many things I manage to do. Usually I smile at this. But actually I’m hiding the intense stress all these things cause me. Sure, I can do them all, and I can appear okay on the outside, but the truth is that my spirit is withering inside. My soul is not at peace. My mind can’t focus anymore. My emotions are all over the place. So in the end, what did it all mean? What does it profit me to gain the whole world, but lose my soul?

It’s taken literal years of nonstop stress and busyness and serious overachievement to get me to this point. I don’t even remember the last time I didn’t feel at least a little frazzled. I’ve bought into the culture I’ve been surrounded by, and I’ve felt myself become less reflective, more shallow, more focused on the externals and on my own performance and on my achievements and on how I’m working towards my goals, and how everyone sees it and knows it. After all, the concept of “hustle” has somehow morphed from something to be avoided, to a mantra we plaster on coffee mugs and applaud. No wonder we’re all stressed. We’re just trying to keep up.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.

The truth is that filling up my time and mental space so very full has led to what I actually value getting crowded out. I wrote in May that leaving my six-day-a-week job would give me more time to devote to my spiritual and inner life. I realize now that I must’ve thought that would happen by accident. Did I not know that would have to be intentional? Did I not understand that I would have to carve out mental space as well as schedule space in order to allow for that?

And it gets even more raw: there are many days when I get irritated by the call that comes in from a family member, the friend who asks for a favor, the dishes that need to be washed, the husband who wants to be conversed with, the food that needs to be cooked, the errands that need to be run, the healthy habits that need to be cultivated, the prayer journal that needs to be written in so that I don’t go crazy keeping all these thoughts in my head. And why do these things get on my nerves? Because they all get in the way of my to-do list. Wayne Stiles says it this way: “We may have a lot more to offer the world…but is more the goal? Is maximizing our output the priority? When the daily and mundane responsibilities of life (spouse, home, health, children) seem to get in the way of our productivity, we need to stop and consider if productivity has become a way to justify personal fulfillment over personal faithfulness.”

Ouch.

So I had to make a couple tough decisions in January and finally commit to slowing down. Partly that involved a decision to not be involved in a dance performance this semester. Although I know I would have enjoyed it, it also would have been just one more thing on the weekly calendar, one more thing to think about and devote energy to. So I said no. I expected to feel relieved. Instead, I felt aching disappointment. Tears were shed. I became angry. Why do I have to give up things I love in order to get healthy again? Why can’t I do it all? Why can’t I put my best foot forward and be seen?

The point I had to come to, through a lot of tearful conversation with my husband, is that it isn’t about the decision itself. It’s about why I’m making the decision. I don’t know much, but I do know that if I don’t slow down, I’ll be ignoring the gentle warning voices of God, family, friends, and my own gut sense. I might go so far as to say I’d be disobeying God. It’s not about the performance. It’s about what’s going on under the surface, and whether that is healthy.

It’s really, really hard to start living this way. Because it’s completely counter-cultural. It means letting go of the very opportunities that everyone says you should take, that you want to post pictures of to show the world all the great things you’re doing. It means holding back and saying no when everyone would applaud your yes. It means letting go of what’s good in order to make room for what’s best. Why don’t I do this more? Because, frankly, sometimes it’s just easier and more fun to keep building my castles in the sand and ignore the fact that I’m sinking.

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

Here’s another thing: I live my life according to a whole lot of “should”. A professional dancer should take advantage of as many performing opportunities as possible. A skilled housewife should keep to a regular cleaning regimen. A good friend should spend this or that much time with people. A nice person should say yes to everything and everyone. A health nut should exercise this many times and eat these things but not those. A writer should be writing every day. Or at least every week. Oh, and on World Ballet Day, a true dancer and ballet lover should post a photo. And the list of should goes on and on and on.

Guess what? There is no one right way to do life or to do any one career or to find balance. It isn’t all about the visible and the impressive and the stage lights and the glamour. It’s not about what you do. It’s about who you are becoming. And the work of becoming happens far more in all the unseen moments, the hidden moments, the unglamorous and not Insta-worthy moments, than it does in the moments we choose to share and celebrate.

Recently, through Zechariah 4:10, God has been inviting me to not despise the day of small things. Here’s how I think that applies right now: life is made up of an abundance of small things. Ordinary things feel small. Resting feels small. Going to the grocery store, or chopping vegetables for dinner, or cleaning the counter, or catching up with a friend – these all feel small. Slowing down makes me feel small. And right now, when I’m not doing a lot that has tangible output, when I’ve got no dance performances on the horizon at the moment, when I’m working a couple of intermediary part-time jobs, when I’m trying to make space in my schedule to rest, when I’m in the middle of a book project that I’d hoped would be super inspired and finished in a matter of months but the reality is that I haven’t had time to actually write in over two months and because I’m not publicly updating my word count I feel like I’m not a writer anymore and I’m scared to death that I’m totally inadequate and totally pretentious – well, frankly I feel pretty small. I feel kind of useless. I feel like I’m falling behind, while everyone else seems to be out there doing great things.

But I wonder: maybe I simply don’t see myself in correct perspective to God until I let myself feel small like this. And I suspect a major lie I have bought into is that I need to make a name for myself, instead of simply resting in the fact that God has already called me by name and given me his name.

Instead, I fall under the pressure of believing that I must hustle, continually make and meet goals, be constantly productive, be skinny and fit, be pursuing every possible career-related opportunity, and probably if I start taking back my margin, then I’m being lazy. Right? Oh, and in my current form I am not beautiful enough, thin enough, talented enough, productive enough, accomplished enough, or “out there” enough – but don’t worry, with enough hard work, you can reach all your goals. Just don’t get complacent; constantly take risks. Become the best possible version of you. Prove yourself.

You know what? I’m tired.

And sometimes, giving myself permission to move slow just feels really, really good. And guess what? Life takes a lot of time to live. All the ordinary, in-between moments take up a whole lot of time. And that’s okay. That’s good. That’s beautiful.

And right alongside that, it’s also okay to cry about the opportunities I’m having to say no to. It’s okay to be sad about the me I’m choosing to leave behind for now, the one who did all the things and has all the memories and photos to prove it. It’s okay to enter a new season. It’s okay to slow down and choose the hidden way for a little while.

Stiles says, “Too often, to keep up appearances, we’ll water our leaves and lengthen our limbs – and neglect our roots. We’ll give priority to the visible and impressive and assume the unseen will care for itself. But nobody ever grows spiritually by accident. It is a daily decision. Our externals often appear impressive. But what about the silent and unseen parts of our lives? What about the roots?”

Well, I’ve done a lot of external things, to polish my image and “be better”, but that’s only the leaves and limbs. Maybe it’s time to finally let the deeply important things, those daily, unseen, silent things, take root again. And not just to acknowledge that they exist. To applaud them.

But I’ll be honest: I’m afraid. This goal-setting, task-oriented, type A, chronically stressed overachiever frequently despairs of ever being able to change.

Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

I thought about this question. And here’s how God answered.

I have seen his ways, but I will heal him;
I will lead him and restore comfort to him…
Peace, peace, to the far and to the near,
and I will heal him.
(Is. 57:18-19)

I guess there is hope for me yet. And I guess that maybe we can learn not to despise the day of small things, but instead to welcome it. To applaud it. To value the unseen, the slow, the routine, the mundane, and the human just as much as we value the big and the flashy and the polished and the transcendent.

And so I will end with an answer to the question our culture is asking. Are you even a dancer if I can’t see you at your very best? Are you even anything at all if you’re still on a slow and hidden journey, and you don’t even know where you’ll end up just yet?

Resoundingly YES.

Your life is your life. Your pace is your pace. WHAT A GIFT.
–Emily P. Freeman

Note: Unmarked quotations in italics throughout are from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot.