I’ve been unpredictably weepy lately, and the
most recent thing that got me was, of all things, comedian Bryan Callen on the
Joe Rogan podcast. I’m not familiar with Bryan Callen’s work, but in the
interview, he seemed keenly intelligent, well-rounded, and well-read. I was enjoying
his long-form chat with Joe, when Bryan pulled out from nowhere a letter that
famous dancer and choreographer Martha Graham wrote to Agnes DeMille:
“There’s a
vitality, a life force, a quickening, that is translated through you into
action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is
unique. If you block it, it will never exist through any other medium, and will
be lost. The world will not have it. And it is not your business to determine
how good it is, or how valuable it is, or how it compares to other expressions.
It’s your business to keep it yours, clearly and directly, and keep the channel
open. You don’t even have to believe in yourself or your work. You only have to
keep open and aware of the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No
artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatsoever at any time, there is
only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching
and makes us more alive than the others.”
I rolled back the podcast numerous times to
re-listen to that through my tears. What’s so amazing about those words is that
they don’t just apply to artists, or self-defined artists. They apply to warriors,
to healers, to parents, to executives, and to anyone who is doing the work they
are supposed to be doing on this earth, whatever that is. There should be a restlessness in us, a
chronic dissatisfaction and hunger that pushes us onwards to higher
achievement, that “blessed unrest” that drives us to do more, to try harder, to
never be complacent. Yet there is also our self-doubt--I spend a great deal of
time trying to determine how good my writing is, how valuable it is, and more
than anything, how it compares to others. So there is a dichotomy there between
the doubt and the belief, the open channel and the constant questioning of the
worth of our work. I don’t know what the answer is, I only know that the hunger
is good, the unrest is good, and that a lack of satisfaction is a spiritual
path in and of itself. I feel it constantly, and I am glad for it.
Speaking of wanting more—my regular gym jacked up
their drop-in rates to over double what they were a few months ago, so in a fit
of temper, I joined a cheaper, less bells-and-whistles joint just down the street
from them. Part of my membership included a discounted package with a fitness
trainer, so in a moment of recklessness, I decided to sign up for a “consultation”
(sales pitch) to see if I wanted to commit to the training package. I met with
the trainer armed with an agenda: I have a bad knee and therefore I will under
no circumstances “do squats,” I have no athletic ability so you can’t expect
anything from me, I’m only here to strengthen my upper body so I have more
stamina at the gun range, and going to the gym is really boring and you can’t force
me to like it.
I don’t know what I expected from a personal
trainer—I sort of envisioned an annoying, ripped young college-aged jock-dude jumping
around and yelling “get after it!” as I panted on the treadmill—but what I got
was different. My trainer is a slight-bodied, calm, self-possessed older male with a strong
sense of focus and a very methodical approach. He pushed back swiftly on my “no squats” decree, and he was visibly wounded
at my declaration that the gym is boring, but once we got past that, he seemed
to understand my agenda and get on board with it. The entire first session was
bewilderingly sedate—he was hyper-focused on “form”, and took me through a
series of very low-key warm-ups wherein he asked me to do rudimentary movements
and “focus on how my body feels.” At first, I was puzzled. Why on earth would I
want to know how my body “feels”? I spend my entire day avoiding that sort of knowledge
for my own survival. But once I did the warm-ups, I did get some valuable
information; mainly that my left shoulder really hurts, and that I can actually
do very shallow squats without knee pain. He showed me how to use a free weight
machine for upper-body strengthening, and how to be precise in my form, which I
appreciate. (More and more in life, I am coming to value precision.) He was
quietly encouraging. I’ll see him every Monday for the next eight weeks, so we’ll
see how it goes. If he can make the gym even slightly less dull for me, I’ll consider
it a victory.
And, I miss my dad. I really miss my dad…I was
just complaining to him not too long ago about how obsessed personal trainers
are with squats, and he scoffed right along with me about it. He would think it
was funny that this trainer insisted that I do squats. My dad was not a
reckless scofflaw, but nor was he a fan of authority. In future blog posts, I’ll
tell you some stories…some of which involve military police pulling guns on him.
Let’s just say my dad needed a little excitement every now and then.
Here is every online workout brag-video ever.
(You can skip through the annoying ad at roughly the one-minute mark.)
--Kristen McHenry
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