Your weekly dose of Alluviance!
I recently watched one of those montages that Apple creates from old photos -- memories from high school, college, and beyond. This time, it was from my oldest friend, Ryan. As I looked at these pictures, I saw an older version of myself, and a strange sadness washed over me. In those images, I recognized someone deeply insecure, lonely, and confused. His shoulders were hunched, his face was tense, and his arms were constantly crossed, hiding an underlying sadness.
That version of me cared so much about what others thought of him -- desperate for acceptance. And so, to compensate for feeling not good enough or different, I threw myself into achievement. Over the last 10 to 15 years, I became really good at it. The LinkedIn followers, the houses I’ve bought, the job titles, the Instagram likes. It was all part of the strategy to mask that inner insecurity.
In the language of Internal Family Systems, I had an "exiled" part of me, the insecure part, while the "firefighter" achiever part worked tirelessly to prove I was good enough. And I became so efficient at this compensation strategy that not being busy or productive made me feel uncomfortable. High achievement became my identity.
But lately, I’ve been rethinking this. The idea of a "dojo" resonates with me -- a space dedicated to mastering the basics, and in this case, the basics of being, not just doing. A few weeks ago, I hit a breaking point. I was so burnt out from trying to keep up