Why Do You Even Notice Them?

Why don’t they annoy you? All these things come together into a set of signals that this person is sending, and for some reason these signals jolt you. Every specific thing about them is heightened. But why? your friend asks you. The unlaced boots, the fork, the bag, why do you respond to them the way you do? Why do you even notice them at all? You can’t say. This person happens to be sending out signals that you pick up on, and that resonate with you in a way that delights and intrigues you. Meeting them for the hundredth time feels like the first time. I don’t know, you confess to your friend. It all just works for me. This same instinctive response occurs in the face of all moments, activities, and contexts in your life. Each activity, each interaction is emotionally charged, either positive or negative. Each moment hits you, you take it in, and it either lifts you up a little or drags you down a little. No moment leaves you at zero.

Stress Is The Worst Thing

It’s as if your life is sending you signals every day, and you’ve been wired to love some of these signals and to ignore, or even loathe, loads of others. As with romantic love, these signals that you love are instinctive, individual, and unexplainable. You walk into a tile store, and it’s as if you’ve walked into a symphony. Every stone, every surface, every pattern seems to be calling out to you, asking you to delight in its fine shadings, its slight variations. It’s almost too loud for you, so many voices, so many possibilities, and you think to yourself, I’ve never seen so much variety in my entire life! Then your sister taps you on the shoulder and says, Look, we’ve got fifteen minutes in here. If you could just help me find something that’ll go with the sofa, then we’ll have plenty of time to hit Target and buy some trash cans. And you, well, you don’t quite know what to say. You’re in your own world. Instinctively, you find yourself wanting to stay all day. Whereas your sister’s instincts take you both out of the store as fast as possible. She can’t see what you see, or feel what you feel. The meeting had ended quickly, and he’d rushed off somewhere, and so now you’re walking through the building trying to find him.

Feel A Whole Lot Better

Come on, says your teammate. Leave it till tomorrow. It can wait. But it can’t. What happened with your customer was wrong, and when you see something wrong, it gnaws at you until you confront the person and make it right. Some people shy away from tough conversations, but for you they aren’t tough. They are easy and straightforward, and getting them done energizes you. Your teammate, confused and annoyed, leaves you as you instinctively go check just one more conference room. One of the many things you will have to learn on your journey is that no one knows what your instincts are better than you. Someone else can tell you if they liked your tile choices, or if they felt you confronted your colleague effectively. But only you know which activities you’re instinctively drawn to, and which ones you aren’t. You are the wisest person in your world.

A Bruise In Your Mind

Ever since I can remember, I’ve instinctively volunteered to be onstage. The nativity play put on by our local church was so exciting because each year the neighborhood kids got to audition and then perform for seven whole nights and one matinee during Christmas week. I didn’t have a guaranteed role, but I didn’t care. Each year I looked forward to the entire audition process, and would start prepping months before the date of the auditions was announced. Which, in retrospect, is strange, since I never got the part I wanted. One year I was angling for a king, didn’t mind which of the three. I got the Peter instead. The next year, I pinned my hopes on Joseph. I called him again. This year, I told myself, this is the year I get some lines. Of course, it wasn’t was it? You see, since my very first efforts to speak, I had failed to. I had a stutter, or a stammer, as we called it. A stutterer, is freakishly long, designed to stop fluency, dam everything up, leaving me hooked and thrashing on the long line of my own name. And unlike other tricky words that I could find a smoother substitute for, my own name could not be avoided, particularly on the first day of school. I get out of the car, and Mom hands me off to the older lad welcoming us, who, in all innocence, asks my name. Marcus becomes one long Mmmmm, and after about thirty seconds, I give up. Pretending it didn’t happen, we both walk quietly into the classroom. The teacher asks the older lad my name. I am not quite sure, the lad replies. He couldn’t say. He didn’t say? The teacher asks. This stammer let me down. Everyone could see it. Those nice church people were just trying to save me from myself. His instincts are off. He doesn’t really want to be stuck on a stage, stammering away. Let him audition, and then give him the donkey and Doubting Thomas. It’s the right thing to do. Sweet as they were, they were wrong. They didn’t know better. It wasn’t the right thing to do. My instincts to get up on a stage and try to talk, those instincts turned out to be so prescient and wise that they defined, in the end, the entire course of my life. The same will prove true for you. These instincts are the first sign of love. And they have wisdom within them. So ask yourself, What do I find myself instinctively raising my hand for? Left entirely to your own devices, which activities or situations seem to pull you toward them?