The Spiral of Becoming

Rewind to May 2024.

I was thick in a season of change and transformation. I was systematically scrutinizing my patterns, habits, choices and desires. I was actively challenging old stories, assumptions and declarations I’d made (and clung to) about who I thought I was, and what I did and didn’t do. Generally speaking, I was getting myself unstuck from much of what had been holding me back from living a happier and fuller version of my Self and my life. I’d finally found a methodology to bridge the gap between all that I’ve studied, practiced and taught for more than twenty five years and making it real in my life in a consistent and practical way.

Of the many realizations I came to in that time, one of the most important ones was the truth that there’s much more life behind me than ahead. It was time to dig in and dig myself out of unhappiness and suffering of my own design. It was time to have a good long think about what I still wanted to do and create in this life, and to get down and do it.

And so I did a thing. I wrote a book.

I’d had the notion—and lots of encouragement—to write a book for many years. It was something I vaguely wanted to do, but not in an urgent way. Not because I wanted to Be An Author. Not because I had dreams of the NYT Bestseller list. But because I wanted to see what was in there, deep inside me, still waiting to come out. I wanted to pull from the best of these posts I’ve been writing for 17 years and weave old thoughts with new thoughts together into something that might just serve as a guide for other seekers on the path. I wanted the challenge of setting out to complete a monumental task and seeing it through for the sake of doing it—opening to whatever I might learn along the way.

I made a clear plan: Take everything I know about a daily practice, discipline and non-attachment, and create a writing practice—every bit as sacred as my daily morning practice. The plan was 52 days to write 52 chapters. My guidelines were simple: write daily-ish. When I didn’t feel like it. When I thought it was great. When I thought it absolutely sucked and was painful to read. When it was fun. When it was horrible. When I could see the point. When I believed in the depths of my soul it was entirely pointless. Write, consistently, without attachment to the results. Practice for the sake of practice. Practice for the sake of learning, expansion, and growth.

It took me 65 days to write 52 chapters—about 74,000 words—the closest I’ll ever get to running a marathon. I did the thing. I learned so much.

I had big plans for the editing and publishing process. But here I am fifteen months later with the process still incomplete (for now). I have spent plenty of moments in the corner with my inner critic, on the receiving end of much inquiry, castigation and admonishment. But the truth is, deep down I’ve known it wasn’t time. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know why I wasn’t ready, but the energy I had been riding to write the initial manuscript and get through the first round of edits had ceased. There’s no pushing the river. Rather, there’s no point in pushing the river.

As I complete another round in the spiral of becoming, I recognize that here I am, still learning. Here are just two of those lessons:

Lesson 1: When I’m not in a rush and when I am fully the observer of myself and this experience, I realize that I’m learning as much in the waiting as I did in the writing. I think this is true for any kind of waiting. I approached this project as a spiritual practice, which I think all creative work is, and yet once the first draft was done, I tried to turn it into a productivity project. Thank you forever, Jen Davis: process over product, over and over and over and over again. The waiting is part of the process, not the in-between. Just as the creation did, completion will occur in diving timing and collaboration with my soul. Not the timing in my mind.

Lesson 2: I have been in the business of transformation for a long, long time. I know for sure that it’s not about doing, it’s about becoming. Who must I become in order to hold the next thing? I wrote from one level of Self. More growth needed to happen in me to complete it.

The book was never the goal. My own evolution was. The creation that matters most is what happened and continues to occur inside of me. And so I am reclaiming non-attachment and spaciousness. I’m continuing to do the work. And, if I’m honest, I’m feeling the stirrings of forward motion or I’d likely not be so compelled to share this with you. When we force, we lose the sacred thread. When we pause, we have the opportunity to reconnect with Truth.

I feel like the river is starting to move again; the next phase gathering itself. I’m also sure it’s not on my timeline. So, I wonder about you. Where in your life are you forcing the river? Where are you waiting for something to move, but perhaps it is internal movement in you that must happen first? What might be possible if you paused and gently returned to the deeper truth underneath your timeline?

If you’d like to follow along on this journey www.jillsockman.com