I find it fascinating that I can have a conversation with certain people and I always know I’ll walk away from it with some kind of useful insight. One of those people is Chris Garrett, blogger extraordinaire and co-author of what I consider to be one of seminal books on our craft, “ProBlogger“.
Unfortunately we didn’t get a lot of chances to talk at the recent SOBCon conference in Chicago, but when we did, it didn’t take long for us to dive into the philosophical pool.
Even when we weren’t trying.
It was a light discussion about singing and dancing and our feelings about participating in such activities. I told Chris I didn’t have any problem cutting a rug or belting out a tune, even in a crowded room (or at a podium at a bloggers conference). He, on the other hand, didn’t have the same inclinations- particularly in the dancing category.
He quickly added, with more than a tint of admiration, that for some in his family, dancing was “like breathing“.
We were now once again in the pool.
After absorbing that comment I then replied – “So what’s like breathing to you?”
I leave that for Chris to answer in a blog post of his own, but what this little exchange did for me was set off alarms in my own head.
What’s like breathing to me? What are those things that help define who I am but are yet rarely thought about, because they come so naturally?
Chances are, if I give this more than casual thought, I can gain some valuable clarity about the state of my life and what should be the focus of my work, my play, my relationships, and everything in between.
Problem is, just like we rarely stop to ponder something so essential to our lives as breathing, there is often no reason for us to stop and try to figure out the “why” in our lives.
Why do I love to sing? Why does music move me? Why does making a friend smile with wry humor so meaningful? Why do I feel so good around mountains? Why can I make a speech or presentation without having a panic attack? Why is my leadership instinct to guide and nurture, instead of control? Why is my intellectual “default” to pick something up and read it, even if it’s a cookbook sitting in the kitchen (and I don’t even like to cook)? Why do I practice yoga at 5:30 in the morning, even though I know it’s 5:30 in the morning?
That’s all like breathing to me, but it may be a good time to dive into those “whys” a little deeper, since Chris already pushed me into the pool. So that I will do – and we’ll see what happens.
Thanks Chris for the help, and I look forward to your take on this.
How about you? What’s like breathing in your life? And more importantly, why?
C’mon in, the water’s fine!