Broken Record
 

The answers you seek will come from within. How this idea has frustrated me, left me feeling broken and bitter. Oh, I already have the answers but I can’t access them? So it’s my fault. Ok.  

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But there’s a dissonance there because some part of me knows it might be true, and another scared part insists that it’s not.  

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So I seek validation, answers and signs from my external environment. But when it arrives, it doesn’t stick. I don’t trust it. I ignore it or push it away. And of course part of me knows this type of seeking won’t work unless I’m at least willing to entertain what I receive, but I do it anyway—and the energy it takes to go through this process is staggering and, of course, depleting. Thus the cycle continues.  

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But for the past few years, I’ve heard myself repeating things or themes to certain people as we chat, much like a broken record. And I’ve started recognizing them as patterns in my subconscious, in my passion and focus. Even if it feels scary to recognize them as such for whatever reason, I do. I say to myself “Well I keep coming back to this idea, so that’s got to mean something. I keep coming back to it for a reason.”

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And when I’m brave enough to admit that, my external world mirrors it back and instills in me a strange and wonderful feeling of such magnitude that it cannot possibly be ignored. I’ve interrupted the cycle, and just for that I feel a little more brave.  

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The broken records we may not realize we’re spinning. If not answers, these can at least contain some clue as to which direction to lean into. Leaning in generates movement, and movement momentum. And isn’t that what we’re actually looking for?   

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Now that I hear them in my own voice, I more easily recognize them in others. So I point out the patterns I hear, see, and feel when others speak. Because—and really I know this as a writing tutor—it can be far more useful to mention, “You seem to circle back to the idea of restructuring the values of the classroom and get really passionate and worked up whenever you talk about this” than to simply state, “You would make a great teacher.” Especially when we’re feeling lost, confused, hopeless. Scared to commit.   

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I use my role as an observer to point out not how I may feel about you, but the themes I hear in your own words. You said it, not me. The gold is there, voiced by the magic of your subconscious. But I know that, especially in this loud world, it can be difficult to hear it ourselves.  

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The thematic patterns that emerge from our streams of consciousness can reveal so much: our passions, fears, values, desires. Once recognized, we can lean in or question the meaning behind what we hear. If not answers, these broken records can reveal opportunity.  

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So I ask you: What’s spinning your broken record? And how are you responding to it?

What do you mean?
My favorite, most commonly asked question. 
I can pose it to anyone, anywhere.
And it always yields interesting results. 
 
I love watching as the speaker takes a beat to rework something in their head before launching deeper into what they are trying to express. 
I love listening as they whisper “Actually…”, a telltale sign they’re coming to some new understanding about what they thought they already knew. (Expansion.)
I love traveling with them to that place, bearing witness. 
 
It is a creative process.
It is intimate.
It can be, or often is, a reclamation.
 
What do you mean?
Teach me. Show me what you mean, in only the way you can. Share with me how you see the world. 
 
There are so many positives that can result from this situation.
The speaker feels seen, and safe to rephrase their thoughts. To edit themselves, or to open up further. 
They exercise a fundamental freedom by saying exactly what they mean, or occasionally realizing they don’t know what they mean (which are equally as powerful in my opinion). 
 
I satiate my endless curiosity for knowing what goes on inside other people’s minds, and my own perspective is challenged or changed in some way. (Expansion.)
And I am gifted the opportunity to practice true compassion and patience, to see and feel the human experience as it differs from or resonates with my own.
 
But I think the most important and rewarding result is the connection we often form. Fleeting as it may seem to be, it is formed, and we are somehow changed because of it.
 
What do you mean?
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(for a printout of this work, click here.)