Get Back On that Horse and Try to Fail

I’m afraid of how rusty I am.

I want to start writing again but I’m dreading getting back into it. I’m sure I’m too rusty. Writing? Again? Every day?! I tell myself Forget it, the rust is too much! So I do. I forget.

Until I remember. I really want to start writing again.

The cycle starts over. Forget, remember, forget, remember. Meanwhile nothing gets written and I feel stuck.

I used to write every day. Now that sounds like a huge accomplishment, but back then it was just routine. Same with running. Before training for a marathon, I felt like I deserved a parade any time I ran longer than a mile without stopping or crying or falling in a ditch. The more I did it, the easier it got. Toward the end of training I could see a 4 mile run on the schedule and be grateful that it was an easy day. AN EASY DAY?! Now look at me! If I tried to run 4 miles today, all my bones would crack like cornflakes.

Why is getting back into the swing of things harder than starting to swing the first time? Getting back on the horse feels like it takes more effort than the initial hop in the saddle. Why? It’s the same horse! I know this horse. We’ve met. We used to be great together. Why isn’t this easier?!

I’m dreading the effort it’s going to take to get things back to how they used to be. I’m not looking forward to how many times this used to be easier will fly across my thoughts. I’ll lecture myself, If you hadn’t given up you would be so much further along than you are now.

That’s the problem: if I’m actually going to start over, I have to forgive myself for quitting in the first place. If I can’t do that, I’m going to see every obstacle as some sort of punishment. This is what you get, idiot! If someone else talked to me that way all the time, I wouldn’t want to be around them much, would I? But because I’m my own bully, I’m stuck with this jerk sidekick in the back of my thoughts all the live long day.

Is that why I’m doom scrolling through Instagram? Am I avoiding myself? If I keep scrolling, I stay distracted. And if I’m distracted, I’m not saying mean things to myself about all the things I should be doing. My day becomes about how to keep my bully happy instead of actually doing the things I need to.

And the rust grows stronger. I’m stuck.

I wanted to find this really encouraging Willem Dafoe quote about getting over creative blocks. I can’t find it. Googling “Willem Dafoe” advice” gets you some interesting results, though.

Here are 4 headlines back to back from the first page of results:

How to act like Willem Dafoe

Why Willem Dafoe can’t slow down

Abandon Yourself: Willem Dafoe explains how he acts

Willem Dafoe: “I’ve thought of murder many times.”

If you put those all together you can see that the best actors rush, lose control, and think about murder. That’s not the advice I was looking for.

OH WAIT! I found it.

Abandon Perfection, Try to Fail!

Striving for perfection and worrying about failure will get you all locked up. “You’ve got to find ways to let you not worry and be free.”

It’s counterintuitive but that’s the point.

I want to write. I want it to be good. I’m worried about it being bad. That worry can choke my imagination and keep me from taking risks. And those risks are probably what will actually lead to good writing. I’ve got to get out of my own way!

It’s like Viktor Frank’s paradoxical intention from Man’s Search for Meaning.

Let’s say you’re anxious about a big job interview. You’re so afraid of how you’re going to come across that your nerves are shot. If you dig your heels in (mental, metaphorical heels) and walk into that interview saying to yourself DON’T BE AWKWARD! DON’T BE AWKWARD! Chances are, it’s going to have the opposite effect. The more you think about trying not to be awkward, the more awkward you’re going to be. The solution is to give yourself a paradoxical intention: imagine the thing you’re dreading is exactly what you want to happen. Walk into that interview telling yourself I’m going to show off just how awkward I can be. I’m going to be the most awkward job interview this company has ever seen. You’re freeing yourself when you do that. You’re giving yourself permission not to overanalyze every little thing you do for fear that it’s coming across as awkward. And the more you’re out of your head and in the moment, the less awkward you’ll actually be!

The more you try to be in control, the more you’ll fall apart. Give yourself some freedom.

It’s just like falling asleep or trying to impress someone: the more actively you’re trying to make it happen, the more it’s going to slip through your fingers. I can’t lay in bed screaming into my pillow “I NEED TO FALL ASLEEP RIGHT NOW!” And the worst social interactions I’ve had started with me thinking “I really need this person to like me.”

Is there a way to relate this to Jesus’ words in Luke 9?

And he said to all, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself?

The more we try to grasp, take, and control, the more we lose.

Let go.

BUT WHAT IF IT’S NOT PERFECT?!

The more that fear is in control, the more my life will be out of control.

Which, you know, is easier said than done.

Garland Owensby (1968-2023) Tribute

I got to be a part of the memorial service for my friend and mentor, Garland Owensby. This is pretty much what I said.

Originally I was going to talk about Owensby's career as a male model, but I think l'Il go in a different direction.

That was one of Owensby's go to jokes whenever he'd get up to preach. I heard that joke a lot. I heard all his jokes a lot over the years of traveling with him. The jokes about growing up getting called Garlic, the song parodies, the Elmo impression. My favorite jokes were the ones he would text me, usually after class or during chapel, the ones he thought of in the moment but knew he couldn't tell everyone else. That's when I knew he considered me more than just a student.

I know I should have been just another student. I wasn't even his student. My first semester I had Tiffani Owensby for a math class, and whenever I would start making too many jokes she'd always say "you need to meet my husband."

Even though I wasn't in any of his classes, he'd let me use up his office hours just so we could talk stand-up comedy. In college, he let me open for him on the road. After I graduated, we still performed together and hung out any time I was in town. When I lived in my van, I knew I always had a place to do laundry and get a home cooked meal when I was near Waxahachie.

He taught me everything. He taught me that being silly and goofy does not disqualify you from sharing the gospel. He taught me how to listen as an act of care. He taught me his philosophy of ministry. I remember one time hearing this poor little chubby little sweaty little red faced jr high boy desperately trying to have conversation with Owensby. It was at a camp, during rec games, and you could tell this kid thought it was the huge deal deal he was getting to talk to the camp speaker.

And this is kid was LYING about EVERYTHING. Nothing he was saying was true and it was immediately obvious. To the point where he was like "One time in ROTC we were all lined up doing jumping jacks and my instructor pulled the pin on a grenade and threw it at us. Everyone else ran away to save themselves because they thought it was real. I was the only one to jump on top of it, saving everyone and proving I was the bravest."

When the kid wasn't looking I leaned over to Owensby.

"That's a scene in the first Captain America movie.”

"I know," he said and went back to listening to him.

This poor kid wanted nothing more than for the camp speaker to talk to him and he thought he wasn't interesting enough on his own to warrant Garland's attention. He felt like he had to pretend to be someone he's not in order to earn Owensby's love. But Garland's whole philosophy of ministry was about proving that mindset wrong.

He didn't call it out, didn't humiliate him. He just gave the kid his full attention until he relaxed into the truth. It was so small and subtle, but the greatest act of kindness for that kid.

He had a whole bunch of sermons he could bring anytime he was asked to speak, but there was one that was the most important to him. It was like an identity message, the sermon that contained the nugget of hope and truth that motivated the way he did everything in ministry. Psalm 139, specifically verse 14: "I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well."

Fearfully and wonderfully made. That was at the heart of Garland. Treat everyone with the respect, dignity, and love that you would give to anyone that God himself would point to and say "this one here, this one is fearfully and wonderfully made.

It was like he was telling every student he interacted with: You don't need to be Captain America for me to care about you.

He cared. He cared about the outcasts, weirdos, and those pushed to the margins.

He cared about the underdogs, including women in ministry. He would often say that women in ministry has been, in the past, one of the best kept secrets of the Assemblies of God. "We'll credential them but we won't make them pastors." So he designed a shirt to sell around campus that said "A Woman's Place in the Pulpit."

He cared about victims. Every time there was a new scandal with some masters commission, school of leadership, or chi alpha, we would end up sitting together, reading victims' stories, and treating them with the same respect and seriousness that we would want our own stories to be treated with.

And his care made a lasting impact. At the memorial service I met one of Garland's former students from when he was a youth pastor. He had tears in his eyes when he told me that this youth pastor he met when he was 17 is the reason he's in ministry today.

It's also been cool to see former students who today probably don't want anything to do with the church, and yet when they heard the news they still had stories they wanted to share about Owensby's lovingkindness. His care was genuine.

He wanted us to know we are fearfully and wonderfully made, even when it doesn't feel true, doesn't make sense, even when the rest of the world might make us feel worthless, your value comes from our God and Father who says "you are not a mistake."

Another sermon I heard from him a lot was about the importance of bearing each others burdens. He ended with the same story every time. It was about walking into the first class he had to teach after hearing the news that his mom had passed away. He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to teach. He didn't feel like being the one with all the answers, having to pretend like he had it all together, while his heart was still breaking. At the start of every class, the professor is supposed to ask for prayer requests and lead everyone else in prayer. Instead, he let them in on what was going on, revealing the burden he was carrying.

"Can we pray for you?" The whole class got up, surrounded Owensby, put their hands on him, and prayed. I think they stayed like that for a while, not rushing past that moment of care.

I heard him tell this story at least a dozen times and not once could he get to the end of without crying. He got emotional every time.

I think it was one of the most meaningful moments during his time as a professor. The students he cared about cared for him.

It didn't matter if he was having a terrible day and couldn't be "on" all the time, it didn't matter if he didn't feel like he deserved it, those students saw Garland as fearfully and wonderfully made, emotions and all, and they jumped at the opportunity to bear his burden with him.

When my dad died, Garland was the first person I texted.

The day of my dad's funeral I was shocked when Garland walk in. He drove four hours there and four hours home just to hug me.

I cannot tell the story of my life without him. If you asked me why I do what I do, how I got where I am, why I care about the things I care about, or talk the way I talk about Christianity, he is pivotal in all those things. To tell those stories without him would be the most dishonest telling. He changed my life.

I miss my friend. And at the same time it has been beautiful to have so many kind and thoughtful friends reach out to check if I was ok, friends who want to help bear this burden, friends I met through SAGU, friends who I know…I know they learned how to do what they're doing from Owensby. Because I recognize him in their care.

A Conversation on Suicide Prevention

I talked with Emily Oakley of Rebirth Ministries about suicide prevention for National Suicide Prevention Month.

Trusting God with My Death

I thought I would share this for National Suicide Prevention Awareness Week. The following is an excerpt from my book, In the Altogether: Trusting God with All We Hide From the World.

I've always been astonished by testimonies where someone shares the exact date and time they were prepared to commit suicide. Their story is about how God met them at that moment, and they never looked back. I'm secretly jealous of those stories. I wish I could point to one specific moment. I wish I could tell you the date of the last time I seriously considered suicide. I don't know. It's all a blur. When I was younger, I wasn't even aware that was what was happening in my brain. The thoughts would go away and come back, looking a little different in each stage of life. It's not like I'm calling for everyone to stop sharing their testimonies if they don't sound exactly like mine. I know some people hit rock bottom, make a decision, and never turn back. But I also want to make room for people like me––the ones who hit rock bottom, make a decision, but do turn back. The ones who fall again. When we only hear one type of story, we can feel like we've missed our one shot at redemption. We think that if it didn't work the first time it's over for us. We're a lost cause. We think, If I didn't completely change the moment I handed my life over to Jesus, I guess I never will.

I do have one specific date I can share with you. March 24.

The only reason I know it is because I always write the date with the notes I take at church. During service that Sunday, I was feeling really depressed and a thought about suicide flashed through my mind. It had been a long time since I seriously considered taking my own life. This wasn't like that. This was only a quick thought passing through. I still get one every once in a while. It never stays long. I never make plans. I know it'll pass. At the end of the service, the worship team sang In Christ Alone, and God used that moment to speak to me.

The whole song is beautiful, but the part that really hit me was the line "till he returns or calls me home." The Holy Spirit comforted me with that phrase. I can trust Jesus with my death. He knows my end. He will take me when it's time. He's coming back. This isn't forever. Until that happens, I want to live my life for him. For someone who struggled with the temptation to take his own life, the thought of trusting Jesus with my death was a beautiful reversal of how I used to think. Jesus entered my depression story years ago and changed everything, but I'm still growing, still being transformed, all these years later.

Why You Should Keep Track of Your Mistakes

“Every time he made a decision, he’d write himself a memo about what he expected to happen. Then nine months later he opened it up and read it to find out how wrong he’d been. He wanted to learn the most he could from each and every error.”

-The Social Animal by David Brooks

I started keeping a journal specifically to keep track of my first year on staff at my church in Kansas. Today starts week 3 and I’m making a lot of decisions. I’m trying to keep track of all of them and what I hope their outcomes will be. We’ll see how I wrong I am. I’m sure it’s going to be fascinating to look back on the entries of this journal three or four years from now.

Here are a few reasons I think it’s a good idea:

I’ll be less likely to make the same mistakes twice.

It’ll make me better at helping other people just starting out on staff at a church. I think sometimes when we’re discipling our just being a good friend (often the same thing) we can find ourselves thinking “There’s no way I was ever this naive, right?” Keeping a journal will give you tangible proof that, yes, you were once just as dumb and uninformed.

What if you had kept a journal of your first year married? First year as a parent? First year as an empty nester? Mister Rogers’ great ability to communicate with and care for children was often credited to his ability to still remember what it was like to be a child himself. He could remember how visceral the fear of getting your first haircut was, so he knew just what a child facing that might need to hear to be comforted.

Also, when we find success we can rewrite the story of how we got there to stand down the rough patches, the mistakes, the missteps, the absolute screw-ups along the way, so we’re left with a neat and tidy narrative of how you made every right decision to get you where you are today.

A journal keeps you honest.

My Depression is a Pancake

I feel depressed right now. It’s almost been a full week now. What does it feel like? Right now it’s like a giant 300-pound pancake has been gently laid on top of me. It wasn’t violently thrown to crush me. Gently laid. The pressure is both soft and heavy, and it feels like I’d better just lay on the floor and let the pancake win.

I’m not 100% sure what triggered this or how to get out from under it.

Here’s my plan:

Go for a walk. I haven’t felt like being physically active or going outside lately. That’s probably just my depression trying to trick me into staying away from activities that will lessen its power.

Clean my apartment. It’s a mess. If I make it look like things are back to normal maybe they’ll start to feel that way too.

Make a to-do list. I need purpose right now. I need a reason to move.

Hold on. This will not last forever. There’s life on the other side that I’ll get to eventually. This too shall pass. Something good is coming.

Don’t worry, throughout the last week I mentioned how I was feeling to two friends. I’m not doing this alone. You don’t all need to suddenly start e-mail or texting me to see if I’m ok. I’m ok.  And if everyone contacted me at the same time to get me to talk about the giant pancake, it would be a miserable and exhausting day.

I just wanted to be honest with you. I’m all about honesty, right? And I want to make it clear that my testimony doesn’t just skip from “Taylor prayed a little prayer to Jesus” to “and he lived happily ever after.” No. I still live in a fallen world with a fallen body and a fallen mind and I’m eagerly awaiting the return of the Lord because of the Great Newness he’s got in store for all creation. Until then, I lean ALL MY WEIGHT on Him and not my own understanding.

Jesus, eat this pancake.

And if you’ve got a pancake (or waffle or donut or French toast sticks) know that you’re not alone, you can take little steps right now that will lead to bigger steps down the road, and there is a Champion of Breakfasts who died to save you. You are not forgotten. You are not forgotten. You are not forgotten.

"Can't" is often a lie

Have you ever come to the realization that you need to have a difficult conversation with someone you love and your immediate reaction is I can’t do that!

Maybe it’s time to question this knee jerk response.

There’s a difference between the things you can’t do, the things you won’t do, and the things you haven’t done yet. It sounds like I’m splitting hairs but I think when we label things correctly it helps us perceive them correctly.

When you say “I can’t talk to them” is that really true? I can say “I can’t talk to my dad about how I never felt close to him growing up” because it's literally true. My dad passed away in December so it’s physically impossible for me to have that conversation. In the last few months of his life, it still would have been true that I couldn’t because the effects of Alzheimer’s had taken away his ability to hold a conversation. But if I had said I can’t when I was in high school or college, I would have been lying. The truth was I could, but I wouldn’t.

In my book, I talked about how confrontation and apologies are two common ways we need to learn to be vulnerable in our every day lives. Yes, it’s terrifying, but it’s also necessary for healthy relationships and healthy churches. The next time you find yourself pushing back on the conviction to have one of these conversations, do so honestly. If it’s physically possible, don’t let yourself say that you can’t. Because you can.

The good news is that there is more than one way to label your push back. Saying you won’t do something sounds like the final word on the matter, but it doesn’t have to be. Instead say, “I haven’t done that yet.” That feels a lot better to me. I don’t want to do it, I know that I should, and I’m saying that I will, but I do not have the courage to do it right now. But I will.

This applies to more than just difficult conversations. Do you need to commit to a healthier lifestyle? Address sin? Get organized? Look for a better job? Don’t say you can’t, because you actually can. Say “I haven’t done that yet.”

The phrase also helps signal to the person you’re saying it to that this is something they can bring up later. They can continue to talk about this, encourage you, and push you toward the thing you know you need to do.

Don’t let the lie of “can’t” hold you back from growth.

Clean Your Mind the Way You Clean Your Closet

I know I’m desperate for something to do when I start cleaning. It’s always a last resort.

There’s a closet in my living room full of junk. I’ve tried to go in there a few times and organize it all but it becomes too overwhelming. I know the only effective way to truly clean that mess up is to empty the closet of all the contents. It’s too hard to just get myself in there, close the door, and rearrange things in that limited space. I’ve got to take it all out and start fresh. It’s easier to make sense of what you’ve got when it spread out on the floor in front of you. You can judge what deserves to go back in the closet and what’s actually been trash the whole time. You can uncover hidden treasures that sat lost and forgotten for years.

It’s easier to organize everything by dumping it all out of the container first. It’s true for your closet, your backpack, the trunk of your car, and your brain.

Let your thoughts out (Journaling! Talking to a friend! Seeing a counselor!) so you can organize them better. Some will turn out to be junk that needs to be thrown away. Some times you’ll discover hidden treasures that sat lost and forgotten for years. But you’ve got to let them all out first.

Fiona Apple agrees:

"You’ve got these stories you’re not telling anybody. Each one of those stories is like this little ball of yarn. If you don’t [express them], they end up getting tangled together inside. Then it’s really hard to sort through them."

Your Feelings are not Beetlejuice

When Eugene Mirman’s wife was dying of cancer, he didn’t want to dwell on it with her, so he’d always find other people to talk to about it. One night while with friends his wife lamented “You know, no one wants to talk to me about cancer.”

In the documentary It Started as a Joke, Eugene talks about this moment as a turning point. He realized he shouldn’t have been afraid to bring this subject up with his wife.

“Talking about it isn’t going to be the thing that kills her.”

Some times it feels so scary to wrap words around the heaviest feelings we’re experiencing. We think the feelings are a giant wild animal and the only way to keep it locked away in its cage is to never speak of it. Words are the key, and if you open the lock, the beast will run wild through your life.

But I love this realization. Cancer isn’t Bloody Mary or Beetlejuice. Things will not get worse just by speaking its name three times. Just the opposite! Over time, talking about these things can help shrink the intensity of our feelings.

Why I'm Writing Bad Poetry

On April 8th I watched Billy Collins’ Masterclass on reading and writing poetry. I had a lot to learn because I’m very bad at both of those things.

I’ve written at least one very bad poem every day since starting the class. They’re not bad on purpose. I’m really trying, I promise. I don’t just vomit out a few lines and call it a day. Some times I will spend a couple of hours rewriting. But it’s all so new to me so there’s no way they’re going to be any good.

But that doesn’t mean I should give up. The only way I’ll one day end up with a halfway decent poem is if I keep writing all these bad ones.

The same was true for my stand-up, sermons, and writings. Ira Glass talks about that frustration when you first start making stuff and your taste is better than what you’re making. You know what a great movie looks like so you’re painfully aware that the movie you just made is trash (or song, or painting, etc.). That can be so discouraging. You want to give up. But the only way to close the gap between your taste and your art is to keep working.

This is the main way I think about creativity: I’ve got 600 terrible poems living inside me, all piled up in the pit of my stomach, and underneath all those embarrassing poems is where the good ones live. The only way I can get to them is by letting the bad ones out. This saves me from getting discouraged every time I write a crappy poem. It’s more of a relief. Oh, thank God. I let another one out. We’re one step closer to getting to the good ones.

Here’s a video of me talking more about this:

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A post shared by Taylor Johnson (@taylordson) on Mar 23, 2020 at 1:09pm PDT

Do you know why I’m writing poetry in the first place?

Is this how I’m announcing to the world that I’m leaving behind comedy and speaking, moving to Paris, buying a cape, and becoming a SERIOUS POET? No ma'am. Not even close. I don’t want to share these with anyone. Honestly, there’s no good reason I’m doing it. I just want to see if I can.

Austin Kleon wrote about the wonders of having a good ol fashion hobby

"A hobby is something creative that’s just for you. You don’t try to make money or get famous off it, you just do it because it makes you happy. A hobby is something that gives but doesn’t take.”

It’s nice to do something creative that has absolutely no pressure on it. There’s no deadline. There’s nothing riding on it being successful. You’ll never make a dime from it, and you know that from the start, so it can remain a low stakes exercise for fun. Sure, there’s a chance sharpening this tool in my writer’s toolbox could one day come in handy, but I’m not doing it with that in mind. It’s just nice.

So, why not pick up a hobby? Start writing short stories about the secret adventures your pets go on and don’t tell anyone about it. Do it for the sake of doing it. But keep doing it even if it sucks, because who knows how good it could be one day.