Good Life Project - Jeffrey Davis: Tracking Wonder and Loving Life
Episode Date: May 22, 2016Today's guest is obsessed with wonder. In fact, it's his vocation.Jeffery Davis is the founder of Tracking Wonder, where he explores how to reconnect with wonder and also help people tell their t...heir stories through books, businesses and beyond.As a kid, he became concerned about paying attention to life and ensuring that he'd never lose his imagination. That led him to become a poet, a teacher, an author and then...everything fell apart.He realized he'd been living entirely "from the neck up," largely disembodied and disconnected from his heart. That awakening launched a years-long quest to rediscover a deeper, more soulful driver. It brought him back to wonder as a driving force in his life and eventually as his career.He has taught his signature approaches to creativity, writing, and branding at numerous universities, conferences, and centers around the world. An author, speaker, and online columnist for Psychology Today, he is in dogged pursuit of what helps creatives thrive amidst constant challenge and change. He lives in a farmhouse in the Hudson Valley with his wife and two girls.Maybe his biggest true driver, though, is to be the kind of adult whose life reveals to his daughters the grace and beauty and joy of a wonder that never ends.His new book of poetry is Coat Thief.In This Episode You’ll Learn:The gift that his father gave him, passed down from his grandfather.How he ended up living with his bachelor father during high school.How he faked being an extrovert growing up.Why his friends called him 'The Mystery Man'.His decision between joining the monastery or becoming a poet.The entry point that broke him out of his intellect and into his body.The two-fold silent promise he made to his baby girl after she was born.Mentioned In This Episode:Connect with Jeffrey: Tracking WonderQuiet by Susan CainBeat GenerationWilliam Carlos Williams: "The Red Wheelbarrow"Wallace StevensRobert CreeleyCity Reservoir by Jeffrey DavisFocus by Daniel GolemanTKV DesikacharThe Journey from the Center to the Page: Yoga Philosophies and Practices as Muse for Authentic Writing by Jeffrey DavisShiva SuturasGrab your spot at the Camp GLP at the Early Bird discount rate! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
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Discussion (0)
so i'll just say in short that wonder is like it is the emotional cognitive aesthetic experience
that most cracks us open to what is real and to what is here and what is true it is the
experience that opens us up to that it's at the heart of the creative impulse. And once I started to understand that, I also realized
that it was wonder as part of what I've been pursuing all along.
That when I was grieving my imagination, it was in part that desire to have that space of wonder.
When this week's guest, Jeffrey Davis, was just a little kid, he started journaling and thinking about paying attention and not losing his imagination.
Pretty unusual for a young kid.
That turned into a deep fascination with language and creativity that led him to become a poet and a teacher.
But in the middle of his life, he also realized that he was living essentially from the neck up and kind of
a disembodied existence and had left his heart and his body behind. So that set him off on a journey
of deep personal discovery and also international travel. And he came back with a renewed vision on
life and a renewed vision of what he wanted to do with his life. He's since returned to poetry and
to teaching, and he started a really fascinating
consulting firm called Tracking Wonder, which really helps people track wonder in their own
lives and bring more of it into their careers or professions and every essence of their day.
So really excited to share this conversation with you. I'm Jonathan Fields, and this is Good Life Project.
Mayday, mayday.
We've been compromised.
The pilot's a hitman.
I knew you were going to be fun.
On January 24th.
Tell me how to fly this thing.
Mark Wahlberg.
You know what the difference between me and you is?
You're going to die.
Don't shoot him, we need him.
Y'all need a pilot.
Flight risk.
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Compared to previous generations, iPhone Xs are later required. Charge time and actual results will vary. It's so good to be hanging out with you, man. You too. On a Friday afternoon
at HQ on the Upper West Side. Yeah. Jeffrey Davis, where did we meet?
I'm trying to remember this.
Probably, I think somebody introduced us on Twitter years ago.
And then you said, hey, let's go get some coffee.
I think when you were living outside of the city.
Yeah, up in the Bronx.
Right, right.
Yeah, or maybe in Westchester. In Riverdale. Yeah, in Riverdale. A.K.A. it's actually the city. Yeah, up in the Bronx. Right, right. Yeah, or maybe in Westchester.
In Riverdale.
Yeah, in Riverdale, yeah.
A.K.A. it's actually the Bronx.
A.K.A., yes, thank you.
It's the fake Bronx.
Yes, exactly.
It's not the real Bronx.
You can't tell anyone who lives in the Bronx.
Centrified Bronx.
Right, you tell someone who lives in the Bronx
that you live in the Bronx,
they're like, dude, please.
It's a suburb.
I remember we had nice coffee
and people lounging on the sidewalk.
Right.
We actually went up to Hastings.
Yeah, that's where it was.
To Antoinette's where there was like awesome, yes, awesome brew and no bathroom.
That's right.
Exactly.
You had to drive me several.
How do you have a place where you caffeinate and then not have a bathroom?
How do they get away with that?
That's how you know it's really good coffee.
That's right.
People are willing.
The only way you could ever pull that off is it was mind-blowing cappuccino.
Yeah.
That's right.
No, I remember that now.
Yeah, and I think we just kind of stayed in the loop.
Very cool.
So it's fun for me to do this, especially with the people who are friends who I've known for a little bit,
because now I actually get to grill you with all the inappropriate questions that would feel weird and awkward if we were just hanging out over a cup of coffee.
Yeah, it's a very comforting introduction.
I'm excited.
I already told you you're not leaving without crying.
That's right.
So I know you as the guy who started this really interesting consultancy called Tracking Wonder and is mad crazy about books and literature and writing.
And let's take a step back in time.
You're a Texas kid.
I am a Texas kid.
Where'd you actually come up?
What part of Texas?
Fort Worth.
Fort Worth, Texas.
Say that again.
Fort Worth.
That's how you'd say it.
Yeah, that's how you'd say it.
All right.
So immediately.
Fifth generation Texan.
So you don't have that accent anymore. No. Was that trained? I went back semi, so immediately. Fifth generation Texan. So you don't have that accent anymore.
No, but if I went back.
Semi, semi-trained.
My mother claims that I lost it in Austin as if that were another world, but that's true.
Austin is not Texas by any measure that I know of.
But I think in my 20s as I was teaching, I was probably becoming more self-conscious.
One of my professor mentors was kind of training us on our language as we were speaking.
And so I think over the years, in my 20s, I started to lose it.
And I kind of regret it now.
I kind of wish I had that draw.
But if I get back around my mother who says,
Hayim with three syllables, my tongue will start to get low.
Yeah, yeah.
Yeah.
That's pretty cool, actually.
So tell me about growing up.
Growing up in Texas.
Or growing up.
Yeah, there's so many ways to look at what it was like.
I want to know what Jeffrey Davis the kid was, the nine-year-old kid.
I was the poet in a Texan's body.
You know, kind of looking back, I was quiet, moody.
Dressed in black.
The one kid in kindergarten actually dressed in psychedelic paisley pants.
Yeah.
Yeah.
The one kid in through all of fifth grade who had long shoulder length hair.
The one boy, you know, and the mother's calling my mother saying, would you please have him
cut his hair?
Because now Patrick wants his hair long.
So I was this quiet kid
who kind of did his own thing um really leaned into you know kind of the imaginative realm drawing
story i could be completely at home by myself for hours but then completely run out into the
woods where does the outlier personality come from? Probably both of my parents in retrospect.
Like I looked at my father who was in the Dallas media world
and his father, whom I never met, he died when my father was 14,
was a medical doctor, grew up in the mountains of Alabama,
served both world wars and was also a poet.
My father was in dallas
media world incredibly creative just like never really appreciated it or knew it what did he
actually do um he was he was in advertising so he would do different campaigns for his clients and
he was in um in the 80s and 90s he was in the sports realm of uh d. So he's always right there with the Dallas Cowboys shaping their campaigns, kind of changing
song lyrics into advertisements.
This was a time, by the way, as a New Yorker, I was like bound to hate the Dallas Cowboys.
Exactly.
Right.
Exactly.
So your dad was probably part of the messaging that like brought that on, which is good though.
No, it was good.
My father was a guy who just like he knew how to play.
And so he wasn't a big sports enthusiast, but he completely knew how to sell sports and how to how to play it and how to love it intensely enough to know that it's just a game.
So he was a word guy then also.
Yeah, very much a word guy from early on.
So he, you know, it's interesting because in one light, I wouldn't see
him as very visible in my life until I was about 14. But on the other hand, he would do certain
things like when I was six or seven, we would always play word games. And he gave me his father's
day book was like from 1948. That is that his father kept appointments in that his father had given to him and said, you know, keep your diary in here.
So I'm seven years old and he says, here, use this as a diary.
And I'm like, what's a diary?
I can barely write my name at the time, but it was a good reader.
And he's like, well, you keep your thoughts in there.
And if something happens to you during the day, you want to remember, you write it down and that was complete news to me that i had thoughts
uh that actually people do that that they write down their ideas but i could barely write my name
so i actually remember around that time um i had that book i was out on the sidewalk
of texas and um in my neighborhood and theresa stububblefield walks up. And so, Teresa is about
14. I'm probably six or seven. I had an older half-sister. So, Teresa was my older sister's
friend. Had a major crush on Teresa and she knew it. And she's, you know, she's cozying up to me
and playing it. And I tell her about the book. And she said, so what do you want to write in it?
And she's like, I'll write it down for you.
So, you know, Jeffrey Davis's first writing, which was actually dictated, said something like, my name is Jeffrey.
I love Teresa.
Teresa loves me.
When Teresa turns 18, she will freeze herself.
When I turn 18, I will unfreeze myself and we will get married.
So there you go.
My first poem.
That's a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end.
Exactly.
With my father's influence.
My mother really tuned in, too, to my quietness
and would circulate me around Fort Worth art museums on a regular basis.
We didn't have a lot of money.
We're in middle class.
So she was always finding ways to engage me.
And so during the summers, like once a week, I would have my choice of different art museums.
And she would take me to the Kimbell and ask me questions as we're standing in front of, you know, paintings.
And so she got that I was this,
what we would say now, very introspective, creative kid. And she was finding ways to
kind of tap into that and nurture it.
That's beautiful. You said you weren't really aware of your dad being super present in your
life until you're 14. What happened when you're 14?
When I was 13, they divorced. And he, you know, so we lived in Fort Worth. He worked in Dallas, which, you know, is only a 45-minute drive.
And yet at the time, it was two different worlds.
So he spent a lot of time working and entertaining his clients.
And when I was 14, he invited me to live with him.
So throughout high school, I lived with my bachelor father.
What's that like?
I mean, because this is a time also where that really didn't happen.
No, no, it's true. And it's true. And my parents were kind of one of the first, it seems like,
in my circle of friends who had divorced from my recollection. And then for me to live just with my bachelor father, you know, in this kind of, you know, middle class neighborhood in Fort
Worth. Well, you know, as I got older, by the time I was 15, I had a hardship license to drive,
because I always had a job since I was about 15. Very much on my own, actually,
throughout my teenage years, as he was more and more in Dallas. But on the other hand, Jonathan,
I look, I've told people what it was like to live with Dallas. But on the other hand, Jonathan,
I've told people what it was like to live with my dad. And they're like, oh my God, that's awesome.
Because he did adore me. But remember, his father died when he was 14.
And so, he never had his bearings, I don't think, in terms of being a father. He wanted to be my friend and my chum, and we would go traveling every summer.
He would take me to the Dallas Cowboys engagements, and I would meet all of my football heroes.
So it was a blast on one hand, and on the other hand,
I just completely learned how to figure out a lot on my own.
Yeah.
So it was more like, hey, we're going out with a buddy.
Yeah, exactly.
No, it's really what he wanted.
He wanted to be my friend.
And my friends all wanted him as a father.
And I kind of wanted the father who would provide
and tell me about my future or give me some advice.
The fatherly type of thing.
Yeah.
He passed away four summers ago.
And I think I so appreciate him.
I appreciate the best in him over and over again now.
And I think sometimes in retrospect, as a teenager, you're rebelling one way or another.
And I was still rebelling against like, I'm not going to be like him.
I'm not going to be like him.
And yet I hope and think I've got the best in him.
That's beautiful.
And no matter what, the older I get,
they realize you are going to be like him.
You are completely.
Kicking and screaming, whatever.
It's like, you know what?
No, I know.
There have been times when-
It's unavoidable. It's true. I hear stuff coming out of my mouth, like speaking, the ugly. It's like, you know what? No, I know. There have been times when. It's unavoidable.
It's true.
I hear stuff coming out of my mouth, like speaking to my daughters.
I'm like, I am my father in certain ways.
In certain ways, I'm very different.
In certain ways.
But yeah, it's always like, it is so interesting how that trickles down and through you.
And there's just some stuff which is like DNA deep.
It is.
It's DNA deep.
It's patterned and culturated.
And still, like any time that I say, oh, my God, I'm my father out loud,
Hillary's like, honey, you are not your father.
Okay.
So it's my wife says she's got a good sort of.
Yeah.
So you're hanging out with your dad and doing all the manly things,
the Texas manly things.
But how are you nurturing now that you're away from your mom?
Yeah.
Since she was the one that really nurtured that introspective contemplative sort of like
artistic side.
What's happening with that?
Yeah, that's a really good perspective.
Because I would say on one hand, during those teenage years, kind of on my own figuring
things out, the tight social circle of West Side Fort Worth, I'm doing kind of what Susan
Cain says at the end of her book, Quiet, and I'm really learning how to fake being an extrovert.
I'm doing it pretty well.
But on the other hand, I'm spending hours alone at home.
And I can remember taking, I had a white German shepherd growing up, Duchess, and I can remember
always taking her to this park where, you know, as Fort Worth was growing, there was this kind of ledge that overlooked a remaining patch of land, you know, trees and so forth.
So it was always drawn to the woods and always drawn to that sort of horizon thing.
And I remember going out there for a long time.
I still was keeping my notebooks as a teenager.
So I thought I was going to write my
autobiography at 10, you know, because I'd led such an important life. And then as a teenager,
I started keeping those notebooks again. And I remember around that time writing in my notebook,
I like 16, 17 years old, still kind of obsessed with the weird sort of social world of high
school, that I was grieving my imagination. I can almost remember
the day of being probably 16 or 17 and feeling as if the world used to feel so metaphorical to me,
right? The woods would become some other land. And I can remember at 16, 17, privately feeling
as if I were losing my imagination
and grieving that why what was happening i think you just you change neurologically hormonally
you're by the time you're nine or ten years old you're already developing a certain degree of awareness that you're, I really think you're just your neurochemistry
starts to change and you become more concerned about social things and so forth.
Yeah, that's definitely.
Isn't there also, I'm trying to remember this, doing some reading recently about, you know,
there's sort of a, there's a pruning effect that starts in your brain.
I think right around that time also.
I could be right around that time.
It's the pruning effect. starts in your brain, I think right around that time also. I could be right around that time. It's the pruning effect.
What's that?
It's sort of like there's a mass expansion of neural connections that happen when you're
really young.
Yeah.
And then once you hit a certain age, you know, it's almost like it's too much to sustain.
And there's a pruning effect that starts to happen.
Yeah.
Not that you can't form new connections, but there's a certain amount of efficiency that has to start to embed yeah and so i i love that because i want to drill
down into that and just say that whenever somebody says that schools are killing the imagination i
think it's unfair to our biology that in part there's just this natural development and i
haven't studied the the pruning effect but it makes complete sense in terms of just survival as a teenager you need some filters and so i was writing kind of like vividly and
adamantly trying to keep alive my imagination it really wasn't until maybe two or three years later
in college where i said okay i'm going to try to find some way to keep alive my imagination.
That was through writing, through poetry.
Was writing the mechanism to keep your imagination alive? Yes.
Or was imagining?
Yeah, yeah.
It very consciously was sort of, and I never talked to anybody about these desires of keeping alive my imagination.
Or I had this fondness of camp, of summer camp.
I went to summer camp every summer.
And my experience at summer camp was that days were so charged
and so alive that I would replay the days in my memory every day,
like what happened from the moment I woke up until the time I went to sleep.
And then when I was back in school, I would still replay those.
So I had two desires pretty consciously by the time I was an undergrad, which was to keep alive my imagination and to try to pay attention to my days.
Like I was keeping notebooks constantly.
I would go to the co-op and buy these artists
notebooks trying to pay attention to the day what and so writing was a mech so to answer your question
writing and poetry i can remember you know taking lit courses as a freshman and then a sophomore
really around 20 things became more conscious like i Like, my friends were going down the right path into business, on for an MBA, or pre-law, or pre-med, marketing, accounting.
And I went left my sophomore year and said, do you know what?
I'm going into the humanities and English and poetry.
There were a few certain poems that just opened up a world of paying
attention. That's the best I can say it. It was like the poems were so ordinary. And yet there
were poems that awaken something in me to pay attention. And for whatever reasons at age 20,
that's what I wanted to do and so poetry became really the
mechanism to help me pay attention it's it sounds really weird to articulate
this and I don't know it's also talked about it before it's it's also really
interesting that you had that this matter to you so much it's such a young
age because it's something I don't think I think almost nobody thinks about at
any point during their lives let alone coming out of their teen years and going into college, where usually you're as close to mindlessness.
You're just like, let's party.
And not surrounded by people who are like, hey, let's hang out and talk about poetry.
So the fact that, you know, which makes me really curious, why did it matter so much for you to be aware? Why did it matter so much for you to keep
your creativity alive? And what was the thing in you that felt it dying that made you need to
respond? Yeah, I don't know. So I'll just explore it out loud with you. You know, 19, 20 years old, I'm not at home, so to speak, in my surroundings anymore and with my social circles.
I'm already wondering what my future is at 19 or 20.
And I'm looking down the road and I'm like, hmm, I don't necessarily want that path, whatever that path is.
And at that time, it was like business, you're going to get married,
you'll have kids, which I've circled back around to.
Was that path in your mind the path of forsaking creativity and imagination?
Yeah, yeah, I think so.
And forsaking meaning, right?
So that was my framework, my sort of broken framework.
But that was kind of like the only path.
And then I was like, I want something else.
And I didn't know what that something else was i just knew i wanted something else and so i was a guy who you know my
friends would call me the mystery guy because i would take off and go up to mount bunnell which
is the highest point in austin and again it was sort of that horizon thing i would go out and hang
out on mount bunnell and look out at the horizon and wonder, like, where am I going?
What am I going to do?
And all that I could come up with was, I'm going to be a writer.
I'm going to write and somehow have, quote, meaning in my life.
And I know, looking back at all my colleagues and friends who are kind of going through this questioning now, I realize what an anomaly it is for me to say that at 2021, that's the
questions I was paying attention to.
It really is.
Especially because it sounds like it really was driven by the classic existential quest
for meaning.
And at an age where people just usually are so not tapped into that, let alone the fact
that most people are never tapped into it. Like you said, most of us do get there.
Classic midlife crisis is a crisis of meaning.
It's completely true.
And I was studying existential philosophy as an undergrad.
Of course.
Of course.
Did you have your brain turned backwards with your beatnik glasses?
I'm seeing you as a beat poet, although you're a little bit late for that.
No, it's true.
And I was attracted to the beats in some respect for their defiance, and then I wasn't so
interested in the sort of beat culture.
And I wasn't interested in all their suffering and so forth.
But there was something in me that wanted, you know, that paisley pant-wearing kid wanted
something different, got to do his own thing.
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Mayday, mayday.
We've been compromised.
The pilot's a hitman.
I knew you were going to be fun.
On January 24th.
Tell me how to fly this thing.
Mark Wahlberg.
You know what the difference between me and you is?
You're going to die.
Don't shoot him, we need him.
Y'all need a pilot.
Flight risk.
So who were you reading back then?
Who were the poets who lit you up?
You know, some of the standard 20th century poets, even before the beats, like William Carlos Williams, who actually had a direct influence on Allen Ginsberg.
So William Carlos Williams grew up in Patterson, New Jersey.
He was a children's doctor.
And on his walk from his nice Patterson, New Jersey house to his office, he would keep a notebook
and write kind of simple poems,
but poems geared to try to find,
he wanted a poetry of American language
and not overly romantic from what had preceded him.
And he's the one who writes the poem,
The Red Rule Barrow, right?
That is so basic and you're like, that's not a poem.
But it's so much depends upon the red wheelbarrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.
Now, that poem was one of those poems I was talking about that woke something up in me that said there's a world somehow in there of poetry and poetics and being a poet and of paying attention that I want to be a part of.
So I was reading William Carlos Williams and then Wallace Stevens and then Robert Creeley is a little bit more contemporary. Wallace Stevens was one who would just kind of transform the ordinary into the extraordinary, into the imaginative.
And that's what lit me up.
That's where I started to find home.
Yeah.
And you never really left that.
I never really left it, no.
Right.
I would say, you know, there were detours of intensity, certainly really intense in my 20s.
Yeah, but it seems like that's been the threat.
And it sounds like you approach in a lot of different ways.
And you've shared and you've written about the fact that you spent the next decade or so becoming part of the poetic intelligentsia.
Yeah, that's right.
Being utterly in your head.
So take me there a little bit.
Oh, yeah, completely. So, yeah, my 20s, I was devoted to poetry, poetics, being the best writer I could be, being the best teacher I could be, and very intellectual.
And co-founded an institute called the Walden Institute, kind of after one of my heroes at the time, Thoreau.
Right.
It was devoted to the study of human potential.
So this is the early 90s and the human potential movement. We're studying existential psychology, human Reservoir, I wrote at a sort of another crisis time.
I'm in Dallas.
Okay.
So went to school in Austin, undergrad, went to grad school, University of Texas at Dallas.
Continued to teach in Dallas.
Dallas culture.
Poet in Dallas culture.
And I'm getting pretty suffocated.
And I say, okay, either I'm going
to leave and become a monk somewhere. And I was literally looking at monasteries in the Southwest,
or I'm going to figure out how to stay here as a poet. And so I gave myself this project
that I would call day poems. I would wake up first thing in the morning, listen to the sort
of rhythm in my mind, and try to capture throughout the day threads that would gradually form into a day poem and then later shape them they're pretty
abstract pretty experimental do you remember any not i can't memorize them that's pretty hard yeah
it's like the worst thing to ask a poet it's like just recite something from there i was like please
do you know like of the hundred that you've read there are 10 million that I've trashed, and they're all swirling around in my head.
That's right.
That's exactly right.
So that's kind of where I was.
I was kind of this disembodied poet, but really trying to be grounded in part through poetry and poetics.
And I even taught a seminar on poetics of the body. It was like, I so know that there is a world below my chin and I'm going to find it sometime.
But that is the risk, right?
Because like so often any art form, you know, is begun as this quest for going deeper into your own existence, the big questions in life,
discovering who you are, your voice, and then expressing it in a way, you know, and bring
yourself fully to the world. And it ends up this, it ends up moving further and further away from
your heart and further and further out of your, you know, an embodied presence and further and
further up, you know, like you said, above the neck, and it just becomes this constantly in your head intellectual thing, which you can just lose yourself in that space and forget about the fact that sometimes the thing that started this all was the quest for the exact opposite. That's so true. It's so true. And I find, you know, I just went to a wonderful conference and festival of very activist poets
down in Washington, D.C.
And I sat in on some panels and I was aware again, all of a sudden, of the intellectual
poet and the theorizing, right?
Before you even move past that, activist poet.
I mean, really.
I'm not for pooing.
I'm just like, what is that?
Yeah, poets from Nigeria, poets from all around the world.
So you look at even, I mean, there are poets in Cameroon, right?
South of Nigeria, who've been imprisoned for speaking out against their African government.
Okay, so these are poets who are also activists and they write.
That's right. Exactly.
Okay. I thought you meant activists like, you know, like more poetry.
There's probably that too.
Okay. It makes more sense.
Yeah, good, good, good. Thanks for that clarification because probably your listeners are like, what's an activist poet?
Yeah, I'm good.
Poets rule the world. But I was aware suddenly of that tendency and that comfort of intellectualizing poetics or intellectualizing anything that we do.
And it can be very comforting and remove you from rolling up your sleeves and living in the world.
And I think maybe that's just what I needed to go through in my 20s was to be in that world, but still really searching for how do I live.
So what broke you out of it?
Yoga.
Ah.
It really did.
Yeah, yoga.
I was pretty an unhealthy vegetarian probably by my late 20s, early 30s.
Really couldn't concentrate very well i
remember trying to read cosmic comics this series of short stories that are supposed to teach and
the words were sort of bouncing on the page and pretty distressed i tried to meditate off and on
throughout my 20s but couldn't really keep up with it and uh so yeah I was like, okay. I took a six-week yoga class at UT Austin.
I was like, I need to get back to yoga.
And I did.
And it really took root.
I could sound like a really corny yoga testimonial, but I'm not going to go there.
I would just say that was my first entry point in so many ways into living in this body in this world that also shifted yeah
it's it's so interesting now isn't it it's um so much is pointing towards um i'm hearing the word
embodied embodiment constantly these days uh bessel vanderkalk and beau forbes and all these
people are doing all this work
on PTSD and recovery from trauma. And, you know, and increasingly that world is saying,
if you don't actually address, you know, bring the body back into the picture, you know, and
reconnect you with a sense of movement, and she can actually feel that, that, you know, nothing
ever gets better. And it's still counterintuitive, I think, for a lot of people that if you're having struggles from the chin up, one of the most powerful waysic like, feel the energy in your to the subtle registers of how I feel,
really paying attention.
We use these phrases like what matters,
but it did start to attune me to what matters and what am I doing
and how am I living.
So it's curious too what you say about the movement of embodiment.
Just as an example, that festival that I attended started eight years ago.
And I and two other poets had led a workshop that actually tried to integrate yoga, but we were just allowed to talk about it.
This time, eight years later, there were so many workshops that integrated movement and embodiment into the activist of poetry.
So, yeah, I'm seeing it in a number of fields. People who seem to have a North Star are ones who do have access to those little subtle tremors in the body that help them navigate important decisions.
Yeah.
Which also, I'm curious also, because one of your earlier threads was to not lose your, what was it?
You didn't call it-
Lose my imagination.
The other was to pay attention.
Pay attention to the day.
Right, so it sounds like as you move
from your 20s into your early 30s,
you were deep into your imagination,
but it sounds like in a way losing,
you weren't paying attention as much.
Yeah.
When you were paying attention,
the thing you were paying attention to
became less and less the deeper thing
and through the practice, sort of shifted what you were actually paying attention to.
It did.
And I lost myself in many ways in my 20s in work.
And I can still do that.
I can still be the good worker.
You and me both.
Yeah.
And it can be another sort of intellectual escape, but it's different with both teaching and with the work that I do now in always wanting to serve the other and wanting that i'm appreciating more and more the you know
two-year-old who's like screaming and is inconsolable and like all of that other stuff
that we don't consider part of the creative life or the intellectual life like i'm i'm more and
more inclusive as i get more and more gray that That all of that stuff is actually, it's like the connective tissue of what makes it all interesting.
So, yeah, you're right.
I was gradually moving more and more back into how am I living?
Like, how am I living and how am I really paying attention to the day?
Yeah.
Which seems like it also led you on, I mean, that six-week course then led you around the world, studying in southern India.
You went deep down that rabbit hole.
I did go deep down that rabbit hole.
That was a six-week class at the University of Texas at Austin.
But when I got into yoga, I dove deep.
You're right.
It was like, oh, this is my new PhD.
But different.
So, yeah, I immersed myself in the yogic texts um even started making comparisons
and to some of the early neuroscience like what was happening to me because i was getting my
concentration back and i was feeling so alive and my heart cracks open i'm like what is going on
with me so what do i do you know intellectual light goes and tries to study it and i did go
to south india study with my teacher, TKV Desikachar,
and really continued to just get cracked open,
like spending a year crying, but not knowing why.
And I think I was, yeah, who knows why,
but probably grieving whatever was shifting, you know?
And just like, you know,
you cry amidst beautiful transitions sometimes.
And that's kind of what was happening for me, too.
Like, I was just suddenly opening up to different possibilities of living.
Do you remember during that window of time, had kind of led this sort of ascetic life, not in any real relationships and not dealing with the messiness of what was outside of my little protected life.
And so, yeah, there was a great deal of fear of what if I leave teaching?
What will my academic friends think of this guy who's like, because it, I mean, when was this?
Like late 90s, early 2000s.
It's becoming popular, but not like it is now.
Not yet.
I mean, that's the whole like Ram Dass or something.
That crew was another 10, 15 years earlier.
Yeah, exactly.
So, yeah, there was fear that I see happening with people with whom I work.
Like I was afraid of the wrong things, really.
Like, oh, what will my academic friends think?
And they were like, go for it.
And like, why don't you come and talk to our MFA program about the soul of writing?
And that, in fact, led to a book.
Yeah.
Which kind of brought it all together.
Did, yeah.
The Journey from the Center to the page did bring it all together.
Brought a lot together for me.
And really brought even the 20s forward into this new realm.
Like being so immersed in writing and craft.
Even in my 20s, I have to say, Jonathan, I was teaching some courses where the way I would teach writing, I was really trying to teach them how to perceive.
And I would take them outdoors.
I would take them to cemeteries
and really see what's right in front of you.
And that's the way I tried to approach writing and craft too.
We would study all the elements of traditional craft,
but in the context of how are you living as a writer.
So it's bringing that forward in a very real way in the journey from the center to the page. Yeah,
that integrates yoga philosophy and practices in writing.
What was your intention when you wrote that book?
My intention was to help people. My purpose was to help writers it was geared toward writers open up to the possibility of bringing in
some yoga philosophy and yoga practice into embodying their writing life so you kind of
wanted that to be the inciting incident in their lives and open them to follow a path similar to
what you had it's similar to what i had explored and what I started testing out.
There's something more. There's something bigger.
That's right. Because before the book, I even started testing it out in some workshops.
And had one of my yoga teachers green lights to like, yeah, you know, here's a studio.
Why don't you invite some people?
And it started to really take off, which helped me see that I wasn't completely crazy.
Because really, I thought no one else is going to have this sort of experience of what I'm dealing with.
And I started integrating some of yoga's skillful means into a process and it, yeah, completely lit up, which led to the book.
And further reinforcing that I wasn't completely nuts that this could actually work.
Well, I don't know about that.
Not in that way.
I am a little we've been compromised the pilot's a hitman i knew you were gonna be fun on january 24th tell
me how to fly this thing mark walberg you know what the difference between me and you is you're
gonna die don't shoot if we need. Y'all need a pilot.
Flight Risk.
The Apple Watch Series 10 is here.
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It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever,
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It's amazing how just sort of like one thing led to another, which led to another,
which led to another. But my sense is that, you know, there's the classic, you know, take the step and have faith that the next step in the path will just appear as you reach your foot out.
I always struggle with that.
I don't see you as a person who is just completely comfortable with that idea either.
Yeah.
Although it seems like a lot of your life has been lived that way.
I completely agree. And yeah, you know, my astrology friends say, okay, you're Pisces Virgo rising.
So they don't see the Pisces in me, whatever that means to you.
Yeah, there was that time when for a few years, I was completely cracked open.
I moved from Dallas to Woodstock.
And I'm the barefoot yogi rider, so to speak.
And I'm guessing in Woodstock, you weren't the only barefoot yogi rider, by the way.
If you're going to go anywhere and do that, it's like,
what's that rider doing with shoes on, freak?
No, to put it in context, I would write my friends and say, you know,
some towns have a village idiot. Woodstock is a village of idiots and I feel right at home. So, sorry to my freak out like, oh, my God, I've really lost my mind.
Like I've swallowed a Kool-Aid.
I can't think.
And it was scary not to be able to think.
And so that and there was also the discomfort of I'm not working hard enough. I don't mind saying I don't have an explicit faith in a God, but those years seemed to teach me what faith was about, which is that root about a certain mental repose and handling later where I did become a little bit more deliberate
and say, okay, I kind of need to grow up for the eighth time
since I was 18 years old.
So where did that take you?
And that started really when I met Hillary.
Who's now your wife.
Who's now my wife.
And it was like, oh, solid relationship for the first time,
really solid relationship.
We buy a farmhouse together before we're married. It was like, oh, solid relationship for the first time, really solid relationship. We buy a farmhouse together before we're married.
And it was like, oh, solid foundation, mortgage, marriage.
And really, I felt the solidity and foundation.
And for the first time, I started to think, maybe I need to start thinking ahead.
And thinking now that I don't have a comfort of a teaching position and so forth, I need to maybe think about business, which I've been so anti in Austin.
I can remember, you know, hoping when the savings and loan debacle happened in 1984, I'm just hoping it would all crash.
You know, I was a communist in Austin.
That's where you go to become a communist in Texas.
Or anything.
Or anything, right? in texas or anything or anything right so i circled back around this like 2006 or so
and thought okay i can develop a business started getting serious about it started looking around
i was maybe around that time too when i started becoming aware of what you were doing what other
people were doing i had a business advisor of a kind of like clue me into some other people
i was like oh uh people are doing business differently than what i imagined
went to scott belsky's 99 you i was like oh my god this is like the omega institute meets business
what's going on here you know here tony schwartz talking from his yoga back i'm like wow okay i
could i could be at home doing something differently yeah so is that solidity and i
thought well you know,
if there are going to be some young wanderlings
wandering around in the future too,
I should kind of start thinking, you know,
about the future.
Yeah.
So it's interesting because it's a combination,
I think it sounds like it's a combination of you
reaching a point in your life
where things started to stabilize
and you start to look at what you wanted to build
on a sustained basis. And was, so you're a papa now yeah two little ones so
at that point was the in your head the idea that you know like i would i see myself i see this
leading potentially to a family and and maybe it's time to figure out a way to play that role where I can provide whatever illusion of stability
we can grab for.
Yeah.
And it was uncomfortable because, you know, I didn't want to be, quote, the provider.
And, you know, Hillary has her own business and always has.
And we bought the farmhouse like 50-50.
And it was clear, like, you know, she was going to keep her finances and so forth.
So, you know, to be clear, I'm not, quote, the provider of the family in that sense, but it was like, yeah, I do need to provide. And it was a new conception for me. And again, you know this. Yeah, because my father, we were middle class in Westside, Fort Worth.
He never owned a house.
We went from nice rent house to nice rent house like every year or two.
It must have driven my mother nuts, but I loved it because I was in a new home every year or two.
Never wanted that.
So things were kind of unstable in retrospect.
So I couldn't even envision myself being a father for the longest time.
And then I met Hillary. And honestly, I was like, ooh, children, maybe. Where are they coming from?
So I could start to see it and start to say, well, maybe I could be a father. Maybe I could.
And my friends are like, you're never ready for it. You just have to do it. I'm like, no, no,
I can be ready for it. So yeah, it was all that sort of thinking like, you know, you're never ready for it. You just have to do it. I'm like, no, no. I can be ready for it.
So, yeah, it was all that sort of thinking like, hey, this is a different phase in my life.
So, again, why not embrace it the way I embraced the yogic age?
Why not embrace this age and stage?
So, that was around 2006, 2007. So as we sit here today, you've written more, for sure.
You have embraced the intersection between business and art, more specifically writing and art.
But certainly, you expanded beyond that as well.
You've got a company called Tracking Wonder.
And I'm curious, what are you building with it?
What is it?
So there's still a lot of unknown about where it's going,
but what it is, yeah, I have a team of eight people.
You could say it's a boutique consultancy.
It started, it started, Jonathan,
as my intellectual idea for like the next book and the next way of my life.
That was just what I discovered actually in 2005, 2006, was that I wanted to track wonder.
It's been that early.
Deconstruct, track wonder.
So wonder, and I came across it while researching for the journey from the center to the page, actually. And I was like, God, there's this thing about writing that I can only describe as wonder and surprise that has to go in the book.
And actually, while in India, I came across this yogic text called the Shiva Sutras.
That's one of the few yoga books that even reference its yoga.
So I'll just say in short that wonder is like, it is the emotional, cognitive, aesthetic experience
that most cracks us open to what is real
and to what is here and what is true.
It is the experience that opens us up to that.
It's at the heart of the creative impulse.
And once I started to understand that,
I also realized that it was wonder as part of what
I've been pursuing all along. That when I was grieving my imagination, it was in part that
desire to have that space of wonder. I was like, oh my God, this is like my sort of life coming
right back in front of me. So trackingacking Wonder became like the focus of my next
project. And then as I got serious about business, it was like, well, I work with all these authors,
helping them shape their proposals and develop their books. I'm going to transition my business
to Tracking Wonder. But that led to me seeing some other problems
that those authors and other people
attracted to what I was doing were having.
Like, how do I get my act together and focus?
And at this time, 2006, 2007,
a lot of people were talking about get things done,
be super productive.
They still are.
Doesn't always work with the artist's mind.
It doesn't.
It doesn't always work with the artist's mind.
And there's something else that I think we all hunger for, whether we have an artist's mind or not, which is delight.
Yeah.
Right?
And spaciousness. applicable to how do you live your life, be productive, but still, quote, track this experience
of wonder and being open to not only to what's real in front of you, but to who you are,
right?
So as we've been talking about, you know, the evolution of my life, part of the wonder
is to even look at how your identity shape shifts over the years and what you're capable of doing over the
years. So I tracked that and then a number of my author clients were having problems with this
thing called branding and platform building. We would sell their book proposals, but then still
people wouldn't know about them. So I did deep dives about five years ago into branding,
got comfortable with that.
Being a Texan, branding had a certain connotation of cattle that I didn't like.
But I found it as a creative, meaningful process
and started developing some frameworks and a program
that further extended Tracking wonder to reach people and
engage people far beyond the author realm.
So that's what we've been building out is helping professionals and now even small teams
shape their message driven by their key ideals that has integrity.
And that comes out in their books.
It comes out in their brand stories and other facets.
So what am I building? So still, Jonathan, though, like, own land, like Tracking Wonder has its own language.
So they're reflecting back to me what we're building,
but honestly, Jonathan, I still don't know where it's going.
And so it sounds really uncomfortable for me to say in public,
but the people on my team know that even four or five years ago,
like there's one consultant who, you know, like four years ago,
I was like, look, I don't know where we're going,
but do you want to come along?
Because let's just see what happens in this.
And we keep reflecting back on,
yeah, this is what we're doing
and this is where we think we're going.
But if I told you I have a five-year plan,
I'd be a complete liar.
Yeah, but isn't that the very definition
of tracking wonder?
That is.
I mean, maybe for you, the whole thing is you're not, it's not what you're building.
It's just your ability to wake up every day and let your head hit the pillow and say,
and ask the question, have I tracked wonder today?
Yeah, it's cool.
And if you can answer yes, and then the next day, and then the next, and the next,
that wouldn't, wouldn't the moment you almost make
what you're quote building so concrete you're no longer tracking wonder because the wonder becomes
defined and it's no longer a question and that's so beautifully said i i'm gonna replay that that
was as beautifully said because that's a and i'll tell i'll confess something, too. In 2005, 2006, I sent out a quick book proposal to my agent on a book called Tracking Wonder.
And it was so unbaked because I hadn't really lived it all yet.
And I hadn't really cracked myself open.
So absolutely, yeah.
It makes a lot of sense.
Perennially staying open, yeah.
There's something I want to read.
It's actually from your website because there's another side of tracking wonder for you.
You write, still when I became a father, I looked into my first infant girl's sky-wide blue eyes and made a silent two-fold vow. from her the art of not knowing and to live a life so rich with skillful creativity and wonder
that she would want to become a grown-up yeah oh yeah
this is where you try to make me cry
yeah yeah that came after two a pretty hard. We had a house fire for like 15 months, and she was born during that 15 months.
I had Lyme's disease twice in those 15 months.
And the whole time, the whole 15 months, I'm like, where's the wonder?
Right?
And because that's the real practice.
And just deliberately tracking it.
And I still had limes after the fire and had this baby in my arms.
And there were times when I would not be in self-pity at night,
but was afraid that I would never be this, like, larger-than-life papa,
you know, that I really wanted to be.
But when I did, you know,
it was like one of those great classic October New York mornings,
and took her on a walk and looked in those eyes.
And I can't remember exactly what I said out loud,
but it was something like, I will wonder for you.
And then later it was like, yeah, I want to be the sort of grown-up
that she will not want to cling to her childhood,
but cannot wait to become a grown-up.
Because I think we grown-ups, when we look to children and say,
oh, the beauty and innocence of children, oh, to be a child again,
we completely negate the beauty of being a grown-up over and over again.
And that's the kind of grown-up I want to be for my little girls.
Yes, it's not just tracking wonder isn't your brand, it's why you're here. It's't your brand, it's why you're here.
It's not your company, it's why you're here.
It's completely true.
It's completely true.
And I feel so fortunate.
I feel fortunate that that's true, and I feel fortunate that I've realized that,
that for whatever reasons, I've come to realize that that that is that is why i'm here
and so my father-in-law just as a side note like it's a curious thing he said
only you could make a living tracking wonder and that is so true on so many levels right
probably no argument there right um but only everyone else can be alive tracking wonder yeah
you uh you have a you've never stopped writing poetry i i saw you uh do a nice live read at
camp gop a couple years back i think last year too yeah yeah and you actually have a new book
out so can i and i i don't know if you have it with you.
If not, I actually have.
Would you read something?
Oh, sure.
I'd love to.
So let's see.
What are you in the mood for?
Because I know you've read this.
It's a Friday afternoon.
Heading into the summer.
What do you got?
By the way, it's called The Coat Thief.
Yeah, Coat Thief. Know the, just Coat Thief. Yeah, Coat Thief.
Know the, just Coat Thief.
Like Facebook, know the Facebook.
That's right.
How about I'll read Coat Thief, and you and I will read Today's the Day.
That sounds good.
Okay.
Coat Thief.
I've been collecting coats along the streets for weeks in case I'm caught naked this winter. Panic strikes me some nights that
I will awaken with nothing, so I'm preparing. Neighbors have surrendered their raggedy London
fogs, their vinyl yellow rain slickers, even an old fox-skinned coat with holes at the seams from
someone's grandmother's attic. Coats pile the back bedroom and cover my backyard bushes like
provisions. I will not be caught naked this winter. Go ahead, you say, and try to armor yourself with
other people's sleeves, but there's no getting ready for waking up bewildered in the middle of the night, in the middle of your life,
in the middle of a downtown street with nothing, not even your wits or yourself and your possession.
You could be walking down lover's lane, your briefcase in hand, your heart in the other,
and an SUV military vehicle could whip by and strip you of your suit, your title, your spouse, your house.
You could be hiking after dark in Montana's cryptic mountains,
and lightning could strip you of your boots, your roots, your backpack, your spine.
You could be stripped of everything at any moment.
So why wait, you say?
Why not go naked now? Live with the lyric and let me sing you
into a lyrical life, your body a lyre whose strings strum along the beats of my heart's drum.
Before I can respond, you strip me of all words and steal all my coats.
Beautiful.
So let's try today is the day together.
Yeah.
All right.
So me, me, me, me, me, me.
Get Jonathan Fields reading some poetry.
All right.
We'll just alternate stanzas.
Oh, you didn't tell me it was 40 pages.
This is an epic poem on the history of America.
The Odyssey, part two.
Today is the day. So I'll read the first stanza, you read the next. All right.
This is the day you were supposed to be accountable.
The eggs begged to be gathered, the beans to be counted,
the books to be balanced. But you awoke instead to your neighbor's peacock strutting at song from
the shed top. So you have wasted the entire morning speaking to the blue stones. No, to just this one blue stone that sits amidst a stream,
its face like a grandmother,
its weighty voice you've just begun to hear.
This is the day you are supposed to be accountable.
What happened?
The sun slips past noon and the peacock takes a nap.
And all you can account for
is this one song you've made for this one stone
who is just beginning to hear you.
That was fun.
That was fun.
Thanks for doing that.
Thank you.
So as you know, we always wrap with one question.
It feels like the right time to come full circle.
This is called Good Life Project.
So I offer that phrase to you to live a good life.
What comes up?
Well, I think from our conversation, it is about being present,
paying attention so much that by the end of the day, by the end of a life,
you can say this was a life worth remembering.
Thank you.
Yeah. Thank you, Jonathan.
Hey, thanks so much for listening. We love sharing real unscripted conversations and ideas
that matter. And if you enjoy that too, and if you enjoy what we're up to, I'd be so grateful
if you would take just a few seconds and rate and review the podcast. It really helps us get the word out. You can actually do that now
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to never miss out on any of our incredible guests or conversations or riffs. And for those of you,
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our message would just be so appreciated. Until next time, this is Jonathan Fields signing off
for Good Life Project. The Apple Watch Series 10 is here. between me and you, you're going to die. Don't shoot him, we need him. Y'all need a pilot. Flight Risk.
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