One year, I committed to writing more, and I wrote this about my challenges:

I’m going to write more. It’s what I want. Now that I’ve said it, I know I will drag into my writing room, and it will feel as though I have to hoist a dead body out of the way, just to sit down and type out a sentence. I’ll want to wash my hands and then research how soap got invented. Maybe I’ll want to start a small organic soap company…. But I’ll stay there and write instead.

There is a part of myself who will wheedle: “Maybe tomorrow. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” Then there’s the one who’s painted her toenails hot pink and stomps her imperial feet. “I don’t want to do that,” she shrieks. Another part of me bargains. “I’ll answer email now. I’ll do the dishes. Okay, okay, I’ll exercise!”

What is all that about? Therapists call it resistance. In spiritual traditions, they call it the death of the ego or the frightened self. But I’m thinking the technical term is blah, blah, blah, something to ignore on the road to everything you really want.

In Buddhism, there is a classic story about Milarepa, a Tibetan monk who sought to meditate and find peace in a cave. You can think of it as his decision to start running or speaking up at meetings. Just when Milarepa gets all ready to keep his promise to himself, these unruly, foul demons arrive and disrupt his peace-fest. But Milarepa didn’t go ballistic. He didn’t go limp either.

As the tale gets told, he accepted his disruptive energies and invited them to tea. He stopped thinking things should be otherwise and refused to reject the way things were. Then having stopped protesting the demons, they simply disappeared. Poof!

Resistance can take all kinds of forms. But I’m ready to invite them to tea or coffee. I may have to listen to a screaming baboon in my head. Or look in the mirror and confront cellulite and age and the breaking of past promises. But it’s all okay. Because I’m on the road to freedom. There is only one road through this. I’ll be gentle with myself, but I’ll hold to my desires with both fists, all my breath, and the golden stallions of my yet untapped strength.

Resistance is the clear sign that I’m getting too near the gold, the gates, or the stash of real change. I must be afraid of something very big and explosively good.