When I was managing a behavioral health care clinic a number of years ago, I didn't like surprises. In fact I set out as most directors and managers do, to avoid surprises. I asked my colleagues and employees to let me know ahead of time if they were making decisions that would affect me. People didn't always comply with my request so on some occasions, in the middle of the work day, I would open an envelope containing news I wasn't expecting. Someone was resigning, or needing to cut back on their hours, or moving to Alaska. I would struggle to handle these surprises like one handles a punch below the belt in a boxing contest. I would carry on trying to live the advice given by self-defense experts. "Expect nothing. Be ready for anything."

But now, instead of attempting to arrange my life in such a way as to eliminate surprises, I've taken to inviting them. Yes, knowing what you want can increase your chances of getting it. And yes, as the hypnotist, Milton Erickson advised, "You can pretend anything and master it." But one of the secrets of this embodiment of desire is to stay open to how things get delivered. Quite often it involves a surprise.

Through the years I've come to admit I don't always know what's in my best interest, especially in the long run. I remember a story my then teenage son told about when he was preparing for his first job, to serve as a counselor for a summer day camp. All the way to his first day on the job, he was praying, "Dear God, don't give me the little kids. Don't give me the little kids." Of course, when he arrived he got assigned as counselor to the little kids, while his friends were assigned the older ones. After about a week, his prayer became, "Thank God I got the little kids," as the six and seven year olds jumped over each other to do whatever he asked of them. Meanwhile his friends were struggling to herd their charges into any semblance of discipline or order.

Making things happen in the world involves processes of both yin and yang. As creative people we learn from our creations. Writers ask what does my manuscript need from me? Artists, after acting bolder from their visions, listen to what the half finished canvas is asking for. In my InterPlay improvisational troupe, we know that what's new will be something outside the box of routine familiarity. We follow the movement and/or the story till we discover "the thing, " that which is trying to emerge. And how do we know we've found it? When what arrives surprises us.