Expressions of the Spirit

Memories - what to do with them?

The greatest gift people can give to each other is their memories. As a journal facilitator, I regularly teach people how to listen intently to the story of their life, observe closely those details that reveal who they are and what they've seen and heard, then write honestly and from the heart. Yet this week I have been surprised by the number of people who don't seem to value their experiences. You see, I joined the internet social networking scene

Yes, I'm now on facebook and linkedin and have cruised through classmates.com to check on the people I knew in high school. I searched through dozens of biographies to find details and was surprised to see a number of entries: Life.  That's it - just Life. I'm surprised that people don't consider it important to share details. Yes I understand privacy but I also understand celebration. "Life" is in the details!

Too often I have people in my classes who consider that nothing about them is interesting. I suspect they think only Hollywood stars, royalty, and serial killers have a story to tell. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Raising children is rich with story. So is being single, being married, working at a steady job or switching careers. Whatever we choose to do in life becomes our story. Through the act of sharing story, we acknowledge our personal history, validate our experiences, successful or otherwise. Each life lived matters.

What's the story you have to tell?

What's in a name?

My friend Rusty is leaving today for the Peace Corps. As I carefully store her new overseas address in my contact file I feel that old pang from youth camp days:  I never had a nickname. Not that people haven't called me by something other than my given name - I've been called lots of things throughout my life - but I never had a nickname that was fun and stayed with me.

As a kid my parents fondly referred to me as Susie Poosie - there's something to be proud of and share with the neighborhood.  My sister shortened it to Sue - and that's the name most people used until I decided to become an engineer and chose to be called Susan. People still get that mixed up - men especially - and think I've said Susie...If I were 5'2 with eyes of blue maybe that one would be okay. But I'm not and it doesn't fit. The only people allowed to call me Susie are my neice and nephew. Now that they've both turned thirty, even they call me Aunt Sue.

So what's in a name?  A name is your identity - your style - your defining logo.  I want something unique - something that's more like me. But what would that be?  In grammar school there were no fewer than 5 variations of Susan in every class. My particular favorite was Suzanne - it had flair. Unfortunately, my mother was hoping for a boy so a) had no girls' names at the ready, and b) was singularly unimaginative when she had to make a choice.  My Uncle Herb, in fact, named me. He always wanted a little girl.

In 1994 I attended a fun workshop on creativity. The first thing the instructor did was invite us to choose our own name. Instantly I knew who I was:  Zelda. I drew that name on a large sheet of art paper, colored it with vibrant reds and purples, yellow and blue. I claimed it. Zelda is who I really am - my alter ego.

Since that time I have used Zelda to write many of my life stories. Zelda is the personna who is unafraid, daring, outrageous, and alive. When I want to have fun I think: what would Zelda do? How would Zelda dress? Zelda is certainly more fashionable than Susan ever was. Zelda loves to go shopping. Zelda loves to cook. Zelda loves to tell jokes. Zelda has always lived inside of me - I just never knew it.

I'm not suggesting that I'm schizophrenic - but I do believe we all have different parts of ourselves with different personalities. I'm still Susan most of the time, but I am glad to claim the titles that define me in other ways as well. Sometimes I am Madame Zelda, the tarot reader; sometimes I am the artist, the dancer, the thinker. Claiming the name Zelda helped open me to the world of everything I could think or dream of being.

What's the name you'd like to claim? What parts of yourself are you ready to acknowledge now?

Falling Out

Just when I resolved to keep current with my blog I fell down the stairs. The result: a broken hip, a week in the hospital to recover from hip replacement surgery, and two months of disconnect as I healed and learned to walk again.

Now it's September already - time to tie up the loose ends before winter. Yesterday I received an email from another coach friend of mine who likes to start her new year's resolutions in September instead of January. That way she feels she'll move into the new year with a feeling of accomplishment and less stress.

I'm going to take Jane's advice and start my new year now and commit to regular updates, more connection with friends and colleagues - and better attention to the way I move through life.  No more Falling Out of integrity with myself, my work, and my lifestyle.

Here's to a Happy New Year for you, too!

Life Balance, Time Management and the tightrope walker

Last weekend I made a quick turnaround trip to Denver. My companion for the 6 hour drive was audio book Eat That Frog: 21 Techniques to Stop Procrastinating by  Brian Tracy. The title refers to a comment made by Mark Twain that if people learned to eat a frog first thing in the morning, then everything else would be easy. After living in France for a few years I've discovered that frogs are actually very tasty - but I'm sure Twain and Tracy are not talking about skinned frog legs sauteed in garlic butter. If I had to eat a frog spots, skin and all, well... maybe I wouldn't be so eager.

Two points I found interesting in Tracy's time management techniques are these:

Do the things FIRST that you hate or fear (but still need to do), that way everything that follows will be easier. (As Mark Twain says - eat that frog first thing in the morning...) I tried this over the weekend and it definitely improved my productivity.

Secondly - think of life balance the way a tightrope walker thinks of balance...that is, ALL the time! 

In my experience as a life coach - too many people try to separate life into compartments:  career, family, health, etc. The truth is these all exist together in the process of life. One area can't be put on hold for long without affecting another area. Holding the idea of balance at every moment of the day will help us maintain balance.

For example: if I want to stay healthy - then it's important that I think about health when I'm working, driving the car, shopping for groceries. Balance exists in attention to details throughout the day. So to maintain health at work I will pay attention to my posture, my office arrangment. I will take breaks regularly, use the stairs instead of the elevator, remember to breathe deeply and smile (especially when making phone calls and dealing with difficult people). I can consider ways to include healthful activities such as a walk at lunchtime, or desk yoga (really - there are books on this!)

Waiting until the end of the day or until we have 'time' to workout will not provide the balance we seek throughout the day.

So if you want to lead a balanced life make a list of the top three things that matter in your life (Tracy says do it in 3 seconds or less!) Then start devising activities that support what matters most to you.

New to the universe

Today I came across this journal entry written by Ralph Waldo Emerson when he was twenty-four:

"There is a pleasure in the thought that the particular tone of my mind at this moment may be new to the universe; that the emotions of this hour may be peculiar and unexampled in the whole eternity of moral being."

Just when I was thinking that everything that could be said (or written) has been said, Emerson's observation reminds me that no one in the world can articulate my particular world view or experience except me.

Each human being is unique, with a sequence of experiences unlike those of any other human being. While we humans share many traits and characteristics, it is our difference from each other that provides stimulus for conversation and growth.

One way we can become aware of the astonishing variety of our thoughts and feelings is to record them regularly. The daily journal can be a container for those particular moments that belong to us alone. What a gift Emerson gives: the possiblity to enjoy and celebrate ordinary genius!

How often do you submit to the critical mind, believing that nothing you think or do has value compared to the outstanding minds that are researching miraculous cures for cancer or alternative sources of fuel for our environment? This small thinking can stop us from participating fully in the art of living - as well as participating fully in expressing ourselves as individuals.

Write Now...take out your journal, blank book, or a piece of plain notebook paper. Open your netbook or laptop and record your thoughts in this moment.

What wild ideas are playing in your mind?                                                  What musings and ruminations are roaming around wanting to be known? Write what's happening right now in this "peculiar and unexampled" moment? 

Remember - your life is distinctly different from any other life. Celebrate the difference that is You!

What if you could rewrite the Life of your Hair?

            Right now my daughter is struggling with her hair. Beautiful, twenty-two, and naturally blonde, she decided to dye it dark brown to give herself a more ‘exotic’ look. In the early stages of a modeling career, a narrow-minded agent told Rebecca, “Blonde’s been done.”  Apparently, brunette is in.

            I’ve always been brunette  - and always will be. (Except for a short period of time in Holland when I dyed my hair deep purple for the fun of it.)  I actually have no idea what my real hair color is today but judging from my sister’s even tone of grey, I’m sure if I showed my true color it would be much the same. Years ago I decided to stop worrying about bad hair days. It hasn't been easy.

             I remember my childhood when my mother signed us up with Aunt Willene for our annual Tony permanents. Aunt Willene was a beautician with a gorgeous crown of thick well-managed red hair. I wanted to look like her – or at the very least, like the cute twins on television who advertised the Tony hair products. Their hair was bouncy and blonde. My permanents always turned out tightly wound and frizzy.

            My mother arranged for my last permanent when I was a freshman in high school – two days before the annual yearbook pictures were taken. That yearbook remains hidden away in a dark closet so I never have to be reminded of that humiliating bad hair day now immortalized. Soon after the infamous photo was taken, the folk singing trio Peter, Paul, and Mary became popular. Long straight hair was the new look. I adamantly refused to get my hair cut or curled– ever again. 

            In my sophomore year I remember sitting on the floor in front of the hallway mirror every night, rolling  my shoulder length hair on fat brush rollers to give my do a smooth and fashionable look.  By midmorning the next day, the curl had fallen out and I spent the day pushing what my mother called my straggle mop out of my eyes and away from my face. I spent the next twenty years tucking my hair behind my ears or pinning it up on top of my head in a not-so-fashionable bun. At least, it wasn’t frizzy.

            By1984 I was living in Bangkok. It was hot; it was humid. I had survived my first pregnancy wearing my hair in pigtails – a very un-chic look for someone soon to be a parent. When the baby grabbed his first fistful of hair and tugged, I thought my scalp would bleed and decided it was time to get it all cut off. Never mind that I couldn’t speak Thai very well. Never mind that I hadn’t a clue what to ask for – I marched myself down to the nearest salon and smiled. The Thai beautician did the rest. Lo and behold, I walked out of that salon with short, curly hair… my first permanent since 1962! And I liked it!

            Several things were running in my favor that day: chemical hair products had significantly advanced since my last salon visit – thanks in most part to poor rabbits who suffered in test laboratories in the name of beauty. I thank them – and mourn their suffering. But I looked great – and tight, curly hairdos were in! This was the beginning of my new love affair with the permanent. My friends now compliment me on my naturally curly hair. They consider me lucky and bemoan their own long, straight, droopy locks. I smile and say thank you. Occasionally I tell the truth – that my hair is ‘chemically enhanced’. And I keep on making those appointments with my beautician every six months to ensure that my naturally curly look stays – well natural!

            Last week  I visited my daughter who sat lamenting the loss of her beautiful blonde hair. Because of some serious mistakes on the part of her beautician and a few more bad choices on color, she had had to cut her hair short – a look she finds ‘unfeminine’.

     Her distress was palpable; I felt my own stomach churning with memories crying over bad hair days. She looked at me longingly and lamented: “I hate my hair! How come I don’t have pretty curly hair like you do?” I smiled at the thought that my own children don’t even know that I have skinny, stick straight hair.  I patted her hand as I told her not to worry – it would get better. Her hair would grow out soon enough. Hair always does.

    That’s the one thing you can count on when you have a bad hair day – eventually, hair gets better.

 

What story about your hair would you like to re-write?

How attached to your looks are you?

What do you do when you're having a bad hair day?

 

Write a story about the worst thing that's ever happened to your hair.

Who has the best hair among your peers?  Why? What do you like best about it?

What do you like best about yourself?

Some Recent Journal covers

  How to Personalize your journal:  Cut a piece of colored paper for background (or collage directly on the cover, making sure you cover all the ugly marbled compostion background)  Choose magazine headlines and images that speak to you or provide a theme that interests you. Arrange all your collage elements in a pleasing compostion BEFORE you glue them down. I use regular glue-sticks - then cover my journals with clear vinyl contact paper (specially made for books, you can buy it at most office supply stores). Et voila! Your own journal.

Where the bloody hell are you?

I liked the tone of this magazine ad for vacations to Australia so I tore it out of the magazine and used it to creat my latest journal cover. I like making my own collage journal covers. The words or images that speak to me as I assemble materials help set the tone for the next month's investigation. I use the black and white speckled composition books so familiar to students around the globe. I prefer the thin line college rule to the wide rule available at most office supply stores so I order my composition books by the case from Quill online.

This month's cover is a reminder to stop now and then to assess my life position. Sometimes I get so scattered I feel I'm working on 1000 projects at once --and doing none of them really well. So where the bloody hell am I this month?  I intend to find out!

Leaving on a jet plane

I'm off to UK and Europe for a few weeks. Time to get in touch with relatives and old friends. I'm really looking forward to a return visit to Holland sans kids. I love my kids - no doubt about that - but travelling without them lets me see things with my own eyes. I can stand in front of a single painting in the Rijksmuseum for an hour if I want - and I do want that experience. The tulips should be starting to bloom; crocuses will surely be popping up everywhere.

On my trip I'll be doing some ekphrastic writing. Ekphrastic refers to the process of using one art media to reflect on another type of art media. In my case I'll be doing writing based on painting. But who knows -I have a new box of crayons and maybe I'll do some drawing as well.

If you aren't able to get out of town - or even out of the house - you can take a travel tour of your own. Find some photos of exotic places and write a captured moment based on what you feel when looking at the picture.

Or Describe your favorite spot/place to visit. There's no reason not to write about different locations regardless of your real place on the planet. Take an imaginary visit somewhere. Let your creativity out to play!

Journal entry from this week's Expressions of the Spirit Writing Prompt

What was it like to make art as a child?

    Making art was fun. Smearing paint on waxy paper....This is the only time I can remember when it was okay to be messy; messy was expected.

And then I remember how I was supposed to 'make' something with my finger paints--a pretty picture, a feathery pattern, some concentric swirls that looked regular and shapely--not just create a smeary mess of brown because I mixed all the colors. I loved the tactile process, the sensation of smearing and I hear again the distant voice of my mother: "What is it?" "Try it this way." "Try to make something."

Too often we're pushed into other people's ideas of learning. Making art representational was essential for my mother. She wanted me to be 'good' at it. She didn't give me permission to be good just doing what I was doing.

Such early base patterning carries forward into our adult lives and some of us  give up the idea of play for the sake of playing. Now as adults we're caught in the frame of 'doing' - doing it bigger, doing it better, doing it right.

Today, give yourself the gift of playfulness. Buy a box of crayons and draw!