Expressions of the Spirit

Gremlins are making me crazy!

Last week I made two new journals - from scratch...painted papers, nice hard covers, elaborate stitching on the spines. Now I can't find them. I swear there are gremlins in my office who take things while I'm asleep. I think of these little guys like the shoemakers elves who come out at night to make shoes - only my elves don't have any shoes to make so they torment me by moving my stuff.  Okay - I get it, I could be more organized.

I am in a constant battle with myself to keep my desk and studio space clean. When I'm in full creative motion I focus without stop on the project at hand. Whether writing or art I give the project complete attention. I take out a dozen bottles of paint, four brushes, a shoe box full of paper scraps and a crate of old magazines. I've learned to cut over the waste basket so I don't have to pick up tiny snippets of paper. I always wash my brushes. But I do have a tendency to just stop at the end of the day without a plan for tomorrow. Usually I'm interrupted by some household urgency (like a husband who needs feeding) or a community meeting of some importance.

Keeping my writing organized is a bit easier. My computer is the world's best filing cabinet so long as I can remember what I named the file and which folder I put it in. I try to be logical yet some of my documents escape. I don't know where they go and can't figure out why. Maybe I have computer gremlins as well.

I have tried all kinds of personal management techniques - even went to the expense of hiring an office organizer to help me sort out my mess. She had great ideas - convinced me that I needed a bigger space to work effectively. So I moved downstairs to the old guest room, put in a bank of industrial shelving. Now I have everything off the floor but I'm still not sure what's in all the boxes. The cosmic law of organization has me in its force field:  my stuff has expanded to fill the space available!

I can write all day about letting go - and have done that many times. I can give myself hints to put folders away and tidy up - all to no avail. My approach now is not to sweat the small stuff. As a creative person, if I made something once, I can make something else - or the same thing again. I don't need a filebox full of old projects. Now I'm learning to let go of the angst over not finding what I want in the moment. The strange thing about this new approach is that when I begin creating anew, the thing I lost usually surfaces! I guess those gremlins don't like it when I give in and let them have what they stole.

What are your organizational habits? What do you do to control the material things in your life?

Do you have a space of your own? How is it arranged?

Is there are right way to work?

Take some time today to survey your work space. Let go of the things you don't need - or let go of your need to be organized! Either way - you'll be happy.

Guess I'll be making some new journals this afternoon.

Childhood Activities and Destiny

Every Sunday I look forward to the newspaper. After reading the front page and checking the police blotter to be sure no fiends are lurking in my neighborhood, I turn to the LifeStyle section and find the comics. My local paper resized the comics recently so I don't read them all--the print is too small--but I never miss my favorites: Dilbert and Baby Blues.  Dilbert reminds me of my corporate days and the absurdity of management.  Baby Blues reminds me of the twenty years I invested in raising my children and the equal amount of absurdity that accompanies parenthood. Philosophical gems and wisdom often hide among the ridiculous antics described in both comics.

In today's comic, Wanda (the mom) is reading the week's list of activities for her young son, Hammie. Darrel, the father, dares to suggest that perhaps Hammie is overscheduled. Wanda looks at her husband, a man who goes to work everyday and doesn't fully comprehend the rigors of the stay-at-home-mom life, and sighs. Sometimes she, too, thinks Hammie is overscheduled, and then she remembers that "he likes to take things apart with power tools in his spare time." I laughed out loud at this remembering my mother's warning not to leave my nephew alone while babysitting him because he liked to take things apart. This nephew is now a graduate in Engineering Physics and in charge of building equipment for the laboratories at the University of Oregon.

The memory got me to thinking how much our early childhood behavior might be an indicator of adult interests. Maybe what we want to be when we grow up is already determined. My own son demonstrated his need for speed at a early age. He never seemed to walk but ran everywhere. He liked to find the longest highest hill to ride in his little red wagon. Today he is an instructor at the Bridgestone "Fastest Ride on Ice" winter driving school and looking for a sponsor so he can get back into the driver's seat of a race car.

As for myself, I spent my time with my nose in a book. I would rather read than do anything else. After a dozen part-time jobs and sundry careers I find myself back where I began - nose in books.... reading.... writing.... and playing with words.

What were your childhood passions? How did they influence the person you have become?  What do you do today that is similar to what you did as a child?  How is your life different?

Write a story about your childhood activities. Where were you? Who participated in your activities? Did you do them alone?

Childhood is our proving ground, the place where we test our abilities, interests and boundaries. Discovering what we liked then can inspire ideas about how to bring balance into our adult lives. Have a little fun today - let your childlike self out to play.

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?

What was it like to make art as a child?

Making art was the theme for this week's 'Expressions of the Spirit' creative writing group. Art for writers? Of course!

Sometimes, a creative breakthrough is only possible when one steps outside the familiar. Challenging ourselves to do something out of the ordinary can bring up those inne critics that have become so familiar we accept them as truth.

Try doodling - what do you notice about your process?  Do you draw wildly and with abandon? Are you conservative with your materials? Are you worried that your art won't 'look like something'? 

Notice the voices that go on in your head while you are making art. These are the same voices that impede your creative writing flow. To silence the critic, write a captured moment about making art as a child. Fill your writing with sensory details and feel again the playful openness of youth.

If, during your write, you discover a nemesis - someone who restricted your art making and play, notice who it is, what they say and how this person's reaction affects your adult life. If you choose, write an unsent letter letting this person know how you feel know. Reclaim your full potential to have fun and be creative!

Write something today

My family has observed me writing in a journal for most of the past twenty-five years. While my children accept it as something that mom does, many others of my family and friends often ask me ‘why’. Why do I write every day? What do I write about? What am I going to do with it? Writing is a way for me to know myself.

Let’s face it, we all have internal conversations; I write mine down. Through the act of writing I get to see what’s on my mind, literally. I wrestle with the problems that confront me from day to day, seeking solutions, sometimes respite, other times celebration. As the thin black line trails from my pen across the paper, I discover answers and regularly develop direction for myself and my life. I can cheer myself on and congratulate myself for accomplishments that may seem too trivial for others to notice. Through my writing I find balance, initiative, comfort, and joy. Writing is also a way for me to engage with a broader community. When I facilitate writing groups I hope to both give to and gain from people whom I might otherwise never encounter. I make physical, social, and emotional connections with people and watch as they make similar connections with self and with each other.

Socrates once said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Writing provides an opportunity to examine not only my own life but relationships between lives. In this age of information driven by technology, human beings are becoming increasingly isolated. Writing is a way to create genuine connection between the parts of our selves and between individuals, cultures and communities.

Do something to connect you with the world today – write something from the heart, and share it.

Journal Prompts for National Day of Listening

To move deeper into understanding your own life through story, you might want to try interviewing yourself. Use your journal to discover the learning embedded in your life experience. Here are a few prompts:

Write about something that makes you proud.

Write about a time when you felt really happy.

Who has been the most important influence in your life?

What is the best advice that someone ever gave you? How did you use it?

For a longer list of great questions, visit http://www.storycorps.net/record-your-story/question-generator/list

Write On!

Where are you from?

How do you answer this typical question when you meet someone new? Do you tell them where you were born? Where you live now? Consider the following poem by George Ella Lyons and write your own version of the answer to the question: Where are you from?

Where I'm From by George Ella Lyons

I am from clothespins,

from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.

I am from the dirt under the black porch.

(Black, glistening

it tasted like beets.)

I am from the forsythia bush,

the Dutch elm

whose long gone limbs I remember

as if they were my own.

I'm from fudge and eyeglasses,

from Imogene and Alafair.

I'm from the know-it-alls

and the pass-it-ons,

from perk up and pipe down.

I'm from He restoreth my soul

with a cottonball lamb

and ten verses I can say myself.

I'm from Artemus and Billie's Branch,

fried corn and strong coffee.

From the finger my grandfather lost

to the auger

the eye my father shut to keep his sight.

Under my bed was a dress box

spilling old pictures,

a sift of lost faces

to drift beneath my dreams.

I am from those moments--

snapped before I budded--

leaf-fall from the family tree.

What kind of person are you?

Getting in touch with Self is a necessary part of living fully. When people ask you what you do, do you give them your job title? What if you don't have a job title? Or a job? A life purpose isn't always defined by the work we do.

Starting with this phrase:  I am someone who..... Sit down and write a new description of yourself - and practice telling people everyday about the kind of person you are.

Have a great day - and visit my new website! www.mindworkscoaching.com

The writing Life

Is writing work or play for you? Do you put off writing until your 'real' work is finished. Write about the things that stop you from sitting down and writing.

Do you have a regular writing practice? Create time for your writing every day. Commit to three morning pages or 15 minutes, whatever it takes to get yourself started, and keep going.

Remember, the only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. You don't have to write the whole book today - but you do have to sit in your chair and write something. A page a day = 365 pages in a year! That's the way to write a novel.