Match and Tinder

Letting Things Pass - Three Short Stories

2011-09-28T14:57:00.000-07:00

Photo Credit: rehab

I wrote this blog post nearly a year ago, but because I was so emotionally raw for such a long time, I couldn't post it. Time heals. - Rebecca*

Story Number One:

I have a friend, let's call her Ava, who had children younger in life. Two beautiful baby girls. She didn't expect it or plan for it. But it happened. Like I said, she was very young.

Her second baby girl spent the first few months of her life in a colicky way. She wouldn't scream or cry, but had an ongoing whimper. She made these unhappy little whimpering sounds for what Ava said felt like eternity.

At one point, my friend brought the two girls over to visit with her Grandfather - the girls' Great Grandfather. As she stood there with her Grandfather holding and gently bouncing her youngest with her colicky cry, her grandfather calmly said, "Here. Let me hold her."

My friend looked at incredulously and said, "Um... you sure?"

Her Grandfather said, again gently: "Yes. Give her to me."

Ava gently eased the baby into his arms. He held her on his shoulder. As he stood there rocking her and patting her back with such warmth and grace, he looked at Ava quietly and said, "This will pass. It will."

My friend finished recounting this story to me by saying: "You know what? It did. Even when it felt like the crying would never stop."

Story Number Two

When I was little - four or five years old, maybe - I would have bad days.

I would wake up and nothing would feel right.

I wouldn't want to talk to anyone. Didn't want to eat. My toys looked lifeless. My room felt small.

I would have bad days the way someone twenty-five years old would have bad days. Up on the wrong side of the bed. Unable to shake the heaviness and restlessness within me.

Miserable.

Mind you, I was five.

My coping strategy? To pack a bag (or not, depending on my desperation level), leave our house, and go out walking.

I would go out walking, head high, determined to get away from that feeling. I would walk and walk and walk.

But it wasn't just a leisurely walk. Even if I was only venturing six blocks from home, in my five year old mind, I was running away. I was angry. And bitter. And often times, crying.

Sometimes, miraculously it seemed, the feelings would subside and I'd decide that I'd like a chocolate chip cookie more than I'd like to keep walking.

More often though, I'd realize that there was nowhere else to go. I'd walk for blocks and blocks - realizing that I didn't really want to "run away" and be unsafe - but that I was trying to get away from something else. Something else my five year old self couldn't quite figure out.

Looking back on it now I realize I was trying to get away from myself.

There was no escaping my own feelings. They were within me even as I tromped through the city blocks of my New Jersey neighborhood.

I didn't leave them back at the house. I just needed to wait it out long enough for those feelings to move through me and out into the ether.

How do you explain that to a five year old?

Story Number Three

This past Friday I woke up in a foul mood.

I've been tired and grumpy lately because I've been running from one thing on my to-do list to the next. And when I'm not running, I'm working.

It hasn't exactly been a balanced time.

I need more sleep. I need more rest. I need room to write. And to Be. I need time to make a gin and tonic, turn on some music, dance and sing in our kitchen while I make dinner. I need time to just be myself without worries about time or schedules or having to drive somewhere post gin and tonic.

And I need these things in order to be present with the people I love. Because I love the people in my life.

I do not like feeling like this.

At work today, fully committed to my grumpiness, I thought to myself: "Screw this. I want to take a half day and WALK home." (Les and I carpool to work.)

Our home is about fifteen minutes away from work, by car. But on foot? Google maps told me it would be 5 miles - and take me an hour and forty minutes.

Now it's November in Portland which makes cold, damp, drizzling, and sometimes windy.

Walk home? I didn't even have a raincoat. I was wearing leather boots with a heel. What the heck was I thinking?

I had a friend tell me the other day that the coping mechanisms we learn in our early years of life are often what we resort to for the REST of our life.

Hello five year old self.

What was I trying to get away from at work? Did I have feelings that I couldn't tap into?

When I told Les that I wanted to leave work and walk home, she gave me options to go by car, but I responded to her saying, "No. I just need to let these feelings pass. I used to do this escapist thing as a kid. I don't want to indulge that pattern."

Then it hit me.

It's been just about thirty days since my Grandma had a sudden stroke and died. Six days after she passed, a friend of ours died from complications from pneumonia.

It's astonishing to think that I could go that many years without having a family member or other person close to me pass. And then to have two amazing people who I loved pass in one week.... it's been pretty overwhelming.

As soon as I looked at the calendar and figured that out, the tears started coming. I got up and made my way from my cube to the bathroom - luckily a single room - trying to stay ahead of the tears. I needed to sit and let myself cry. To give myself room to grieve. To not indulge the pattern of running away from myself and my feelings, but to let them come up and come out and pass through me.

After about fifteen hard sobs and a few deep breaths, I gathered myself enough to go back to my cube.

On the way through the building, I looked out the window and saw that the sun had come out.

The United Cells of Your Body

2011-07-29T20:02:00.000-07:00

My coworker recently was out for a few weeks because she had Cellitis.

Do you know what cellulitis is? (I didn't.)

When I asked her about it she said, "It's an infection in every cell of my leg."

Wow. *Every cell.* Sounds pretty serious.

Recently I started reading the book The Biology of Belief, by Dr. Bruce Lipton. Besides being a little science heavy for my art brain, it's making me wonder about all kinds of things.

For example, one of the things Dr. Lipton alludes to is the idea that each one of our cells is like an individual - it has its own needs, its responsibilities, its desire to survive, even its own thoughts and reasoning - much like an individual in a community.

And we have trillions of them. Trillions of these cell "individuals" that make up what we call our "body."

It's like a country.

So then I started thinking about Obama and his responsibilities, thoughts, and reasonings in terms of making decisions for this country. I also started thinking about how a speech from a president can set the emotional tone for a whole country.

Think of Kennedy's "Man on the Moon" speech.

Now think of Bush's ongoing teleconference warnings about the "Axis of Evil."

How did those words and emotions make you feel?

I wasn't around to hear Kennedy speak and I didn't watch a lot of TV when George W. Bush was president, but I didn't even have to hear their sentiments to know how their words changed the energetic feeling of this country.

Listening to people talk about Kennedy, I've experienced this overwhelming sense of expansiveness and hope at making the impossible possible.

With Bush, all of sudden there was this underlying vibration of FEAR FEAR FEAR everywhere I went.

I believe those two created a very different United States to live in.

This isn't to bash one person and praise another, or spout off views for one party or another. I believe that we are all on a spiritual trajectory together and these men have played thier part in teaching us whatever we needed to learn at that time. Neither one good or bad.

I merely using these two men as an example of how words change the environment.

Which brings me back to Dr. Lipton.

In his experience as a teacher and researcher in cellular biology, the belief among his colleagues was always that DNA ruled destiny and there was no room for discussion on that "fact."

What Dr. Lipton began to realize was that genes were merely a blueprint for how things COULD go in the body of a being. It was the environment (internally and externally) that determined how they WOULD express.

Whoa.

Stop and read that again.

It was the environment and not the genes that determined what genes expressed.

Not the genes... NOT THE GENES!

Yes. Truly.

Now back to the Bush and Kennedy example: Their words and thoughts that floated out through the TV and radio and internet - their words repeated over and over and over again by magazines and newspapers and CNN and NBC and NPR - set the tone for this country.

Their words created the environment.

Their words were the subconscious thoughts of this country and things were different because of it.

I too am a president.

We are all presidents of the United Cells of our Body.

So what does that mean for you?

It means that depending on the speech you give your body-country, depending on your inner CNN reports, your cell-citizens may be living with fear at every turn.

Or, if you prefer to think and envision your future like Kennedy, it means that you can go to the moon and back because anything is possible.

Anything.

Finding Dog

2011-06-11T20:56:00.000-07:00

She jumped over the tall fence one day while I was at work.

The Universe was Dog-sitting that day.

Of course, the Universe just got an iPhone.

The things that pull you away from being with Dog.

I came home one day and she was gone. Just like that. After being there to greet me at the door for so many years. Gone.

I put up signs and fliers.

"Have you seen Dog?"

I met strangers with my desperate eyes, "Have you?" "Have you?"

Oh Dog...

I have this feeling she's riding a skateboard down Main Street.

Ears and tongue flapping wildly. Grinning.

Because that's what Dog does when you're not keeping her fenced in.

When you're not telling her what to do.

When you stop telling her to sit, to stay.

Braving It

2011-04-12T17:42:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been white water rafting?

Even though I've only rafted twice in my life, in Maine, it's one of my most favorite things ever.

For a few reasons:

There's water everywhere because you're in a boat.

But you're not IN the water so you're not freezing or worried about fish sucking on your toes.

What's that? Fish don't go for your toes?

Hm.

Perhaps I have delicious looking toes...

Anyway...

That boat is usually moving FAST but you don't have the jarring noise of a motor right behind you.

You get to coast along and paddle the boat, kind of.

Sometimes that's just air paddling and you're still moving.

That's pretty neat.

Then there are these HUGE RAPIDS and HUGE, well - "HUGE!"- DROPS and OMG! DRAMA!!!

ARE WE GOING TO MAKE IT?!?

Aaaaaaaiiiiigh!, you scream!

You paddle hard.

You hit the bottom of the drop.

Your stomach plunges.

You scream! (...because DEAR GOD! Who signed me UP FOR THIS?!)

Then you gasp! (... because you just screamed every molecule of oxygen out of your being.)

You swallow water...*cough*cough* (because you're in the thick of rapids and you kept your damn mouth open.)

Then you spit it out and glance around see if anyone saw you choking. (nobody saw...)

*Whew*....................

A breath.

......................

Oh crap! Another PLUNGE!

SCREAM!!!!

*paddle paddle paddle*

Gasssssssp!

In your head: THIS IS EFFING CRAZY!

then...

but I LOVE IT!

You try and catch your breath and catch some water with your paddle as you jostle around.

After every big rapid you come out on the other side, soaked, and smiling these toothy, childish, open-mouthed grins at the now-friends in your boat.

I mean. Magical. It's just magical.

It's truly one of my favorite things, ever.

Then you just float along in these peaceful stretches of water. You look around at the trees and the rocky cliffs.

You feel lucky.

Elated.

You achieved your goal of staying in the boat.

And you had fun!

And then you get to lunch on the side of the river.

Mm... sandwiches. Grapes. Pistachios. Cheese.

It's fully incredible.

White water rafting is pretty much exactly what life feels like when you're doing something you love.

HUGE Ups.

HUGE Downs.

Then these gleeful, flatwater moments of things just working out.

Then gut-dropping fear as you hear the rumble of fast water around the next bend.

It's exactly like that.

If you're not doing something you love then you're probably on the shore enviously watching your friends whoop it up and splash past, braving it in their own boats.

You do have one advantage on land: the shore is stable and fairly certain.

Moving water is not.

But moving water will get you somewhere.

And it's a spectacular ride.

Mistaken Ideas about Power

2011-04-06T17:36:00.000-07:00

I think people have a fascinating relationship with power.

Take Egypt.

Nearly two months ago men and women took to the streets, together, to reclaim their rights against a dictator who'd treated them beyond inhumanely for thirty years.

And then they shocked us all. They won. They cooperatively regained their power.

And it was amazing. Awe-inspiring. An actual revolution.

Yes, their future is uncertain and if democracy is the goal, it could potentially be a long road. But they made a movement possible. They did what so many people only talk about.

Incredible.

Not even a month after this exquisite uprising, thousands of Egyptian women marched in the streets for equal rights on the 100th anniversary of International Women's Day.

And Egyptian men pushed them down.

But... but... you JUST marched, rallied, gave your lives for your final release from decades of intolerable oppression and yet, you push down others who want the same?

Reports about Egyptians oppressing fellow Egyptians mere weeks after their release from government oppression is painful to hear, but mostly it strikes me as head-scratchingly unfathomable. I find myself saying, "Really? How could you?"

I acknowledge that Egypt has traditions, cultural expectations... ways of doing things, but this seems almost too coincidentally wrong.

Is the message that it's not okay for a man to oppress another man, but it is okay for women to be oppressed indefinitely?

Because, wow. I'm not okay with that.

When you look power up in the dictionary, the first definition says, "... ability to do or act; capability of doing or accomplishing something... "

Other definitions: "... strength, might, force... a marked ability to act... "

I don't think that's what most people would associate with the word power.

Power up, power through, power play, overpower, powerless, powerful.

These words together conjure a mixture of feelings of pride, shame, guilt, victory, determination.

They seem to be about winning.

Who's winning? Why are they winning? How can WE win? We've been treated poorly for so long, gosh darn it, it's time we finally won!

True! People want to win. People want to have that rush of feeling good. Largely, people just want and deserve to be treated fairly. These are basic rights. Basic.

So how does power go from being something inert, neutral, and remarkable within each of us - from being "... the ability to act", to a commodity that people die for?

Is it money? Retribution? A desire for control?

Or is it the mistaken idea that the only way to feel powerful is to feel as if you have power over someone else?

Have you noticed how some people boomerang from being victims to being oppressors - as evidenced by the men in Egypt?

Power is a loaded word. Even writing this post makes me feel like I'm walking a path laden with upturned thumbtacks.

I recently learned something about my desire to feel powerful. I'm not a megalomaniac; everyone has a need to be powerful - a desire to act and have consequence in a way that means something to them. People just express it different ways.

There have been times in my past where I felt powerless to my life circumstances. In those times, and in order to fill that need for power, I would go to things that gave me power at some other time in my life.

For example, giving people unwanted advice makes me feel powerful. And let me tell you, that is always painful because at some point in the conversation you realize that the recipient never wanted your stinking advice anyway and you should have kept your mouth shut when you started preaching twenty minutes ago.

Suddenly your initial goal is shot. Giving unwanted advice makes you feel exceedingly powerless.

Other people choose to express their power by driving 20 miles or more above the speed limit.

The kids in my neighborhood express their power by tagging my neighbors fences and street signs and concrete walls.

Some people express their power by bullying, as we've seen too many times in the past eight months.

Just like I would resort to giving unwanted advice, people who might feel powerless at their factory job or disenfranchised at school or by society in general, might act out to be powerful in SOME WAY.

I might not be able to express my opinion or be treated with respect, but I can leave my tag everywhere and therefore I have power.

I might not be able to talk back to my boss, but I can weave through traffic and dominate the freeway.

I might not be able to figure out what I want to do with my life, but I can tell someone else my opinion on theirs. (Yeah. Um, hi. Working on that.)

It's interesting to see how we have this desire to be powerful and yet if we don't feel like we have a way to express it positively, it will come out in another form.

It's also interesting to me that the most basic definition of power is simply "... the ability to act."

We all have that. We all have power even on the days when we feel like we have none.

Despite the Authorities

2011-02-26T17:27:00.001-08:00

Authorities.

We constantly seek them out.

We look for people to tell us how things are going to be when it comes to weather (forecasters) and when it comes to our health (doctors), when it comes to our future (psychics), and when it comes to our salvation (priests, pastors, rabbis).

Do all these people have wisdom?

Sure.

Here's another question:

If you go to these people with questions, do they tell you something you already know?

I'd say 9 times out of 10, they do.

It seems to me that what we're all looking for, is confirmation.

And we may seek out authority after authority until we find someone who will agree with what we already believe.

We don't really want advice, because deep down we already know what we're going to do.

It's kind of crazy, but we do it all the time.

Sometimes when we go to a doctor, we know that the answer she's giving us isn't right.

Something in us triggers a "No. Wrong. Fail. You're not listening to me!" response and we go in search of another authority to confirm our gut feeling.

Why do we go looking for authorities outside of ourselves? Why do we not immediately trust ourselves and move forward from there?

Our culture reinforces the "Ask your doctor, consult your lawyer, check with your accountant," way of living. But is it necessary? Can you figure it out on your own? Do you already know what to do?

I'm betting you do.

I do.

Scratch that. I'm learning that I already know what to do.

And the more I trust myself, the less need I feel to depend on outside authorities.

That doesn't mean I still didn't go to an authority (my naturopath) when I had a cough that wouldn't quit. Or that I didn't go to a lawyer to help me a waiver for my dance classes. Or that I don't read blogs and books written by people I admire.

The difference is that I'm making the final call on what I decide to do with that information.

Because if I don't make the final call - regardless of what the authorities are telling me - I end up saying, "Dang it! I knew I should've done what I originally thought instead of what ____ said!"

Things always work out better when, despite the authorities, we follow our bodies and trust ourselves.

Always.

Trust and Be Rewarded

2011-02-01T18:44:00.000-08:00

The funny thing about resolving to TRUST for a whole year means that you realize just how untrusting you currently are.

And when I say you, I mean me.

Apparently, I can be pretty neurotic about not trusting.

Here's a short list of the every day / every hour / every minute worries I've recognized in myself:

Topic one: Traffic

OMG. That car's going to hit us. STOP! CAR!

OMG. We're going to hit that person! *cringe*

OMG. That stray dog is going to get hit by a car!

Interestingly I've only been in two low speed accidents and no one was hurt in either of them. Apparently, I have huge anxiety around cars. News to me.

Topic two: Money

OMG. Can I afford that? What if I can't afford that? What if I OVERDRAW MY ACCOUNT?

OMG. What if this new venture doesn't make any money and I've spent all this money on it? WHAT THEN? What if I don't have any money left?? Freak out. Freak out. Freak out.

OMG. Another medication? Gahhhh. Out of pocket?

Even writing out this stuff makes me anxious.

Yep. JUST WRITING IT. Wow.

Topic three: Potpourri (not the smelly stuff)

OMG. Is the cat going to knock over the humidifier in the night? What if one of the kittens breaks it? It's not even ours!?

OMG. What if there's a drive by shooting while I'm sitting by this window in the restaurant? What if there's a madman on the loose and he comes up behind me and takes me hostage and then slits my throat? (UGGGGH! Throat slitting fear!)

OMG. What if I CAN'T DO THIS TRUST THING???

Hahahahahaha.

Can we say, RIDICULOUS?

And comical. And neurotic. And very practiced.

I actually started laughing at myself.

Then I decided to start reasoning with my fears.

Me to my fears:

"You can't control other cars, so let's try trusting that they know how to drive just like you
do. Maybe even better than you do... "

"If you get shot, then you'll either die - that's going to happen one day anyway - or they'll take you to the hospital because you're lucky and you live in a country with good emergency services. And if they have to amputate your leg or something, then you could get a fake leg! Technology!"

"If you overdraw your account it's not the end of the world. You'll just pay a fee and move on. Not a big deal. BREATHE WOMAN."

Oddly, I started to calm down a bit.

In fact, the more I consciously told myself, "Let's try trusting in this situation," the less worried I felt.

The less worried I felt, the less inclined I was to worry.

In fact, I've been through some potentially stressful situations towards the end of this month and I managed to not have a physical response of fear.

It's so cool to not have a racing heart under stress. Or to even really feel stressed.

I just have a deeply worn worry rut in my brain. But when I consciously tell my brain to have a margarita and relax a while, the worry rut gets less and less deep.

And I feel better.

AND - I left out the best part - GOOD THINGS START HAPPENING when you trust.

I've been offered a free drink, a free hot cocoa, a free margarita.

FREE margarita? Um, OKAY.

(When the Universe gives you free stuff, you say, YES. THANK YOU VERY MUCH.)

I've had events line up for me one after another with very little effort on my part.

I've watched as things have worked out over and over again this month.

Trust 101: When you trust that everything will be okay, the Universe will rise up to support you and prove you right.

It's pretty rad.

For 2011: Image + Word = Full Mind Resolution

2010-12-31T11:25:00.000-08:00

In 2007, my friends Robin and Matt and I decided that we needed to name the year. We were looking for inspiration. Something to help us hone in on the monumental changes we were looking to make.

We dubbed 2007 the Year of Action or Y.O.A.

As we'd discuss big decisions via email that year, one of us would usually end the conversation with "I say you go for it. Y.O.A."

And you know what? It freaking worked.

All of us made huge strides that year. I think I can speak for them in saying that living with the Year of Action as our guide, we all felt alive, passionate, and almost required to make changes for the better.

Then 2008 came.

"So guys. What should we name 2008?"

Uh.................................

*crickets*

The Year of Action was a tough act to follow. (Wow. Pun totally unintended.)

I felt like every year should be a Y.O.A and other words - faith, challenge, dare - just didn't have the same ring.

There was only one Y.O.A.

I actually can't remember what words we used to describe 2008 and 2009. I think maybe leap was one of those years? Clearly, they didn't impact me. I refer to those as "The Ineffective Word Years."

Then last year I read that other people had been doing what we'd done in 2007. They picked one word to sum up their resolutions for the year. In fact there are dozens of blog posts about it (one blogger even has the same last name as me... What?!)

My word for 2010...? MAKE.

And again, it worked.

I kept the word in my sights as I made my final payment to medical debt I've been hacking away at since 2005. I made a commitment to learn to be a dance instructor. Heck, I made this blog. In fact, when I was feeling low or lost, I would turn to my word for guidance and go freaking make something. I made some big changes and some little ones. And I can let 2010 go knowing that I kept my resolution to make.

Not many people can say that. There's some low pressure accomplishment there.

However, this year, after seeing that so many people choose one word for the new year, I feel the need to change it up a bit.

Oh I'm still picking a word. In fact, I'll unveil it to you now.

My word for 2011 is: TRUST.

I experienced a few situations in 2010 where I realized how skeptical I am of people, how unwilling I am to believe that things will work out somehow, and how little trust I have for myself.

I do not trust myself. Gah.

I am one anxious Mama with all of this constant questioning. "Do you think it's going to be okay? What if what if what if?!"

It's exhausting and I think on some unseen level the constant worry actually doesn't help things to work out. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Um, yeah. Let's not do that any longer.

So yes. I want to make some big leaps in 2011. Every action - every change - every inch I move forward requires trust that things will work out perfectly. Even if the perfection doesn't show itself for days or months later - it does work out perfectly. Somehow.

Divine plan and all.

So what's the deal with the image?

Well, pictures pack a punch.

Once you get an image in your head - whether a good one or a distressing one - they can be hard to shake.

By picking an image I'll be engaging the creative side of my brain - my right brain - the half of my mind that doesn't dig the "pick a word idea." The side of my mind that doesn't really do language.

I'm actually selling myself short if I just pick a word.

My word will appeal to one side of my brain (my left, linear, logical brain). My image will appeal to the other (my right brain).

My image for the year popped into my mind just like my word did. (I don't ruminate on words like some other folks do - they just come to me.)

In my image I see myself like an Olympian just crossing a finish line after a hard-won race: Hands triumphantly in the air. Eyes closed. Head tilted to the sky. Grinning and saying "YEHSSS!" -- all at the same time.

Interestingly, I'm also gliding like I'm on ice skates, yet wearing clothes like a sprinter. But hey, welcome to my random and often times surreal, right brain.

Olympians have to train, but they have to trust in themselves - in their coaches - in their trainers - in so many people - every single day.

They also seem to trust in some kind of higher power. They seem to know that they're not doing it all on their own.

So that's my word: TRUST.

And my image:

(photo credit: www.tribuneindia.com)

(I bet she's got ice skates on behind that Athens paper banner... )

If you've never picked a word for the New Year, here (this is a post from the woman who shares my last name!), here (a post from Gretchen Rubin of The Happiness Project), and here is another post to help you get started.

Happy New Year to those of you already celebrating around the globe!

To the rest of you, I trust that you'll be safe, joyous, reflective, and tuned into what you want for the coming year.

My best to you.

Unsubscribing

2010-12-27T15:04:00.000-08:00

I have two personal email addresses.

One of them is an older email address that no longer suits me. I rarely check it.

This morning I had to go into that email account to look for a message I'd been waiting on and I found over 400 emails.

FOUR hundred emails!

Out of that four hundred I think maybe three or four mattered to me.

The rest? Spam from anything and everything I've signed up for.

That includes free teleseminars, online classes, airline mile programs, photo banks, Twitter, financial institutions, etc., etc., ad nauseum.

It's insane how much junk email I have. INSANE.

You can bet that I took a quick look around for that email, then signed out immediately.

It was just too... loud in there.

I have a tendency to feel a tad overwhelmed when I'm dealing with junk mail - paper or electronic. I'm a reasonably organized person, except when it comes to junk mail.

I let it pile up.

I ignore it.

I organize my stuff around my piles.

I say I'll deal with it later - yeah... in one huge swoop - and believe me, that swoop ends up being enormous I wait so long to deal with it.

I've learned to cope with all the junk.

It rarely occurs to me that I can stop it before it starts.

Huh?

I can stop the influx before it starts.

In my email, I can go through each one of those emails and hit the unsubscribe button. I can weed out the emails through lists I was "placed on" and only keep the ones that matter.

I can stop the inflow of junk at the source. I can say, enough.

Enough.

I have that choice.

I realized today that I can do this with other's people's emotional stuff too. Hallelujah!

I have a coworker who is pretty awesome 80% of the time, and a total downer 20% of the time.

The other day at work, said person came to my cube area to vent and I stopped him and said,

"No. Not today. I'm in too good of a mood. If you'd like to stay and be positive that's fine."

He looked at me as if I was joking and continued to vent so I turned away from him, put my ear buds back in my ears and shook my head no.

"Not today."

And then I pointed for him to exit my area.

He sat there brooding for a moment and then left and didn't return and my day was absolutely lovely.

And I mean lovely.

I'd unsubscribed. And it was awesome.

He came down the next morning to say hello in a much better mood and we had a great little chat.

If he'd handled it differently and thrown a fit, I would've unsubscribed from those actions too.

I don't have to deal with junk mail just because an organization insists that they need something from me (my money, my attention, my business).

And I don't have to deal with junk emotions just because - again - someone needs something from me.

But I'm not a dumping ground. Not for email. Or emotions. Or issues.

I'm going to continue the trend an see how many lists and emotional stuff I can unsubscribe from before 2011.

I'd like to start the year off light.

I wish that same lightness of being for you.

Feeling Full?

2010-11-25T16:00:00.000-08:00

It's at 8:10am. I'm at work. All of my work is done (I'm waiting on other people for the next step of five different projects) so I have nothing work related to do.

Honestly.

My desk is organized.

My computer software is up to date.

I've whittled my inbox down to two emails.

Other than a meeting at ten o'clock, I'm......... just........... here.

And frankly, it's never smart to say to your superior, "I'm bored. Do you have something for me to do?" because then you end up doing busy work.

OR, the person annoyingly says in response, "Well I suggest you find something to do!"

So instead of going through that whole charade, I'm finding something to do.

I'm writing and I'll be poised and ready if and when the work starts rolling in.

And that brings me to today's topic: Boredom.

Has anyone ever said to you, "A bored person is a boring person," and then given you a saccharine smile?

And then you've wanted to punch them in the teeth?

I'm pretty sure I've done that to my younger sisters in my former, uh, less wise years.

Totally obnoxious of me. I realize that now.

(Sorry sisters.)

Of course, when I'm bored, I'm not boring, I'm just having a day.

I'm restless. Maybe even anxious. And I want someone to fix it NOW, please.

"Entertain me! Enlighten me! Hey WORLD, please! Save me from myself!"

It sucks.

I have one clear memory of being bored from my early teenage years.

I believe I was thirteen or fourteen. We lived in a suburb in Virginia. It was the most trying season of the year: Summer.

My sister Teresa says that walking out into a Virginia summer day feels like someone suddenly attacking you with a hot, wet, wool blanket and furiously wrapping it around your head and face and laughing as you sink... slowly... to the ground.

And I will second that comparison.

A Virginia summer day stifles your breathing, transforms your otherwise beautiful curls into ghastly frizz, and causes you to seriously consider moving somewhere like Alaska where heat and humidity only happen indoors - like at swimming pools or spas... or in the shower.

We're dry heat people, really.

Also known as wimps.

But anyway...

So there I was. Too young to drive. In a suburb with no park, no pool, no public transit. Nothing but stupid reruns on TV. No real desire to hang out with friends. We needed someone with a car and a license to get together any way. A virtual Virginia heat wave waiting wickedly beyond the front door. And the walls of our (decent-sized) house were closing in fast.

Oh.......... teenage misery.

It's actually quite funny now.

If I haven't beaten this horse enough yet, I felt immensely bored.

Was I a boring person? Heck no! I was a competitive synchronized swimmer for God's sake!

Do YOU know any synchronized swimmers? I mean, that is a RANDOM sport.

And an interesting one!

I liked musicals.

And art.

And random tongue twisters. (You know the long Better Botter one? My sisters and I had that one DOWN.)

I adored music.

And dancing around.

And general silliness.

I loved books.

And drawing.

I mean, girl WAS NOT BORING.

Just bored. Or shall we say... "bored."

As I've pared down my schedule over the last few years to be less CRAZY BUSY and more balanced - I've noticed similar feelings come up.

It goes something like this:

"Oh.......... no. What is this feeling? It's like a knot in my chest....... I'm not sad............. not lonely............... not freaking out....................... uh................................. CRAP.

I'm BORED?!"

The difference between being a bored teenager in the suburbs of Virginia in the nineties and being bored as an adult in the Pacific Northwest in 2010 is HUGE.

I mean, I'm an adult! I live in one of the hippest, greenest cities in the country.

I have money and a car and friends and a girlfriend and time to go DO something if I choose.

If I don't want to leave my house, I have a cell phone, text messaging, Facebook, Twitter, blogs, books, Netflix, our kittens, I mean..... really? BORED?

Um. Gina. I am not bored.

I'm full.

My physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual being is full to the brim from consuming (in mass quantities) entertainment, information, communication, food, insight, quotes, art from other people.

And my body is screaming Uncle!

We mistakenly THINK that by finding something to fill ourselves up MORE we will feel satisfied. And therefore not "bored."

So we flip through the television channels. We stare into the refrigerator. We obsessively check Facebook.

Oh I do this and have done this so many times. (Total Facebook junkie.)

We're looking for something external to fill that space.

But here's the thing.... when you reach that point of "boredom," of dissatisfaction, of reaching outwards for SOMETHING to fill you up, your body is craving expression.

It wants to give something back to the World.

And boy is that scary.

You don't need food. You don't need Twitter. You don't need to read another blog post. I'm positive you don't need Facebook. (Rebecca...)

You need to paint. Or create a small video. Or write. Or knit. Or make ornaments out of fish hooks. Or start your own blog!

I'm telling you. This thought is counter-intuitive.

When you want to fill up from the outside in, you need is to express from inside out.

Your body will thank you.

So if you've celebrated Thanksgiving today and you're feeling full in more ways than one, consider giving part of yourself to the world.

Create something cool? Create anything after a long period of feeling blocked? Create something you think is crappy? (It's not.) Tell me about it in the comments section!

I would love that.

And in honor of American Thanksgiving, thank you for reading.

Winter Water

2010-11-22T20:02:00.000-08:00

The weather forecasters are going bananas tonight.

"SNOW! Look at this weather system here... we could be seeing up to three inches by 1pm... no make that 4pm!"

Yeah. It's 7:54pm Pacific Time and it's not even raining.

We got nothing.

I turn into a ten year old when I find out that it MIGHT snow because that would mean that we'd get a break from the rain and work and the normal hum-drum schedule of life. Hurrah!

And true to form, I've done my share of peering out the window and hoping today.

Still. Nothing.

It took me five solid years to get over the fact that it rains in Portland all the damn time.

I remember the first year I lived here we had an exceptionally sunny and dry winter and I thought:

"Pssh. These Portlanders have just been trying to keep outsiders away from this incredible city of theirs! It doesn't rain that much here! HA."

And then the next year came.

And it was an exceptionally long and rainy winter.

That HA. turned into, "Um...heh. Heh heh. Seriously. Is it going to stop raining. EVER?!?"

Can you hear the maniacal desperation in my voice?

I think it rained for ten weeks straight that year.

Even the natives were going bat shit crazy.

There was one day where I was sure that I was going to lose it. I was sitting in the breakfast nook of the house where I rented a tiny room. Ah... the breakfast nook. With windows on three sides, it was the sunniest spot in the house. I sat there a lot.

Anyway, on that interminable winter day, I sat there staring out the window at the rain and I could hear some quiet, inner voice pleading... "I've got to get out of here. Please, PLEASE, get me out of here. I'm going to LOSE IT!"

I didn't know what to do! Where do you go to escape from the rain? Especially when you live in a certifiably "rainy city."

But I knew the pleading wouldn't stop until I did something.

So I got in my car and started driving.

Turning corners through the city, I saw that the rain and gray and clouds and cold had seeped into everything I passed.

Buildings felt heavier. Trees looked skinny and lifeless without their leaves. People walked with tired and hunched frames.

Awnings drooped.

Bridges sagged.

The weight of everything was somehow weightier.

Good grief! I needed out of the city.

I decided to drive further - to see if I could find the edge of the storm.

I drove East through the Columbia River Gorge.

Past the waterfalls. Past the cliffs. Past the fallow fields.

Past spaces where people let their dogs romp and play in the warmer months.

Past the rocky river bed where kids splashed in the sweltering days of summer, now full to the brim with roaring winter water.

I drove and drove and drove, hoping to happen upon a place that might make me feel sane again.

I headed to a place that always made me happy in the autumn.

A place of orchards and apples and pears and a mountain.

Hood River... the little valley town that lays belly up at the base of Hood Mountain.

Do you know what I saw there when I arrived?

Do you know what I saw in the middle of that dark February day?

Hope.

Just a few streaming rays of it, but I saw it.

And that was all I needed.

Now, don't get me wrong. I hung out in Hood River squinting into the sunshine as long as I could that day.

I wanted to remember what it felt like to not have my sweatshirt hood up for a change.

I wanted to be oblivious to the fact that I still had three months of rain to endure before summer burst forth on July 5th.

After a few hours, I could feel life glowing underneath my skin again.

And when it was finally time to drive back towards home, back into the darkness of the storm, I had the image of that light breaking through the clouds to tide me over through the coming months of winter water.

You Must Love Dancing with the Stars

2010-11-20T12:00:00.000-08:00

A few years ago I took an Argentine Tango class from a woman who we'll call Stacey. She was a pretty good teacher. But more than her teaching, I admired her lifestyle.

She designed clothes, taught dance, and traveled to Argentina a few times a year to dance and purchase special tango shoes for the Portland tango die-hards.

I mean...

She traveled to Argentina a few times a year to dance and buy shoes.

Rockstar.

Anyway. I still have one memory burned in my brain from the classes I took from her - and it didn't have anything to do with her dance teaching, per se.

It was the third class in a series of four. The students were beginning to feel a bit more comfortable with each other considering it was an Argentine Tango class.

Argentine Tango can be an intimidating dance. You hold your body closer to your partner than in some other dances. Leads are expected to improvise instead of completing a routine. And you're often dancing with people you don't know that well.

It takes guts.

But it is a magnificent dance - ethereal feeling once you get the hang of it.

Anyway, at the start of that day's class, one of the participants brought up Dancing with the Stars. I saw my classmates eyes sparkle and their chests swell with joy at mention of the (then, still new) show.

Stacey bit her tongue and looked down, seemingly enduring the pre-lesson chit chat.

One of the students looked at the teacher like a golden retriever puppy, said, "Do you watch the show Stacey!?"

Her response: An unimpressed, "No. I don't."

My classmate, now with desperation and confusion in his eyes: "Why not?!"

"I'm too busy dancing... Now let's move on with the lesson."

(Whoa... Snap!)

You could hear a definite whooshing sound as the whole room deflated.

And we got right back to dancing.

I remember thinking - "Dang. That was rude."

And then another voice came into my head:

"You know... She's right."

* * * * *

In July, I started training to be a ballroom dance instructor - something I've wanted to do since my early twenties, but wasn't ready yet. I absolutely LOVE it! To learn all of the dances and grow my comfort level with leading and following, I dance three or four nights a week. It's fantastic.

When I tell people that I'm in training to become a ballroom dance instructor, guess what they ask me?

Yep.

"Oh... so you must love Dancing with the Stars!?"

And I have to really watch it to not be a bitch.

I think my standard response is either:

"Actually no. I don't watch much TV."

or

"I'm usually dancing when it's on..."

Yep. I'm deflating people now. Oh lord. Not good.

(Note to self: I think I need to work on using that question as a platform to challenge people to try dancing.)

Les tells me that people are looking for a point of connection with me. And on one level, I think she's right.

But I also think that people are subconsciously convinced that when they watch Dancing with the Stars, they are dancing too.

Their hearts flutters. Their hands sweat. They feel the thrill of completing a brilliant routine or the disappointment of flubbing a move.

However, with a reality TV show like Dancing with the Stars, you don't have to sweat, wake up with sore muscles day after day, run the risk of touching someone you don't know, or potentially make a fool of yourself.

The stars on the show are doing all of that for you.

You just get the surface highs and the surface lows.

I do this with The Amazing Race - a reality show Les and I used to watch before we started dancing on Sunday nights.

Why do I like The Amazing Race? Well, they travel all over the world. They challenge themselves to do random physical and mental feats. And there's competition and teamwork! Cool!

They're racing for money, but I think most people would do it even without the prize at the end. I mean, they get to travel all over the place and do crazy stunts and they don't have to pay for it. Yeah!

What do I get out of "just watching" the show?

A vicarious and free travel adventure.

What do I get to avoid?

Eating weird foods. Jet lag. Missing my friends and family. The discomfort of pushing myself through the challenges. Feeling unsafe. Potentially losing the race. Risking anything.

What do I miss out on?
An ACTUAL travel adventure. New experiences that could change my view of the world. Awesome new friends. Different foods, music, art, dancing, customs. New memories...

I miss out on a lot. But by just watching I don't have to sacrifice anything really... except my time and some of my life.

Well when you put it that way...

Going back to Dancing with the Stars. It's been on since 2005. I'm guessing that millions of people watch the show. If that many people are so enraptured with the show (the idea of dancing), imagine how enraptured they could be by actually learning to dance.

It's a staggering thought.

That got me thinking...

How many people are watching The Biggest Loser instead of exercising?

How many people are watching football instead of playing a pick-up game with friends?

How many people are watching The Bachelorette and The Bachelor instead of dating?

How many people are watching American Idol and not letting themselves sing a note of music?

How many people are watching Glee instead of getting involved in local theater?

Yes. I know TV can inspire some people, some of the time. I get that. But how many TV shows are lulling people into thinking that they're enjoying their life as they watch other people achieve their dreams?

Check out this wisdom from Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. He's a Hungarian psychology professor who wrote the book on Flow (peak experiences).

"Most of us spend many hours each week watching celebrated athletes playing in enormous stadiums. Instead of making music, we listen to platinum records cut by millionaire musicians. Instead of making art, we go to admire paintings that brought in the highest bids at the latest auction. We do not run risks acting on our beliefs, but occupy hours each day watching actors who pretend to have adventures, engaged in mock-meaningful action.

This vicarious participation is able to mask, at least temporarily, the underlying emptiness of wasted time. But it is a very pale substitute for attention invested in real challenges. The flow experience that results from the use of skills leads to growth; passive entertainment leads nowhere. Collectively we are wasting each year the equivalent of millions of years of human consciousness. The energy that could be used to focus on complex goals, to provide enjoyable growth, is squandered on patterns of stimulation that only mimic reality."

WHOA. Right?

The man is a genius.

So what. You don't have enough money to do any of the things you secretly want to do (dance lessons, voice lessons, martial arts, match.com)?

I have a simple solution! Take a deep breath, because this can be a very big change.

Cancel your cable.

You'll have over $100 more a month to spend on your new learning and living adventure.

Or do a trade! I'm teaching two of my friends to dance. They want the lessons and I want the teaching experience. And we're having so much fun.

Make it easy on yourself and practice your new skill at the time of night you'd normally watch your show and that'll help with the feeling of "missing out."

And, if you really don't want to give up a show or two, watch it online. It doesn't have to be either or. It's much easier to control how much time you spend watching a show or two when you don't have the gravity of the couch and mind-numbing rhythm of commercial breaks. That stuff keeps you watching TV longer than you'd like anyway.

Pretty soon you'll be able to say, "Actually no. I don't watch much TV. I'm too busy rock climbing, welding, singing, acting, painting, cooking, writing my novel, dating, learning guitar, working out, dancing..."

Because that's what we're here to do.

Now go be awesome.

BE the Fabric

2010-11-18T16:27:00.000-08:00

When I was sixteen I, begrudgingly, went on a church retreat. I think it was a confirmation retreat. I don't really remember.

What I do remember is that we did an exercise about what we truly wanted to do with our lives. I remember being handed this god-awful (ha - get it - church retreat - god-awful...... yeah, anyway), neon pink piece of paper where we would write what our hearts truly wanted to do.

The cool thing about being sixteen is that the Shoulds haven't landed heavy on your shoulders quite yet. You're not applying to college yet. You're just learning how to drive. The world still holds daily moments of "WOW! That was AWESOME!"

I'd say sixteen was actually pretty fun.

At sixteen I also knew myself in a way that I'm just now starting to remember. I think it's because the Shoulds and the Money and the Work and the Mortgage and the Responsibility of my world hadn't really sunk their claws in yet.

My inner world was quiet enough to hear my soul speak.

That day I wrote on that pink piece of paper that I knew what I wanted to do: I wanted to sing, to dance, to make people laugh and smile, and bring them joy. To perform. I was very clear about that.

I knew how happy it made me.

We rolled our pieces of paper into a scroll and tied them with blue ribbon. Mine took up residence on the bottom shelf in my bedroom and, admittedly, collected dust.

Fast forward a few years: I'm in college and learning more about the world. About how the population is growing so fast that the Earth can't support it. About horrible things that happen to women and girls in other countries (and our country). Shockingly awful things that I'd never had to deal with. About the environment and how our actions make our planet, our people, and our animals suffer. About how things are getting worse, not better.

Ah college.

And of course. The more I learned, the more guilty I felt.

They don't tell you the second part of that sing-songy "The More You Know..."public service announcement because then people would feel too disheartened. You know the one... with the rainbow and the star at the end? Ding ding ding ding! Well, here's the full version:

"The More you know... the worse you feel... about yourself... !"

Yeah. And I did.

As I looked around, everything started to feel rather........ tragic.

To get the full picture, you'll have to imagine a curly haired girl in a blue bandana pleading in your direction with plenty of wide-eyed staring, wild gesturing, out of control breathing...

(insert melodramatic twenty-something voice here...)

Oh my gosh... I HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!

Forget my dreams - they're frivolous dreams anyway... People are dying! Animals are disappearing! The Earth is in jeopardy! DOESN'T ANYONE CARE?!

followed by wild breathing... *In-out-in-out-in-out-in-out*............................................

Why yes.

Like any good college student, I completely freaked out.

On a regular basis.

And like any good college student with a conscious, after graduation (even though I was a theater-turned-art major) I took a job with a grassroots organization working for social and environmental change.

Doesn't that sound responsible of me?

Oh but it goes on.

I moved across the country to a more progressive state. (!)

I started working 60 hour weeks to fight the Man. (Yeah!)

I talked strategy and progress and ballot measures and social change over tacos and margaritas. (Hell yeah!)

I was doing something GOOD for the world. No guilty seas churning in my eyes. I was on the right side of progress! I was a GOOD PERSON, dammit.

And I had the job to prove it!

The persnickety thing was, I absolutely hated my job.

Awesome. More guilt.

Luckily my conscious was still relatively strong then and I quit within nine months - walking out early on my one year contract agreement, my coworkers, and my "dreams" (my? dreams?) to change the world.

Or to change the world in that way.

After I left, I fumbled around work-wise moving from job to job - still trying to find the balance between my guilt for letting bad things happen in the world and my love for music, dance, all the Arts, really.

One unsatisfying job after another, I had this sense that out of guilt and obligation to do something "good for the world," I'd thrown my soul into the snake pit. Put a muzzle on her. Made sure that she kept quiet while I was off being good.

Not good.

I got really sick.

Let me tell you, you don't want to muzzle your soul.

All that time being sick gave me room and space to look at myself and figure out what the heck I'd been doing with my life.

And with all that space and time, teachers appeared. And I was finally ready to hear them.

They came in book form mainly.

Julia Cameron and her book The Artist's Way.

SARK and her book Succulent Wild Woman.

Louise Hay and her book You Can Heal Your Life.

And a lesser known book The Writings of Florence Scovel Shinn. Oh yeah. She understood metaphysics before most people knew how to spell it.

These women started to help me unravel the knot I'd tied myself into about work and art.

I slowly began to realize that there are people who wake up enlivened to run a ballot measure campaign. No really!

I learned that just because I didn't want to be a doctor or a Peace Corps activist or a elementary school teacher or a fire fighter didn't mean I wasn't important.

It didn't mean I was of any less value.

It didn't mean my gifts were frivolous, at all.

I learned that we were all this patchwork of gifts fitting beautifully together. We didn't need that many blue squares. We needed a maroon square and a chartreuse square and a glittery square and a corduroy square.

I just had to find my fabric - BE the fabric - have courage to weave it into the world, and stop feeling so damn guilty all the time.

I WOULD be helping people. Period. Just like my soul said I would when I was sixteen.

To ignore my soul's agreement - to be my best creative self - would be against my nature.

Possibly against the nature of the Universal order.

And it would mess with the spiritual pattern of the quilt!

Because just like doctors and politicians and campaigners and counselors, creativity also saves lives.

It certainly saved mine.

Now I'm not going to ask you about your parachute, but what color is your square?

Vampires Got You Down?

2010-11-17T17:37:00.000-08:00

Truth time.

I've been an absolute mess for a few weeks now.

Tired. Cranky. Distant. Sad. Unable to write much. And worse: unable to finish the writing that I've started.

I don't feel depressed, even though Portland looks exactly the same at 5:30pm (dark and rainy) as it does at 5:30am (dark and rainy). And I think that would make any normal person question their tendency towards winter sadness.

My iron levels are so low that I'm falling down tired by the time nine o'clock rolls around. And I'm still tired when the alarm sounds at five in the morning.

And I'm not the only one.

I've heard similar stories from my siblings, my friends, my coworkers.

People are wiped out lately.

It's a pre-holiday lull, perhaps?

Similarly, it feels like the world is quiet right now.

I'm not talking about the news; the media can always stir up drama. I'm talking about the energy of the Earth.

Can you sense it?

Go take a walk outside among the leaves (if you have leaves) - it's quieter than a few weeks ago. It almost feels like the kind of quiet that settles on the land when it snows.

I don't quite know why it feels that way, but here we are. Mid-lull. Super messy.

Anyway, as I was saying, when I get this way physically, undoubtedly I end up feeling beat down creatively.

It actually feels like I'm under siege.

And I'm not trying to be all "HELLLLP! I'M A VICTIM AND UNDER SIEGE! POOR ME! WAAAAH! WAAAH! WAAAAAAAAH!"

No.

I don't have energy for all that.

And besides. This happens every freaking day. It's happening right now. It might be happening to you too. I'm just less able to fight when I'm this run-down.

It's the vampires.

You don't know the vampires? Oh shoot. I bet you do.

I first learned the term "vampires" from a Broadway musical my sister introduced to me called Title of Show. It closed on Broadway in 2008 (when the economy really hit the fan), but you can buy the soundtrack and enjoy the gist of it auditorily. Or go see it in other places.

I've only listened to the soundtrack (many, many times) but I would recommend you go see it. It's funny, different, snarky at moments, and a show about creativity. Seriously. Why wouldn't you go?

Anyway, the playwrights (also the main actors) wrote the show about two regular guys writing a musical. Clever, right? The musical includes songs about feeling blocked, stifled, and self-critical along with actually making progress and then garnering attention and awards. Frustration, recognition, and the creative process - they go hand in hand. In hand.

One of my favorite songs in the show is called "Die Vampires, Die!" It presents and then breaks down the various and vicious forms your Inner Critic can take to stop your creative flow. They describe vampires this way:

"... a vampire is any person or thought or feeling that stands between you and your creative self expression... "

Um, HULLO.

Now that you know what they are, wouldn't you agree that the vampires circle like EVERY DAY?

If you're living an actively creative life, you deal with these suckers ALL THE TIME.

If you don't consider yourself to be living an "actively creative life," you may be under siege worse than the rest of us because the vampires have sunk their teeth in so deep... you're not creating at all.

Yipe.

Some examples of Vampires:

An innocent (yet poisonous) comment from a coworker: "Oh. You have a blog? How sweet." (?!*#@)

Or a (sometimes misunderstood) thought expressed from someone in your childhood: "Your sister's really the word person in the family." (But I won third place in the Young Author's Contest... doesn't that count? )

Or a feeling: That pit in your stomach that keeps you watching TV instead of practicing guitar. (*nervously glances at the lonely guitar in the corner* What guitar? I don't have a guitar. LA LA LA LA LA.)

(Side note: Technically the TV is ALSO a vampire. A biggie! Talk about sucking you dry...)

So yeah. Vampires. They're everywhere. They keep us from creating. They trick us into thinking we're less than we are. That we're boring. Or uninspired. That nothing we do is worthy.

They're also wrong.

The song goes on to describe the worst vampires of the bunch. The Vampires of Despair. According to the song they:

"...wake you up at 4am to say things like:

Who do you think you're kidding?

You look like a fool?

No matter how hard you try, you'll never be good enough..."

"Why is it that if some dude walked up to me on the subway platform and said these things, I'd think he was a mentally ill asshole, but if the vampire inside my head says it, It's the voice of reason."

.......................................... !

Damn. That is some truth right there.

I think it's also a brilliant moment of paradox.

Outside of your head it's crazy talk. Inside your head it's truth.

I'm sorry, what?

I don't jive with that.

I've decided to give those Vampires of Despair a new face. A face of someone who is profoundly mentally unstable and really doesn't know what she's saying.

She can tell me I'm a tiresome writer, an ungraceful dancer, and my creativity isn't worth any one's time.

And I can smile, nod my head and say, "Oh really? Uh huh. That's nice..." and keep walking.

There will always be voices - from bystanders - from your past - from the vampires in all their forms. They'll come out to feast on you especially when you're feeling down.

You can treat them all as mentally unstable folk (yes, even the most beloved people in your life). Smile, nod, and keep walking.

Just keep walking.

The Creative's Electric Fence (aka: the Rules)

2010-10-30T20:45:00.000-07:00

Rules. Bleh.

The rebellious artist part of my psyche cannot stand rules.

They're so... rigid. And demanding. And bossy. Those rules.

They make me feel boxed in and stifle my creative breath.

Of course, when it comes to driving (to promote a semblence of safety), or children (to attempt to avoid chaos), I'm Miss Rule-Bound McRulerson.

It's a complete one-eighty.

Have you noticed that when you know the rules, you feel less inclined to do something?

For example, English majors - do you find it hard to journal because all of your grammar must be perfect? If you didn't know what perfect grammar looked like, do you think you could write without worry?

I was an art major and years after graduation, I can't bring myself to paint or draw because I know what I SHOULD be going for in a piece. Art terms from school start flooding my head and suddenly an imaginary professor is standing over my shoulder judging me.

(Allowing a moment to shake off that icky feeling. *Oooouuuuuggggh.*)

The subtext for me is this:

I should know what to do and how to do this because I know the rules.

Perhaps that makes me too perfectionistic? Too rule bound in my creativity?

I know where the boundaries are, but instead of dancing over them, I rear back like they're an electric fence.

Just like a slightly shocked golden retriever who's been zapped too many times at the edge of the yard, sometimes I pull back so far that I stop using my creativity at all.

Do you do this?

I do much better when I avoid learning anything advanced about a topic.

Let's use blogging as an example this time. I know how to write because I've been doing it for years. Besides basic spelling, grammar, and syntax, I don't worry about how I write.

I just write.

I write to express myself. To work things out. To question my ideas. To share thoughts.

It's a lot like emailing a good friend. Or having a transcription of a conversation over tea.

However, if someone told me that I had to start blogging in AP style...

OH GOD.

That would be the end of my blog. Period.

There's a catch here though.

If I don't know enough about a topic, I won't try either.

Take painting. I was an art major in school. A sculpture major to be specific. I had never taken an art class until my Junior year in college, but I loved it so much that I switched my major. Just like that.

Pretty proud of myself for that come to think of it...

But anyway...

I learned how to weld, how to carve wood, how to mold clay, how to throw pots, how to make a portrait in plaster, and how to draw.

I did not learn to paint.

Now I believe that everyone, on some level, would love to be a painter.

(The same thing goes for being a singer, but that's a different post entirely.)

I, too, would love to be a painter.

And not just because painters have this romantic mystery around them. But because I have been moved by so many paintings.

Fast forward six years after my college graduation, and I enroll in a painting class at my local community college.

I learn the basics about landscaping and a little bit about color.

I don't feel very confident. And I don't like painting apples or leaves or trees. My paintings feel listless. Empty. Void of that spark I had found in some of my sculptures or drawings.

I want to paint portraits.

My teacher doesn't do portraits.

In fact, like many artists I've met, she's pretty freaked out by the idea of painting faces.

After some ~~nagging~~ considerable questioning on my part, she agrees to let me paint a portrait instead of an apple.

YAY!

I do a painting of the face of a woman from an advertisment. She's all in shades of blue. I use what I know about value and sculpting to paint her as best I can.

And honestly, it's not half bad. My teacher's says, "Whoa. I guess you do know about portraiture." I leave class with a little feeling of glee.

But then... ack. I try again in the next class - another face from another advertisement, but I don't know how to create skin tones. My teacher's at a loss since she's mostly a landscaper and has her own demons about portraiture.

I get stuck.

Then the class is over.

I don't feel like I know enough to continue painting on my own.

And I feel like I know too many rules to paint badly.

So I stop painting.

Do you see how little room is left for exploration or even action?

Excuse #1: I don't know how to do this (ie. I don't know all the rules), so I'm not going to try.

and

Excuse #2: I know too many of the rules to not be painting well - and I certainly don't paint well - so I'm not going to try.

And boy howdy - when you don't try, you most certainly do not succeed.

Since I've realized this rigidity in myself, I've started taking a new tactic. And I'm not sure that it's a good one, but here it is.

I've tried to stop learning the rules.

If I don't know too much about good syntax, I won't get stuck on writing perfectly.

If I don't know what makes a photograph picturesque (other than saying "I like this one") then I have room to keep taking pictures.

If I don't know what other writers think a good blog post is, I blog.

It's an act of not learning the rules, but also not setting yourself up for criticism or judgement.

You can engage your creative genius in a safe space. Not under duress.

Do what you have to do to make yourself feel safe and watch yourself create.

When I Don't Feel Like Writing

2010-10-06T16:54:00.000-07:00

When I don't feel like writing

It usually means that my inner Judge is on the loose.

That I've shown the blog to a few more people than I'm comfortable with.

That I've started going outside of myself for wisdom instead of tuning in.

When I don't feel like writing

It usually means that I'm afraid of what other people are going to say.

Or afraid of what I'm going to say.

Or afraid of what I'm not going to let myself say.

Or perhaps a bit nervous about what I've just said...

When I don't feel like writing

It's usually because some part of me is freaking out.

The part that doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings.

But also the part that wants to speak Big Truths.

Those parts are usually dueling.

And since it's quite interesting to watch the clever tactics they both take.

I pull up a chair, plunk my chin on my hand, and watch.

Instead of writing.

When I don't feel like writing

I am absolutely, full on, in fear mode.

Either things have gotten too big.

Or too fast.

Or too awesome.

And I'm not dealing.

What if things will start going badly?

What if things will get even better?

Sheer, noisy, madness.

And when the What-ifs start to have their way. Ugh. Yuck.

It's supremely uncool.

When I don't feel like writing

I really, really have the need to say SOMETHING.

And I'm avoiding whatever that is.

Like a champ.

Sometimes I don't know what it is. And that can be confusing.

Sometimes I know EXACTLY what it is and I'm totally not saying it.

*Whistles a tune while examining the ceiling*

Ahem. Still not writing.

When I don't feel like writing

I .......................................... yeah.

It's hard.

It's especially hard when writing brings you back to yourself.

If you don't have a vehicle to get back to yourself then you're just haphazardly hitchhiking on other people's truths.

And while hitchhiking can be adventurous, it's also freaking dangerous.

Note to self: Do not hitchhike on other people's truths.

Plus it takes longer when you're not the one driving.

When I don't feel like writing

It's the writing...

even in a whiny, pathetic, poor-me voice...

even when it's just "Oooh, I hate this... I hate this... I hate this..." (cheers Julia Cameron)

even when I'm certain I'm going to cry if I have to type one more completely uninspired sentence!

Is what gets me through.

It, eventually, brings me home again.

How to Cut Through Bullsh*t in Your Place of Work

2010-09-22T18:24:00.000-07:00

Ah Town Halls.

Do you have these where you work?

They're regular meetings where I believe the upper management takes an hour or so to update the people on new company information and for the employees to ask questions, express problems, and feel heard.

Oh how I wish that were true.

My place of work used to have these Town Halls every quarter and we all dreaded them. I think even our bosses dreaded them. An hour and a half of well-meaning and good-hearted management types droning on about topics that don't relate to our work lives at all.

Then the more upper of the upper managers - an equally good hearted person - would get up and dazzle us with his well-practiced speeches about profit and market shares and "leadership in the industry" for over an hour.

The hardest part? Usually we could smell our catered lunch sitting on a table just out of reach... getting cold.

I believe that the purpose of these meetings is communication.

The tragic Truth: Zero honest communication.

There may be some talking into the air. There's definitely some puff-up-ery. But very little connection.

And because the meetings aren't providing any effective communication. They feel like a total charade. A sham. A lie.

We get a two hour lip service session. Every. Quarter.

Again, tragic.

Recently we found out - after some employees bravely requested to get more information from management - that we'd be having these town halls every month. Every. Month!

But nobody asked for more of what wasn't working. People want real communication.

Oooh. The frustration.

Yeah. No one asked the employees if they wanted more town halls. It was just decided.

Equally as frustrating - the managers who didn't agree with this idea stayed quiet and shrugged. Oh well.

So today was the first of our monthly town halls. You could feel the sour attitudes creeping over the cube walls, into the hallways, around the corridors.

And we all went through the motions. The upper upper management guy droned on for an hour about things that didn't matter. People stared at the floor, texted their friends, or feigned interest.

It was the same old b.s. as usual. From everybody.

I decided that I was tired of the charade. Enough bullsh*t. I wanted to talk about something real. And I did it.

Here's how you can do it too:

You ask the question everyone else is afraid to ask.

A simple answer? Yes. Everyone knows which elephants are standing in which parts of the room.

However, rather difficult to actually do. I mean, you're breaking protocol by being real! People start to get nervous. They laugh. Or fidget.

It's uncomfortable because we so rarely speak the Truth.

I've found that managers, teachers, politicians, and parents all hate it when you plainly state the Truth. There's nowhere to go once it's out on the table. And then you have to deal with it. Somehow.

If you're going to take the leap into cutting through the b.s., it's better (and kinder) if you're fairly diplomatic. No matter how much they act like a corporate droid, you are talking to a person and you don't want to make them feel alienated. Especially in front of a crowd. That sucks.

Formulate your question in this manner:

1) Thank them for their presentation.
2) Acknowledge their hard work in doing the presentation.
3) State what you're having a problem with.
4) Make a suggestion - very clearly - about how you suggest it could be better.

Your hands might shake.

Mine did.

You might grow cold and shiver like I usually do when I ask a hard question.

You might forget what you were going to stay.

Just take a breath, remind yourself that you're just talking to someone open and honestly.

Start off your question with: "May I speak freely?"

I know that sounds like military-speak, but I find many for-profit and non-profit organizations to have this chain-of-command type of mentality.

Something about just saying those words: May I speak freely - will cause everyone to perk up and listen. People don't often speak freely to management. They only speak freely behind closed doors where no one can hear them and where nothing can be done about the problem.

You say this as a way to prepare the speaker that you're about to be real. Hopefully they'll get the picture that you'd like a real answer.

Also, it's a good cue to yourself that YOU ARE ABOUT TO SPEAK FREELY. So do it. Don't back down now.

Then you quiet yourself and ask the question that you know you need to ask.

What's being done about problem X? We've been putting band-aids on that issue for the last four years?

I appreciate that the company is making money and it's good to hear about market shares to a certain extent, but what is the company doing to improve customer service or be a leader in the environmental movement?

Is it possible if the employees can contribute topics or questions ahead of time to be discussed within the body of this talk?

Make sure you follow through. Ask the tough questions. Or just one of them. Be bold. You can do it.

Once you say something real, it breaks the ice. Then suddenly your coworkers are free to be real too.

The upper management folks may do some tap dancing and use vague terms to answer your question. Or you may free THEM to be real too. Either way, you will have bravely set a precedent that you don't want to be talked at with statistics and glossy terms. You want to be talked to and talked with.

Once one person starts asking real questions, the ability to cut through the b.s. gets easier and easier.

Try it.

F.o.M.S. and The Power of Eliminating Options

2010-08-31T20:42:00.000-07:00

Have you heard of the Enneagram? A friend of mine introduced it to me when I was in college and slightly obsessed about knowing my inner self.

It's another way to figure out how you move though the world. You can take a quiz to determine your Enneagram number here. (You have to scroll down a bit to take the test. Also as an aside: I never do well with these kinds of tests. Sometimes it's better just to do some truth telling to yourself and figure out your type without the test.)

And here's the basic outline of the Enneagram chart. (You can fall into the world of the Enneagram if you've got a couple hours free.)

courtesy: www.enneagramnorth.com

Interestingly, I hadn't had enough life experiences or spent enough time being inwardly focused to figure out who the heck I was or what I wanted.

So I floundered.

I couldn't determine who I was in life OR in the Enneagram.

At first I thought I was a Two - The Giver - mostly because I didn't have boundaries.

As it turns out, Givers actually like giving all the time.

I did not.

I'd made myself sick by doing things for other people all the time.

I've since crossed that one off the list.

A number of years passed and I began thinking of myself as a Nine - The Mediator - because I'm a Libra and, like many Libras, I prefer peaceful scenarios to conflict.

I've spent plenty of time in my life trying to get people to calm down already.

If I really looked at myself though, plenty of other people had spent time trying to get me to calm down already, too.

Turns out most Nine types are calm most of the time.

I was most definitely not.

That took Mediator off the list.

I'd go back to the Enneagram chart and convince myself that I was an Achiever (I'd done well in school) or a Romantic (I'm pretty gushy when I feel like it) or maybe a Skeptic (on my tougher days), but nothing seemed to fit.

Then yesterday I was feeling scattered and restless and like I needed an escape from my job IMMEDIATELY. The feeling was not new.

I got the hunch to go to the Enneagram and I looked at it one more time.

Bingo! And crap. I'm a Seven.

How did I miss it all these years?!

The Seven Type has a few names: The Epicure, The Adventurer, The Generalist, The Enthusiast. (I would also add The Escape Artist as my own personal title for this type).

Here's a brief synopsis of Sevens:

Sevens are extroverted, optimistic, versatile, and spontaneous. Playful, high-spirited, and practical, they can also misapply their many talents, becoming over- extended, scattered, and undisciplined. They constantly seek new and exciting experiences, but can become distracted and exhausted by staying on the go. They typically have problems with impatience and impulsiveness. At their Best: they focus their talents on worthwhile goals, becoming appreciative, joyous, and satisfied. (taken from www.enneagraminstitute.com)

Um... yeah. Hi. My name is Rebecca and as much as I've avoided it for years, I'm an Enthusiast.

Just before I'd gone to the Enneagram website, I'd been checking out Cruise Ship jobs. A few days prior I'd been considering applying to a job in Jamaica. Meanwhile I was applying to two additional jobs in town. One as an assistant in an athletic department, the other at a plant nursery.

There's always this drive to find something new and exciting to do.

And it's relentless.

And absolutely exhausting.

Les and I just returned from a trip to Germany. When we were there we met a number of people with actual professions.

The ones that stood out were the professional musicians and I cannot describe the level of envy I had for these people.

And it not just because I've completely romanticized their jobs (because you know I've already done that).

No.

It's because they have depth to the work they do. They keep growing and changing and studying and focusing.

AND they're paid to do grow and change and study and focus.

!!!

As a Generalist, I do not have this depth.

It feels so empty.

In looking at my life, I've had this insatiable sense that there's always something awesome happening at that very moment and I'm missing it. I'M MISSING IT! Ugh! What a horrible feeling.

I heard a character on The L Word call it F.o.M.S. Or Fear of Missing Something.
It's maddening. I can't do everything, but there is some nagging part of me that sincerely wants me to try to do everything at least once.

You know what happens when you try to avoid missing something?

You miss things.

And you never get any depth.

I really can't have it all. Do it all. Go everywhere. Try to be everything. Constantly explore new things. Eventually you get tired of trying the new and you want to be good, and I mean exceptional, at at least one thing in your life.

So how have I been combatting this new found knowledge that I'm partially hard-wired to NOT want to focus? I've been eliminating options.

And yes, part of me is FREAKING OUT at the idea of ELIMINATING OPTIONS. (Aaaahhhh!) But, you know what? It's been so helpful.

I cleaned off my desk at home (formerly full of photos, cards, images, quotes) and left only a candle, a bell, one picture in a frame, a coaster for my tea, and a lamp. Everything else is in an exquisite pile on the floor to be dealt with at a later time.

Right now I'm listening to the same song over and over again as I write (an idea I gleaned from Tim Ferris about writing) because otherwise I would be futzing with my ipod incessantly instead of writing.

I was going to write this blog post in MS Word, but as soon as I started writing I realized that I was playing with the fonts and not writing anything. I immediately switched to Notepad. Hay presto! I'm writing.

The benefit for me of eliminating options is that I can funnel my energy - a challenge for a Seven - like a laser, into whatever activity I'm doing at the moment. And then I get better results. Duh.

But it also makes me feel much more powerful. It gives me a sense of control over my bouncy mind.

I know efficiency experts have talked about this technique for years, but it didn't really hit home until this week.

My next step: Eliminating the options to create art in my office. I have materials to paint, draw, SoulCollage, make all kinds of little what-nots, but I don't use any of it except the SoulCollage.

Fine. Truth time. The SoulCollage supplies stay. The rest goes into storage for the time being.

Have you had any luck being honest with yourself about your true interests and eliminating the rest?

It sure is working for me so far.

The Worst and Best Logic, Ever

2010-08-06T09:09:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about creativity.

How things get made, why they are made, who makes them, and specifically, what inspires their creation.

I'm one of those jack-of-all trades kinds of creative types. I like learning new creative skills. I like to try things. I grow excited learning piano, singing, collaging, painting, drawing, sculpting, welding, woodworking, writing, mosaic... pretty much anything.

However, I don't have images of paintings or mosaics or sculptures popping into my head begging for creation. I don't get poems or songs or melodies.

Everyone once and a while I'll get a glimpse of a sculpture or some interesting found object piece or a collage, but it's rare.

I do have a mini theatre in my mind though. And I see dances. I see dance numbers - choreographed group dances - solos - duets - modern - ballroom - some ballet - mostly it's just images of color and movement and form.

I've had these images for as long as I can remember. All I need for one of these mini mind movies to start playing is music - music that resonates with some part of me.

It can be pop music, latin rhythms, hip-hop, indie rock, swing, blue grass, standards - it doesn't matter. My brain will choreograph a dance for it and my heart will leap and twirl and sway accordingly.

It's pretty rad.

Which circles me back around to my question: What inspires people's creativity?

Based on some very limited deep thought about this topic and some very poor logic, I've come to the conclusion that Creation engenders more Creation. In fact, I've given this half baked theory a name.

I'm calling it: The Creation Domino Effect.

Fancy, right? I thought you'd like that.

I believe you can see the Creation Domino Effect most easily by working backwards.

Let's use the dances that pop into my brain unannounced.

Well there has to be music first.

First link: Music inspires dance.

Well, what inspired the music?

Let's make a guess and say that a poem inspired the music.

Second link: Poem inspires music which inspires dance.

What inspired the poet to write?

Let's make another guess and say that it was nature.

Third link: Nature inspires poem which inspires music which inspires dance.

This may feel like a stretch, but what inspires Nature?

What inspires Nature to create with such exquisite attention to detail and unfailing regularity every Spring?

Is it an un-see-able force that pulls flowers to blossom and bees to pollinate?

The unspoken loyalty of each species to coexist and grow and flourish?

The tug of the Earth's energy to continue to exist?

Simply put, is it survival?

(Ding!)

So if we look at these links again:

Fourth link: Survival inspires nature which inspires poem which inspires music which inspires Dance.

Wow. It's magical how that works.

So when and where do we get into trouble with this whole Creative Domino Effect?

When we forget who we are, where we live, and where all of our energy - all of our energy come from.

Or, even worse, when we stop creating and so the first domino in the chain never falls.

We stop the cycle. We don't create and therefore others aren't inspired by our work. Ay yi yi.

We go against our nature, one of our purposes here, and don't create. Oh boy.

How about we look at the scenario moving forward instead of backwards this time where I create something and the dominos start falling accordingly.

Let's say that I choreograph a dance and a young woman sees it.

She carries that dance in her heart for two years until she decides to do a painting interpreting the movement and the colors and the light.

She hangs the painting in her front room.

A few months later, her neighbor joins her for tea, sees the painting, and the colors remind her of this one particular Monet painting that she just loves.

She goes home and begins, after years of neglect, to work on her garden.

She plants herbs and nasturtiums and fruit trees and creeping vines.

She plants shade trees and shrubs and strawberries and tomatoes.

She waters her garden. She tends to the Earth.

And so we're back to Nature again. We're back to the original spark that inspired the poem (that inspired the music that inspired the dance... )

When we stop creating, we stop inspiring others. And in some way, that disconnection affects the Earth we stand on.

Somehow, that unseen spark of Creation wants us to create.

Creation needs it for survival.

It's kinda cool.

Clearly this is not the best logic in the world, but I like the idea that every creation is inspiration for some other creation. Even the most challenging creations like war or disease inspires creation. Think anti-war songs or the AIDS quilt.

Creation engenders Creation.

The Creation Domino Effect

2010-08-06T08:30:00.001-07:00

(I posted this in August but then it mysteriously disappeared. We'll see if it works this time. I apologize for those of you who've already read this one... more new posts to come.)

I've been thinking a lot about creativity.

How things get made, why they are made, who makes them, and specifically, what inspires their creation.

I'm one of those jack-of-all trades kinds of creative types. I like learning new creative skills. I like to try things. I grow excited learning piano, singing, collaging, painting, drawing, sculpting, welding, woodworking, writing, mosaic... pretty much anything.

However, I don't have images of paintings or mosaics or sculptures popping into my head begging for creation. I don't get poems or songs or melodies.

Everyone once and a while I'll get a glimpse of a sculpture or some interesting found object piece or a collage, but it's rare.

I do have a mini theatre in my mind though. And I see dances. I see dance numbers - choreographed group dances - solos - duets - modern - ballroom - some ballet - mostly it's just images of color and movement and form.

I've had these images for as long as I can remember. All I need for one of these mini mind movies to start playing is music - music that resonates with some part of me.

It can be pop music, latin rhythms, hip-hop, indie rock, swing, blue grass, standards - it doesn't matter. My brain will choreograph a dance for it and my heart will leap and twirl and sway accordingly.

It's pretty rad.

Which circles me back around to my question: What inspires people's creativity?

Based on my limited deep thought about this topic, I've come to the conclusion that Creation engenders more Creation. In fact, I've given this half baked theory a name. I'm calling it: The Creation Domino Effect.

Fancy, right? I thought you'd like that.

I believe you can see the Creation Domino Effect most easily by working backwards.

Let's use the dances that pop into my brain unannounced.

Well there has to be music first.

First link: Music inspires dance.

Well, what inspired the music?

Let's make a guess and say that a poem inspired the music.

Second link: Poem inspires music inspires dance.

What inspired the poet to write?

Let's make another guess and say that it was nature.

Third link: Nature inspires poem inspires music inspires dance.

This may feel like a stretch, but what inspires Nature?

What inspires Nature to create with such exquisite attention to detail and unfailing regularity every Spring?

An un-see-able force that pulls flowers to blossom and bees to pollinate?

The unspoken loyalty of each species to depend and grow and flourish?

The tug of the Earth's energy to continue to exist?

In short, survival?

So if we look at these links again:

Fourth link: Survival inspires Nature inspires Poem inspires Music inspires Dance.

Where do we get into trouble?

When we forget who we are, where we live, and where all of our energy - all of our energy come from.

Or, even worse, when we stop creating.

We stop the cycle. We don't create and therefore others aren't inspired by our work.

Let's say that I choreograph a dance and a young woman sees it.

She carries that dance in her heart for two years until she decides to do a painting interpreting the movement and the colors and the light.

She hangs the painting in her front room.

Her neighbor vistis one day, sees the painting, and it reminds her of this one Monet painting that she just loves.

She goes home and begins, after years of neglect, to work on her garden.

She plants herbs and nasturtiums and fruit trees and creeping vines.

She plants shade trees and shrubs and strawberries and kale.

She waters her garden. She tends to the Earth.

And so the cycle is complete.

When we stop creating, we stop inspiring others. And we stop doing our part for the Earth.

Somehow, that unseen spark of Creation wants us to create.

Creation needs it for survival.

Kinda cool.

A Late Night Stompy Wompy

2010-07-26T22:09:00.000-07:00

Today is Monday night, which makes last night Sunday night.

UGH... Sunday night. The dreaded Sunday night. Horror of horrors!

You know what I'm talking about.

When you're a kid, Sunday nights are the worst part of the weekend because you can't help but spend the last few hours before bed knowing you have to wake up at an ungodly hour to trudge off to school the next day.

When you're an adult, Sunday nights still suck because you know you have to wake up at an even more ungodly hour to trudge off to work the next day.

I can't remember which one of my friends coined the term "the Sunday night blues," but it's so fitting.

The Sunday Night Blues being to creep in around 4pm. Panicked you look at the clock and think, "Oh craaaaap. It's 4:00 o'clock already! Dang it! That means I've only got (one... two... three... ) - gah! six hours until I have to go to bed and go back to WORK!

Nooooowaaaaaaaaah!

Yes. I realize it's a completely juvenile response. But you have to admit that this response totally happens.

The "S.N.B. creep" will eventually mount into more and more anxiety as you try and focus on something interesting or fun to squeeze in during those last few hours of the weekend.

You may even appear to be acting normally to those around you, but inside you're freaking out:

"Ugh... it's 6pm already."
"Sigh. I should probably make my lunch for tomorrow."
"Gosh darn it. But I don't want to go to bed yet."

I have said these things to myself many, many times. It royally, royally, sucks.

I was having a major Sunday Night Blues attack last night.

Les and I had spent all Saturday and Sunday running errands - important errands none the less - but still, two days of running errands. Meh. Not my strong suit.

I used to have weekends full of chores all the time until my body rebelled and got really sick. I learned the hard way how important balance of work and play is in my life.

Yeah, it's SUPER IMPORTANT. So important that if I don't balance out the work with some play, my body now rebels in a brand new way: It throws a stompy wompy.

And can I just tell you what a stompy wompy is if you haven't guessed already? (You're going to love it.)

It's the Australian term for a tantrum. Isn't it perfectly descriptive! I love it.

So anyway, last night I had a MAJOR stompy wompy. I think I may have even been quietly, you know, adultly, stomping around on our hardwood floors as I marched from room to room.

I really couldn't figure out what I needed, which didn't help my frustration or overall brattiness of my mood.

Sure I didn't want to go back to work.

Sure I wasn't ready to go to bed (even though I was actually exhausted).

Sure I wasn't thrilled that we had had so many chores to do over the weekend, but it was all for an upcoming trip we're taking in two weeks that I'm so happy we're going to take.

What the heck was going on with me?

Well, once I put my bratty, stomping self to bed, grumbling all the way I might add, I realized what was going on.

My body / inner child / right brain (pick one) was miffed that I hadn't done anything creative all day.

Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Why didn't you say so?

Now that I've been blogging and dancing and doing the opposite (ie. using my right brain more) my body's gotten used to this pattern of self-expression. When I don't give myself that opportunity, boy howdy.

First I get frustrated, then enraged, then I'll often separate myself from others, then some sadness might bubble up, then the tears come.

Once those tears start flowing (apparently tears count as creation and expression) my body is usually satisfied enough to let me calm down and be my normal semi-balanced self again.

It's weird though.

I know that I've had similar cranky moods when I've needed rest or food or quiet or space, but I've always associated those needs with the bottom of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. But they're not really.

In looking at the Hierarchy again, I just realized that I can be thrown into a bad mood if my needs on any level aren't being met. I didn't even realize creativity was a need.


image credit: portraitinlinen.com

I can have the same response emotional response to being too hungry, as I do to not feeling safe, as I do to the need to have a job, as I do feel good about myself.

HUH.

No wonder when I'm having a hard time - even when I'm having a good day of self-awareness - it can be very hard to determine what I need.

Anyway, for Les' sake, I'm avoiding repeating that particular storm of stompy wompy-ness by letting my creativity flow and blogging sooner than I normally would in the week.

And truly, it feels fantastic. No stomping in sight.

(Kudos to my sister Emily and her Australian friend and colleague Louanne for bringing awesome new terms like stompy wompy into my life.)

Exactly the Opposite

2010-07-24T09:14:00.000-07:00

A quick update from the Bullies post from last time before I go on.

I received an email from said supervisor that looked like an apology, but it was really the language of an apology wrapped in frustrated and defensive statements. I read it, filed it, and haven't had anything to do with it until my actual manager said she wanted to talk to me about it.

Apparently other people have spoken up with similar concerns. Thank goodness. Maybe there can be some growth there for all of us.

Right. Now onto this week's post!

So I am super interested in the way our brains works. When I say interested, I really mean fascinated, but not in the way scientists can perform painstakingly specific tests over time because they're fascinated.

No.

I'm more of a let's-discuss-the-way-our-minds-work-and-how-it-affects-our-daily-lives-and-let's-definitely-have-some-wine-while-we-talk-about-it kind of girl.

I guess that makes me a shameless pop psychologist. Well, who isn't these days.

Anyway, I like making changes in my life. Changes for the sake of betterment, not just changes for the sake of changing.

The coolest intersection of my interest with the mind and my desire to make changes in my life, is to exercise my brain in ways where I can feel my brain growing in new direction.

I can literally feel my brain changing.

We have all these ways of being that are created, then practiced, then repeatedly hardwired into the brain.

It's one of the ways we become who we are. Or, who we believe ourselves to be.

You can see a pretty awesome example of what I'm talking about in this clip from What the Bleep Do We Know? (2004). (It's incredible to watch again even if you've seen the movie before. Takes about five minutes.)

When we do the same thing over and over again - feel hurt, eat at certain times, move in a particular way, use the same methods to cope - our patterns for responding to life grow stronger and stronger on a chemical and physical level.

If we're aware that we have the power to strengthen or weaken or breakdown these pathways of pattern, we can make changes.

I've always felt that there could be things that could be better about me.

I've wanted to get better about commitment. I've wanted to stop taking so many little things personally. I've wanted to forgive people. I've wanted my interactions with people to feel better. And I've wanted to feel better after having interactions with people as well.

Couple this drive to make myself better with a fascination with the brain and you have a perfect mind-body client for all the Portland mind-body professionals.

And let me tell you, I've spent a good amount of time and money working with people who talk to the body and help rewire the brain.

Oh boy. They love me.

Interestingly enough, the method I've been using over the past few days has been one that my sister helped me come up with while she was visiting Portland last week.

It's probably the simplest (and cheapest) way to rewire the brain, but it takes discipline, self-awareness, and some discomfort as you consciously exercise your mind.

You just do the opposite of what you want to do in that moment.

You know, pattern-wise.

Last week I was home sick from work with allergy symptoms. I think it was a partial allergic response to some eye cream that my body did not like and a partial body rejection to my job. Happens all the time.

So anyway, I'm home, my sister's visiting, and I can feel that similar sticky pattern coming up. It goes something like this:

I start getting frustrated that I'm not using my time at home to be more productive? Creative? Useful to the world? Something. Whatever it is, it annoys me that I'm not doing it.

Then, instead of doing something to be more productive or creative or useful to the world, I do one of the following:

Text or call my girlfriend.
Check my email.
Start some laundry.
Talk a walk
Meditate
Eat something
Search for a new job
Bemoan my poor, sad, sorry life by complaining endlessly in my journal.

Helpful?

Survey saaaaays....... No.

It's a MAJOR pattern of avoidance that I have tricked myself into believing is a "good thing" because I'm "getting something done."

Oh my clever, patterned brain. You're kind of sassy in your crazy subconscious manipulation of me.

If you'll note, there is very little creative action (read: zero) in any of my usual patterns of avoidance.

And where does it get me? Frustrated. Stuck. Doing the same old thing every freaking time.

Not cool.

So this time, since my sister was around and being her usual helpful self, and I was having a moment of AWARNESS OF THE PATTERN, she and I made a list of things I could do that are the complete opposite of what my brain and body would normally want to do in this scenario:

Paint something.
Make a mobile.
Practice a new language.
Learn a song on the guitar.
Take some pictures.
Write a blog post.

Anything that feels like a waste of time or causes tension in my chest because it's not the normal pattern, is perfect.

Perceived frivolity is key for breaking down this particular pattern.

My goal is to get out of my left brain (which is already so overused at work and home) and remember that I have this beautiful, magnificent, under appreciated right brain that has so much to contribute and so much to teach me, if I would only use it.

This morning I got up and thought of all the things I normally do on a Saturday morning (yoga stretching, immediate tidying, calling a family member) and decided to write a blog post while drinking water out of a mug that I normally reserve for tea.

Oh yeah brain. Feel the burn.

(More on rewiring the brain to come... )

Bullies

2010-07-16T15:36:00.000-07:00

What is going on lately?

I feel like everywhere I turn someone is getting bullied by someone else.

My friend Katja in Germany is getting absolutely pushed around by her boss.

One of my favorite bloggers seems to be getting energetically bullied.

This week I was bullied by a management type in a simple conversation where said person would not accept an answer of "No," from me.

I stood up for myself in what turned into a HUGE mis-communication / confrontation / overblown-thing-that-took-up-WAY-too-much-of-my-energy THING.

But why did I need to do that?

Why was I pushed and judged and demeaned when I said I wasn't available to work extra?

Why wasn't the response, "You're not available? Oh. Okay. I'LL FIND SOMEONE ELSE..."?

We've got a number of people in my company who use bullying as the primary method of "managing."

Some less fiery people than me take their bullying as it comes and then commiserate about with coworkers in private.

And the result of these actions? Nothing changes. No one knows it's happening. In fact, as I learned from my confrontation with this person, they had no idea that they came across that way.

In fact, they said that it'd never happened in the past with others.

Hahahahahahahahaha.

Seriously?

Holy disconnect Batman.

The thing I find REALLY interesting about bullies is that if you stand up to them (this has been my experience at least) they will leave you alone. It disturbs the order of their Universe. In fact, from that point on they might completely ignore you, treat you overly sweetly, or might even grovel when they're around you (which is really weird).

All because for just a moment, you mirrored their stuff.

And what a freaking scary mirror to look into!

After the confrontation this past week my body was shaking, physically, for a good ten minutes. Followed by some internal emotional quaking for a few hours after that.

Sure I felt frightened, intimidated, pushed.

But largely I just felt misunderstood. Not heard.

Which makes me wonder if bullying comes down to not understanding people -- not listening to them and therefore running with assumptions.

Maybe bullies just have underdeveloped listening skills?

Maybe bullies never learned how to interact with people and therefore they PUSH to be in control and to keep themselves safe.

Maybe they don't realize they come across in a way that makes people uncomfortable UNTIL someone does the exact same thing back to them. Then their understanding morphs into "Shoot, I don't want to feel that way again. Guess I'll tread really lightly with that person."

To be honest, I don't really get it.

I will say that I know that I have a fierce side to my personality.

If I didn't have that fierceness, I wouldn't have been able to stand up to this bully, or the string of others I've stood up to in my life.

Now I believe that if you have a situation that keeps on coming up in your life that you have a lesson that you're not learning.

I feel like it's the Universe saying, "Nope. Try again. Nope. Try again." This pattern can go on for years.

After the dust had cleared from the whole brouhaha, I looked back and said to myself, "Aw man. Here we go again. Okay. Let's see if I can see what I'm ~~trying to learn~~ obviously not getting here..."

What if I had just paused (a technique I learned from my friend Laura who teaches MBSR), instead of reacting and defending myself?

What if I had employed silence as a response until I found a calm way to say No?

What if I had chilled out and said, "I don't feel like I'm being heard here, it's not that I don't want to. I'm just not available."

What if I hadn't let a statement like, "You will if I say you will!" trigger me.

In that moment of verbal combat, could I have seen through the tone and accusatory words and instead asked, "Can I ask what you are so concerned about? Can I help you brainstorm other options?"

Can you even get that far with someone who's main way of communicating is through demanding and pushing and stomping until control (safety?) is achieved?

I don't know. But I'm beginning to glimpse the lesson here.

Heart vs. Head - A Guide

2010-07-06T21:57:00.000-07:00

Les and I went to Lilith Fair at the Gorge Amphitheater in George, Washington (yes, it's an actual town) this weekend. George is about five hours from Portland and so we drove a lot this weekend.

Les likes driving, so I'm usually content to stare out of the window, perform my co-pilot duties of supplying water and Swedish Fish, and sing along to the music.

But on the way back from George, Les wasn't feeling well so I drove.

If you haven't been to Central Washington, well, you're not missing much. It reminds me of a mountainous version of Tucson Arizona, but colder and missing the cacti.

Anyway, after you pass the GINORMOUS wind turbines near the Gorge, there isn't much to look at much besides the road, the hills, the small silvery shrubs, and the rear end of the car in front of you.

It's absolutely perfect car meditation driving.

When I was coaching synchronized swimming and we were in the early choreographing months of the season, my best ideas bubbled up while I was driving the twenty minutes to the pool. I know I'm not alone in this phenomenon. I've heard a number of artists speak about similar creative bursts while driving.

My totally non-scientific and highly debatable theory is that there are ideas energetically left in the air from the other drivers who've passed through that way. As I drive I move through each vertical energy field like I'm flying through transparent Walls of IDEA.

Me in the truck >>> Idea!>>> Idea!>>> Idea! Swoosh swoosh swoosh! Just like that... at 70 mph.

My theory continues that our internal radar only picks up on the Walls of IDEA that apply to us.

One of the ideas hanging out in the ether this weekend was the idea that we all have Head Pursuits (interests) and Heart Pursuits (passions).

I don't know why, but this felt like a huge epiphany to me. Maybe because I could make sense of all the things I enjoy in my life and figure out how or why I enjoy them.

So what defines a Head Pursuit:

A Head Pursuit is an interest - an idea. Something that gets your attention.
You can feel a Head Pursuit in your head. Like you're growing a plan or an idea.
You can say, with some distance, that'd be kind of awesome or isn't that cool?
You can probably figure out a way to make money from a Head Pursuit, but you can also easily grow tired or weary from a Head Pursuit.
Head Pursuits can fade like the seasons.
Head Pursuits are intellectually driven.

A Heart Pursuit, on the other hand, is a often times a passion that doesn't make any logical sense, but it's so important.

Heart Pursuits might not make you any money, but they pay you back ten-fold in fulfillment.
Heart Pursuits keep you up at night with giddy excitement.
Heart Pursuits are those "crazy ideas" that make our world absolutely incredible.
Olympic athletes follow Heart Pursuits for years until they reach the Games.
Raising a child is a heart pursuit.
Playing music, coaching a sport, painting, collecting stamps -- all Heart Pursuits.
Heart Pursuits make for a healthy and vibrant soul.
Heart Pursuits are spiritually driven.

Now, Head Pursuits can feed a Heart Pursuit. For instance, Les had a day job that's a Head Pursuit because she has a job she loves (coaching) which is a total Heart Pursuit. One affords her the time, money, and space to do the other.

I believe finding a Heart Pursuit - or a combination of Heart Pursuits - is what keeps people bright and shining. They can feel their connection to something bigger than them from the center of their chest. They will always report "loving it" and it might be the most important thing in their life.

I bring this meditative epiphany up because I'm one of those people who finds LOTS of things interesting. I mean, we live in a fascinating world! How could I not marvel at tons of things?!

The trouble fore me with Head Pursuits, is there is no rush of spirit behind them. They're interesting until something else yanks my attention away.

This constant pushing and pulling from idea to idea leaves me feeling like the Push-Me, Pull-You from Dr. Doolittle.

This way! No! This Way!

Ugh!

When I focus on my innumerable Head Pursuits, I can convince myself that I'm a total flake with zero ability to commit to anything.

I'm a flaky two-headed llama. Not good.

If I switch to my Heart Pursuits, though, I'm insanely loyal.

I fell madly in love with the sport of synchronized swimming when I was five and stuck with it for 20 years. 20 Years!

I moved across the country to live in Portland, sight unseen, and I've been here for ten years. That one was a blind Heart Pursuit, but some part of me knew it was going to be good. Thank goodness I listen to that part of myself.

So when I'm bemoaning my current work situation and some unassuming soul asks "Well, what do you want to do?" (aka. My-most-un-favorite-question-ever.) I freeze.

Are we talking Head Pursuit or Heart Pursuit here?

The Head Pursuits are right at the surface: "Well, I'm really into permaculture and I've always wanted to be a bee-keeper, I'd like to try building a cob house and maybe start an online store..., you know... lots of things!"

Heart Pursuits are a little bit harder to define... or even to feel. "Um... what does my heart say? Um... well... I really love dancing. I choreograph in my head all the time. And I would love to keep singing and not feel afraid about singing in front of people. And I love accents."

Yes. Accents.

Heart pursuits, as I said, are not logical.

(I totally said that in a British accent, and now I'm grinning.)

The point of this post? I guess I needed a guide to help me light my own way.

Shine bright. Shine on.

Fantastic Liberation and Redirection

2010-07-02T16:10:00.000-07:00

Things are changing.

A few days ago, I had this fantastically liberating idea that I would QUIT MY JOB. Just like that. Just quit. Maybe even without having anything else lined up. I would leap into the air, the money for my bills would appear, the perfect "next thing" would present itself, the timing would be oh so perfect and ah... I would be free.

I've been riding a high just thinking about this possibility for days now. Talk about an amazing feeling.

Then things happened.

One of my coworkers in my small, four person department put in her notice before I did!

What?!

On the SAME DAY I planned to put in my notice?!

Is this a joke?!

You should have seen my face as one coworker was telling me the news. I hope I wasn't too transparent.

Putting in my notice now (without a clear reason like another job to go to immediately) would just feel like a spiteful act. And I strive, on the whole, mostly, to not be spiteful. Especially with people who've been so kind to me in the years I've worked there.

I don't care how much you hate your job, no one wants to be remembered as somebody who was pretty cool until they abandoned ship at the worst possible time. Nobody wants to be that girl. Or I don't, at least. Even if I do want out.

So... in a matter of days, my fantastically liberating idea has gone from being that thing that kept me going, to that awesomely bold thing I was going to do, but now can't. Or, to be clear and less victim-sounding, I'm choosing not to do.

When I'm in a less jaded space, it feels like my fantastically liberating idea maybe wasn't so fantastic or liberating and I'm being directed, once again, to re-examine my plans.

With that, I'm taking the big hot air balloon in my mind up into the sky to rise above the situation -- to try and make sense of things -- to see if there's a map -- to see if there's an actual path before me -- or to see if I'm just groping around in the forest like a lost hiker.

I figure if I can turn myself into a kind of spiritual satellite - to see everything from above instead of trying to find my way from the middle of a crowd - then maybe this won't feel so hard.

Exhale............ okay.

What I'm seeing from high above:

I see dark green, round-topped trees.

I see a river.

The trees are the stable and supportive people on my path.

The river is my path.

And of course my path is made of water instead of rocks or sand or dirt. My path has always been emotional, creative, meandering, sometimes scary and choppy, other times rip-roaringly thrilling - I imagine it will continue to be that way.

I zoom in.

There's me in a boat with no oars. I hold on to the sides of the boat with both hands to steady myself. My eyes open, bright, looking straight ahead. I'm watching to see what the river brings.

I zoom in again and now I'm in the boat with the breeze against my face, watching the trees and shimmering, gray rock walls drift by. There are dark-haired women in white flowing dresses dancing on the shore. They have peaceful faces. They smile as they dance.

I have no oars. The river is guiding my boat.

Sometimes it feels like I'm going backwards as the boat spins gently around in the river, but I'm still flowing in the direction of the river. Sometimes facing where I'm going. Sometimes facing where I've been.

Two hawks fly overhead circling and screeching.

The sun comes out and warms my shoulders and I smile into the sky.

Things are changing.

Realizations about the Obvious

2010-06-25T19:19:00.000-07:00

I just figured something out.

Like right this second.

So I told you that I've decided to name my energy business, Shine Bright Portland. Yes! Headway!

Here's the thing that I've been wondering about since my last post: I'm a Reiki Master and therefore I assumed that my energy business would entail Reiki sessions with people. That makes sense, right?

Here's the thing though, and I feel like I need to whisper this: I'm not passionate about Reiki.

Gosh. Saying that feels like total energy worker blasphemy, but it's true.

My name is Rebecca, I'm a Reiki Master, and I'm not passionate about Reiki.

I enjoy giving sessions. I love the feeling of the energy running through my body. I love the practicality of Reiki as an immediate calming tool that you always have with you. But I do not faun over it like many Reiki practitioners do.

Is Reiki an incredible connection to an infinite source of energy? Yes.

Is it something I burst at the seams with enthusiasm about? No. Not especially.

It's a'ight.

Which brings me back to my business name and the question I've been chewing on for days:

How does this thing I know how to do - Reiki - relate to my business name - Shine Bright Portland?

How do I connect Reiki to shining brightly?

Shine brightly how?

Who do I want to help shine?

Again, what the heck am I doing?

Les and I were just at the Organic Brewer's Festival at a local park. Portland loves beer fests. For those who aren't gluten free (like me) and who actually enjoy beer, there are seemingly endless microbrews to choose from in this town.

Portland isn't called Beervana for nothing.

Back to my story: We'd been at the beer fest for a little while - enjoying the sun - listening to music - welcoming summer with hordes of other happy Portlanders. Loving life.

At some point, Les wandered off to try a different sample of beer and I stayed where I was gazing at the performers playing on the covered stage at the far end of a grassy slope.

I'm staring... staring... smiling into the sky... feeling the breeze on my skin... watching the musicians play... and then it hits me.

Hey! I think my business is about helping people who want to perform!

Ding!

Awesome, right? But also kind of painfully obvious.

Shining might as well be the SAME WORD as performing.

Seriously? Why. didn't. I. get. that. before?

Eh, who cares. It's never obvious if it's your stuff.

So! To answer my own questions from above:

How do I connect Reiki to shining brightly? Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. Maybe I teach people Reiki so they can help themselves or others calm down before a performance? There's an idea.

Shine brightly how? From their soul outward. The best way to shine.

Who do I want to help shine? People who want to sing, dance, give a speech, join a sports team for the first time, but they have all this stuff blocking them from doing it. They've wanted to do these things for years, but fear, or maybe complete paralysis, has blocked them from even trying it.

Again, what the heck am I doing? Well, I feel like I'm finally figuring that out! Yesssss! Go me.

And you know, it's not really people's work that I'm interested in helping them figure out. It's the part deep inside of them that craves expression.

It's their smothered passion.

It's their secret wish to be a poet, an actor, a marathon runner, a novelist, a sailor.

It's all of those soul longings they put away to be a responsible and reliable adult.

Or, it's that beautiful valley of true connection with the Divine that's hidden under a dark cloud of self-doubt and inner criticism.

Take away that dark cloud and voila! You're shining brightly.

And yes, I am the queen of groan-worthy analogies.

Admit it.

You kind of like them.

An Introduction to Jacqueline

2010-06-21T20:51:00.000-07:00

So I started my website for my energy business last night.

I've decided to call it www.shinebrightpdx.com. Yes!

I didn't realize that adding pdx onto the end of a business name could get you pretty damn close to the domain name you want (www.shinebright.com) without having to change too much. If I move, then I can call it something else. Not a big deal.

I made myself decide on the domain name, the name for the blog, and the design and color scheme.

I couldn't bring myself to write anything because I still don't feel like I know what the hell I'm doing. What the hell am I doing?

Penelope Trunk says that when you start a business, lots of the time you just say that you're starting a business and then sit around talking about stuff and blinking at the wall and going for coffee. I prefer tea, but whatever.

If every business starts with just a lot of talking and blinking, then I've got this business stuff down pat.

So yes, last night I chose a web design program (Webs.com), I picked a business name, a domain name, a design and a color scheme. That's actually pretty good for a recovering perfectionist.

This will make the third website I've attempted to create.

With the other two I ended up getting caught up in the details of something as inconsequential as the color of the links (Should they be green? orange? Do I have to choose blue?) that the other two sites have designs that I'm unhappy with sitting there with zero writing. And it took me days to get that much done.

The goal for tonight (or maybe for tomorrow since my DANCE LESSON is tonight) will be to try and write something that isn't too short or too long and you know, maybe decide what the heck I'm going to offer.

And also try not to make it into a big deal. I'm a pro at making things into a WAY big deal. An obnoxiously big deal. When things are a big deal then they have to be PERFECT and perfect is unattainable and there you go. Or rather, there I stop.

Now you have a mini introduction to one of my inner Saboteurs, Jacqueline. (Pronounced "zjac-clean" and of course she's French. French women seem to have the perfect thing going on.)

One of Jacqueline's favorite ways to entangle me in my own perfectionist's web is to FIND SOMETHING WRONG WITH EVERYTHING I DO.

Here. You can listen in on Jacqueline, um, helping me with my website last night:

You know, I don't think zat title is quite right. Perhaps you should think a little more? Oh... do you really want to go with zat color? Don't you think zat's a bit... how do you say... garish? You're not going to write somezing yet, are you? But you don't know what you're doing, Mademoiselle! Do you really want to write somezing if you don't know what you're doing?!

Yes. Meet Jacqueline.

I realize that sabotage is her way of protecting me. But her protective suggestions cause me to shrink back and second guess myself rather than grow and bloom.

When you're working to feel more alive, it's important to know who is standing in your way and then develop strategies to deal with them.

With Jacqueline, I've tried to ignore her, but she's rather persistent and convincing.

So last night I gave myself (and Jacqueline) some rules. I had an hour and I had to get as much done on my website as possible in the allotted sixty minutes.

Haha... distraction! Jacqueline's nit picking went from creating the website perfectly to doing the task quickly! She still berated me a little for not getting enough done, but hey, progress! I managed to make some decisions without too much criticism from her.

Score one for me.

The Bookshelf

2010-06-17T16:16:00.000-07:00

Today I had one of those rare days where I actually do the things I've been meaning to do for months. It was awesome.

I made the bed, did the dishes, did my work work, went through some papers and actually FILED THEM, recycled two huge handfuls of receipts, shredded a document or two.

You know, just had one of those miraculously productive days.

Earlier when I was making the bed, I glanced at my bedside table and holy crap! I had like 20 books filling the low, open shelf right beside my bed.

Now I know a pretty good amount about Feng Shui and having a huge stack of books to read right next to your head in a room reserved for rest is a major energetic no-no. How the heck did that happen?

As I knelt down to look at the overwhelming pile of bound information, I felt, well, kind of all-over- the-place. Maybe even slightly crazy. The books on my bedside table shelf were so varied, no wonder I have a hard time figuring out what to do.

The books were titled as follows:

The Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defense (Unread self-help book, hardcover - and therefore fairly hard to hold, especially in bed, which is probably why it's still unread and not even started.)

Comfortable with Uncertainty (Which I am not comfortable with, for the record. I keep that book beside my bed, you know, as a helpful reminder - Zen book.)

Made to Stick (Finished reading this one a year ago. Ironically, I can't remember much about it - business book.)

Acupressure for Common Ailments (Awesome resource book I bought when I was just beginning my foray into alternative medicine. I still remember the bookstore in Maine where I bought it over 12 years ago.)

Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway (Incredible self-help book I've had since college. I pull it out whenever I feel the need for a big change or a big leap and then read it as a way to psych myself up.)

Sarah's Key (Absolutely heart-wrenching / horrifying book about Nazi Germany that was also a really good read. Bought it pre-flight in the Portland airport - finished it in three days. Fiction is good like that.)

And that's just one fifth of all the books I had stacked beside my bed.

Those books are like the contents of my brain.

In fact, after lugging them all to my study / studio to put them back on the bookshelf when they belong, I actually thought - "Good grief! Do I have adult ADD? Why can't I just have one interest and stick with it like normal people?"

I took a totally unscientific and probably neurotically-self-skewed, online ADD test and it turns out that, according to me, I have moderate ADHD.

I knew it.

So yes, back on topic. I moved all the books BACK to the bookshelf in my studio away from the sacred sleeping space around our bed.

I left one book - The E-Myth.

That book won the prized spot on my bedside table really for no other reason than I've been reading it for months and I'm almost done with it so the potential for completion is high. Yeah, I know. It's not that sexy of a reason.

But! I figure I can try reading one book at a time and see if I can actually finish it and then trying moving on to one new book to read and finish. Yeah.

I mean, do I need to have a small reference library right beside my bed every night? No. I don't. I could try focusing.

The whole focusing thing comes up in tarot card readings for me over and over again. "Too many scattered thoughts. Time to focus," they say. Freaking cards are always right.

Well, yes, I know I'm supposed to focus on one thing, but I'm just interested in so MANY things. It's hard.

Next week I'm taking that private dance lesson I'm so jazzed about, I'm giving a Reiki session to a friend, I'm doing a business call, I'm looking into voice training again... spin, spin, spin!

I'm thinking that maybe if I just focus on one book on the bedside table at a time it'll be a clear visual cue to help me focus on one passionate pursuit at a time as well.

We'll see.

PS: Oooh! A semi-immediate update: My sister just called and I asked her if I could finish editing this blog post before we talked! Yehsss! It's working already!

A Clear Way to Shine

2010-06-15T19:48:00.000-07:00

So I know I've only been blogging for a ve-hery short time, but I feel like I haven't written a blog post in ages! I've been torturing myself over all of this not writing by convincing myself that I'm "not committed" or "being a flake" or "losing interest in something potentially very cool, again."

It's been rough.

Then I sign on to write a post tonight and I realize that it hasn't been weeks since I last wrote. It's been ONE week. Seven days to the day and that's enough for me to give myself a hearty helping of guilt with a bitter side of you-really-suck-at-this.

Oy.

So I'm writing again today. Cheers! And it feels really good. I was breathing easier just sitting here getting ready to write. And that feels weird, but also pretty awesome.

I'm happy to report that some cool things have happened since I last wrote.

I did some amazingly spot-on Tarot Card readings at a friend's birthday party last Wednesday night.

I was sitting there having an absolutely fabulous time helping people find clarity, and then it occurred to me that I could actually get paid to do tarot card readings for people! Like at parties! I don't think this is a new revelation, but it's great to see the idea circling back to me.

Definitely felt alive and aglow that night.

I also realized that I may be ready to get back into energy work -- an area of my life that I've been avoiding for some time.

I could do Reiki for parents. Reiki for couples. House clearings. Business energy evaluations. Then regular Reiki treatments for people going through specific events like a loss or before and after surgery.

It's still in the works, but it looks like the somewhat bad taste that had been in my mouth involving energy healing is finally (after 18 months) starting to fade away. And for that I am thankful.

With those two realizations comes a leetle bit of a hang up about individuality.

Individuality in that I want to be unique. I don't want to just be another Reiki Master or another tarot card reader.

My artistic side gets all bent at the thought of that and makes me want to shave my head and move to Bali and be a fire eater (haha!) just because it'd be unexpected. And also pretty badass.

I was a synchronized swimming coach for years and the excitement of it kept me up at night. Often times, I think it was because it was so non-mainstream. I could get a certain surprise and immediate interest out of people when I told them what I did for a living and I'm sure my ego just LOVED THAT.

I know it did. I was there.

But now, saying that I'm a Reiki Master or a tarot card reader... eh? In Portland, it's not so rare. But why does that matter? I mean, who really cares?

Clearly, I care.

I revel in the curious and unexpected parts of life. I love things that are lesser known to the great majority of people in this country - or at least lesser known in my circles.

My feeling is that there is so much creative potential in this world -- Why would I choose to do something that so many other people do? Why can't I use my creativity to create something needed and new instead of just doing what other people are doing?

I think one of the other reasons why I kept coaching synchro even though it paid me so little and took so much of my time, was because it gave me a clear way to shine.

I could choreograph a routine that people would stop what they were doing to watch. It was an expression of the Divine that positively captivated people.

There was an audience and they stopped to watch my art.

I guess with many jobs, there is no audience. No forum for performance. No way to inspire and feel the energy of captivation sweep over a group of people.

Reiki is an art, but it's an art that is known in some sense. The performance is played out on an internal stage between the Divine and the Reiki recipient, not the healer.

There is no crowd. There is no clapping. There is no clear way for me to shine there the way I like to shine.

Wow. This is huge.

On an awesome note, I signed up for private ballroom dance lessons today. I've been avoiding dancing - a forum where I used to shine - for years and I finally signed up again today. *Exhale*

We'll see if that still brings me alive like it used to.

Guts: The non-gory version

2010-06-08T21:44:00.000-07:00

In this process of figuring out who the heck I am and what the heck I'm supposed to contribute to this world, I can get pretty worked up about not knowing the answer. You could say that I over think it. You could also say that I've been doing this over thinking thing for way too long.

My friend and I were talking the other night about business and our purposes in this life. I haven't been feeling that well for the past week and she said to me, "You know, I think maybe you should just rest and not think about all this stuff for a while..."

She's so smart.

With this new found permission to not think, I decided to watch a movie my sister, the Broadway aficionado, had told me about called Every Little Step, a documentary about the casting process for the revival of A Chorus Line.

Now I love documentaries, I love watching anything about the creative process, and I love A Chorus Line. Love. It.

I watched the movie version of A Chorus Line religiously as a kid (not realizing how mature the themes were until I was much older). I memorized the songs and envisioned myself dancing along side the other dancers. Hearing the first few notes of the opening number played on the piano still makes my heart race with excitement. It's so good.

A few years ago, my two sisters and I took a 24 hour whirlwind trip to New York the day after Christmas. We rode the Chinatown bus from DC to New York so that we could see A Chorus Line on Broadway. It was the first Broadway show any of us had seen and we kind of went bananas about it. There was lots of elated squealing and gripping each others' hands in the darkened theater. It was absolute awesomeness.

Watching Every Little Step was like a backstage pass to the creative process of a show I'd obsessed over for years. First of all, auditions are so interesting because you get to see all the different interpretations of the characters. Then there's all the dancing and the choreography and the discussions between the creative directors, and casting is fascinating, don't you think? As I watched, I even recognized some of the dancers as characters in the actual show we'd seen on Broadway!

I got to see actors audition for a show I'd already seen! I mean, is that even possible? Wow. Technological time travel.

The filmmaker interviewed one dancer at the beginning of the movie who was auditioning (among thousands of other people). Almost all the dancers had been dancing since under age 10, but there was something different about this woman. She walked with a certain calmness and inner light that seemed to be keeping her afloat as she waited in a line a mile long.

At one point she said to the camera about her audition, "I don't have a plan B to fall back on. I think if you have a plan B, you fall."

Wow. Guts.

Can I just tell you how many plan Bs I've created in my life??

I'd wager that I've always, ALWAYS, had a back-up plan for everything that I've done. I've conjured up more than one way to get out of a uncomfortable social situation. I've plotted out options and escape routes for just about anything you can name. I've rarely, rarely, just gone for it. Full-bore.

I'm more of a half-bore gal.

Otherwise it's too much risk. Too much hurt. Too much pressure. Too much.

But do you know what makes me cry with happiness? People who take such monumental risks, that you start to feel their whole-hearted belief on your skin. Their absolute faith sparks a tiny match of hope in your heart and you can't help but be in it with them. It's contagious. It's religious.

And I believe you can tell the difference between the people who want something because they want it for their ego's purposes and the people who want it because they are in love.

They are in love.

The money or the fame or the medal or the glory don't really matter. They are soul-bound to do what they love.

The woman who said she didn't have a Plan B auditioned for two understudy roles in the final casting callbacks after eight months, eight months, of auditioning and waiting.

She ended up getting one of the main character roles.

She didn't have a Plan B.

She didn't need one.

Water tastes better from a blue glass

2010-06-04T21:29:00.000-07:00

When my partner moved in with me 8 months ago, she brought an assortment of pint glasses with the names and logos of local Oregon breweries on them. Most of them are made from clear glass, but two of them are made from deep blue glass.

I avoided the blue glasses completely for the first four months she lived with me. At least.

I know it doesn't make any sense to not drink out of a something because of the color of the glass, but it makes absolutely perfect sense to me because I grew up with a mother who had to pick just the right mug for her tea or coffee every night after dinner. Every. Night.

I actually love this endearing quirk that my Mom had (and still has) and it's one genetic quirk I've adopted quite proudly. And my Momma's right. If I drink tea out of a red mug when what I really want is to drink it out out of a blue mug, the tea does not taste right. And it leaves me feeling rather unsatisfied by the whole experience.

When people come over for tea, I make the assumption that they share my mug neuroses and ask them which mug they'd like to drink out of. Sometimes they choose a mug, sometimes I guess which one they'd like (yes! I'm a mug psychic!), and sometimes they don't care in the least which mug they drink out of, which baffles me completely. (How can you not care?)

But back to the pint glasses. So I didn't drink out of the blue glasses for months. Then one day - I think the glass I wanted to use was dirty, or maybe it was early morning and I was delirious with sleep, or maybe I was drunk. Who knows. But I picked one of the deep blue pint glasses out of the cupboard, filled it with water from our purified tap, and began to drink.

It was... the most refreshing... most reviving... most thirst-quenching water... I'd ever tasted. I couldn't believe it! All this time I'd been avoiding drinking from this pint glass - this magical, wonderful, life-affirming pint glass! - simply because of the color of the glass.

Madness. Completely judgmental pint glass madness.

Fast forward to today and I pretty much only drink out of the blue pint glasses. In fact, I've got my blue pint glass filled with water sitting right here on my desk as I type this. And yes, the water is still decidedly delicious. But why?

Why does water taste better out of the blue glass?

What does the container have to do with the contents and how those contents express themselves in the world?

Do you pick your wine by the design on the labels? I do. I believe the pretty labeled bottles contain superior tasting wine.

Do you decide whether or not you'll venture into a store by the way the storefront appears? Um, yes. Doesn't everyone? Who wants to go into an ugly store?

Do you judge a book by its cover? Well, your honor, I'd like to confirm that I do, indeed, judge actual books by their actual covers. In fact, I'd like to let the record show that book cover designers are the highest paid in the book publishing process, so I don't think I'm the only one doing all of this cover judging.

But you know, all judgments on myself aside, I'm learning that my outer world has a LOT to do with my inner state. I feel better surrounded by beauty, order, cleanliness, harmony, whereas some people don't notice any impact their environment has on their body. They can work in a sterile room with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and muted blue paint peeling off the cinder block walls...

I just described the school rooms from my middle school, which incidentally, was a prison before it was a school. Seriously.

I think this need for aesthetics runs in my family (what with the neurotic daily mug selection habit and all). I talked to my sister today. She'd read my most recent blog post and understood what I meant about needing to make some sacrifices for long term gain.

She moved into a new apartment last summer and she'd made all kinds of sacrifices to live somewhere her soul would sing. She opted for a window A/C unit instead of central air. And let me tell you, in the sticky and humid Virginia summers, that is indeed, a sacrifice. She doesn't have a pool because she didn't want to live in an uninspiring, beige apartment complex. Nope. She chose to live in a cute little apartment with tons of character that's only minutes away from shops and city life. And she loves it.

Sacrifices made on her part?

Heck yes.

Were they worth it?

Absolutely.

So that brings me to my Sacrifices I'm Willing to Make list. I've determined that beauty, or rather, good aesthetics is not on the list. That goes on the Will Not Sacrifice list.

Guess I should start the list of things I'm willing to sacrifice though... Hm mm.....

I'm willing to sacrifice working in a cube! Ha!

I'm smiling so big at my own smart-alecky cleverness right now.

(I'm definitely adding smart-alecky cleverness to the Will Not Sacrifice list.)

I'll get down to business with the Willing to Sacrifice list. When I'm ready. This feels good for starters.

The Hanged Man

2010-06-03T20:48:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke with the distinct feeling that the day was going to be a challenge.

I work from home on Thursdays and ordinarily I feel almost ridiculously privileged to start my work day on my couch, sipping tea, with my feet up, away from the clackity clacking of the keyboards around me at the cube farm. It's how work should be, in my mind.

Today was different though. I'm having some health stuff that's causing me a great deal of pain so I couldn't do anything without hurting. I didn't really have anything that I had to do on my work laptop, so there were zero distractions. I just felt like blah and I felt like the blah wasn't going to go away easily.

Meurrrr... not good.

So I took a shower, got dressed, and gathered my tarot cards for a reading. I did a Celtic Cross spread, and with a quick five minute glimpse over it, got the gist that it was about - surprise, surprise - work fulfillment: I need to commit to something, not living up to my potential, not loving my work life... yes, yes. All true right now.

Then I decided to pull a clincher card - just a random/intuitive pull - to give a final oomph to my reading. I blindly selected card number twelve which is Rhiannon in my Goddess Deck, the card signifying "Movement." In the traditional decks, card number twelve is The Hanged Man, meaning "A change in perspective."

Well that sounds good.

I swish-swish-swished down the hall in my socks to my studio and pulled my Simple Fortunetelling with Tarot Cards book down from the shelf and turned to The Hanged Man. Here's what it said:

"In the classic Waite design, a young man hangs upside-down in a tree, suspended by a rope tied around his ankle. His arms are tied behind his back, and his left leg is crossed behind the right." (Two things of note here: 1) My right ankle has been bothering me for two days now - same ankle that he's hung by. 2) I often sleep on my stomach with my left leg crossed behind my right. Coincidences?... The book goes on...)

"The shape of his legs suggest a flyfot cross -- a type of solar cross with "feet" that represents harmony and movement. (Thank GOD. I love movement that's harmonious and not filled with strife.) Meanwhile, the leafy branches of the tree form a T-shaped cross, like the Greek letter tau that's used to symbolize life. Oddly enough, the Hanged Man doesn't seem to be suffering. He looks peaceful, even happy, there's a halo-like nimbus around his head, and he's in a mystic trance. He's not going to die as a result of this hanging (whew), but as long as he stays suspended in the tree his life will be suspended, too. Once he's back on his feet, he'll experience a resurrection of sorts."

Huh.

Now I've been reading tarot cards for my friends for over ten years now, but I still get a little tripped up when I do readings for myself.

Does this mean that I'm suspended at my job and it's only when I put my feet on the ground (ie. get out of my head) that I'll feel a resurrection (and start feeling alive again?).

Does it mean that I need to get out of my head by suspending my cares and worries (by meditating for instance) and then as I live in my daily life I'll get some clarity?

Or does it mean that I'm avoiding living by hiding up in a tree (or in a cube) and it's only when I come out of hiding that my life will begin again?

I don't know.

I read that The Hanged Man was also about making sacrifices in the short term for prosperity in the long run. Bah! Sacrifices feel so hard! I know that's a huge reason I haven't made any changes in my work life.

How to handle this?

Well, if I can start to anchor myself in the reasons why letting go of the cushy perks at work mean soul fulfillment in the long run (or maybe in the process of discovery) then perhaps it won't feel as scary...? Or maybe it'll even feel exhilarating as I walk down the path towards really feeling alive in my life instead of insulated in it.

*Exhale*...

I think it could be time for a Sacrifices I'm Willing to Make list. And more inquiry into the hiding thing. Next time.

Comparison is the Devil

2010-06-02T20:52:00.000-07:00

Well, it's day two of the journey to feeling alive again, and I can say that I do feel more alive today.

It's a miracle!

Actually I think it proves something I read by SARK a number of years ago that stuck with me. (I'm paraphrasing here.)

Usually when I'm depressed, it's because I have something that needs to be expressed.

Truth.

The cool thing about going from feeling like you don't find kittens to be lovable or don't think that Battlestar Galactica is the least bit exciting any more, to feeling like, okay, maybe I feel like taking a short walk today, is that you can take a look at what helped bring you to that place of wanting to put one toe back in the world again.

My left brain has decided that since the following observations about feeling more alive all come from my right brain, it (my left brain) will feel less excluded if I put things in a nice and orderly list, so that it can have a role in this reviving process, naturally.

Right. So, observations of things that make me feel alive. My first swag at it...

#1 is music. Hands down. Dance-able music is best. Music I can sing along to practically cracks my heart right open and dark chocolate and candy stars flow out like the most luscious Cadbury egg ever! That's a good sign.
#2 Dance! (Yes, with an exclamation point. It's that good for me.) If music is the meat of my aliveness, dance is the potatoes. If I hear a good danceable song, you really can't get me to stop. I especially like dancing in grocery store aisles - the frozen food section is best because the lighting is better there. My sisters and I will dance spontaneously to the music on the overhead speakers when we go grocery shopping together. People stare. It's brilliant.
#3 Food. Mmm. Food. When fresh and healthy food doesn't make me happy, that is a clear indication that something has gone horribly, terribly wrong with me. Sign me up for some whole ingredients any day. Love 'em.
Putting those three together (ie. dining on a sumptuous meal outside while listening to one of my favorite artists sing to the sky and dancing freely to the music) is pretty much heaven. If I'm creating my heaven, God, that's what I'd like it to be. Thanks.

That's what I've got so far in the brilliant inner shining department.

I've also come across a few things that make me feel like dirt:

#1 Comparing myself to anyone sucks. Period. I learned from Mark Silver today that the Sufis have a saying: Comparison is the devil. I don't believe in hell, but if we're talking about my own personal hell, then that is where my own personal devil holds court. And I am constantly and relentlessly on trial for never being good enough. I never win when it comes to comparison. I don't know if anyone does.
#2 Not having anything to do when in the cubicle. Ask anyone you know who works a corporate job and I bet at least one of them will say that they're mind-numbingly bored at least 50% of their day. This one is a bit of a Catch-22 though. If you admit to your supervisor that you have nothing to do (presumably because you finished all your work already), then you could end up looking like a slacker (even though you're faster than your coworkers), get saddled with a bunch of someone else's work (we call this the "reward system" where I work), or be told to "find something to do." That last option might be the worst because then your supervisor is keeping an eye on you and your nothing-to-do-ness. I'm 400% positive that I'm not alone in operating this way at work. It's actually pretty pathetic.
Which brings me to my third observation: #3 Having a pathetic work life is not enlivening. At. all.

It's not a surprise to me that I have a hard time feeling truly alive when I'm doing what I can to hide at work, plug in my earphones, tune out and search for some wisdom or truth or happiness on the internet. (Good grief! What did people do at work before the internet?!)

Sitting all day just waiting to leave is not gratifying. There's no mindfulness in that. I'm not contributing anything to the world. And you can't shine when you're hiding in a gray cube.

I wonder what I'm hiding from? A question for next time...