5 Things I Learned from my Weekend with Creativity Expert Eric Maisel

Sometimes you the things you decide to try without really knowing what you expect to get out of them are the experiences that affect you most profoundly. Such was the case with my recent weekend with creativity expert Eric Maisel at the Rowe Conference Center.

It was a last-minute thing. Years ago, I read and was wowed by Eric's book Fearless Creating, and have watched over the years his growing and impressive body of literature about the creative life, its myriad challenges, and strategies that helping professionals can use to help artists with their unique set of issues and needs. Now and then, I'd read about workshops he was leading in Paris or London or California, and while I was intrigued, these were not logistical realities for me (Really? A week in Paris, for this single mom? I'm still trying to work out the mechanics of getting a 7-year-old to school on the morning on time!).

So I was surprised when I looked at his website recently to learn that Eric would be offering a weekend workshop in Rowe, Massachusetts. Then, when my parents agreed to take care of my daughter for the weekend and there was still room to enroll, I felt like a Fairy Godmother had orchestrated my against-all-odds attendance at the ball.

Still, as I was packing for my weekend away, I began to wonder what exactly I was hoping to get from my weekend, besides an adults-only weekend and a chance to listen to, and perhaps converse with, a writer and creativity coach I much admire. The program blurb about the weekend said that it was geared toward people who wanted to learn about creativity coaching, as well as artists who wanted to learn strategies to help them with their art and their lives. Having recently launched a private practice, I decided I fit mainly into the first category, and I headed out wearing my helping professional "hat". But if I set out as a helping professional in search of skills and strategies, I returned as an artist on fire. Such is the magic of Eric Maisel.

When I experience something particularly meaningful, (and in this case, almost magical-seeming), I tend not to want to talk about it much. There is a certain fear that the act of trying to describe or explain it will dilute it somehow, on top of the understanding that the essence of some experiences can never really be conveyed. So talking about this in a blog post feels a little like writing an outline version of a Cliff Notes version of a classic. But what I can say is this:

Amidst some really fantastic lectures and discussions about the artist's life, Eric did some coaching demonstrations. I had zero interest in being "coached" by anyway, including Eric, especially publicly. My goal was to sit in my safe corner with my notebook and work with the weekend's information intellectually and quietly. But this was not to be.

My plan for being the scholarly observer fell apart when I asked a question about an issue I grapple with as a writer, and Eric invited me to join him for an impromptu coaching session in front of the group. What followed was an exchange in which Eric listened to me very deeply, got me to say out loud (and in the process, to hear myself say) some of my deepest truths as a writer, and then helped me turn those deep truths into an action plan. It felt like years of work in the course of a 30-minutes dialogue. I left the weekend with a clear sense of myself as a writer and what I need to do next.

I wish I could give that experience vicariously to every single writer and artist friend I have out there. But since I can't, I offer these 5 things I learned during my weekend:

1) When we make art regularly, only a percentage is "good". Sometimes a large percentage of it is "bad". If our percentage of bad outcomes is minuscule, it probably means not that we are stupendous, but that we play it way too safe.

2) Since many artists are both sensitive souls and over-thinkers, we must be vigilant about our thoughts, particularly those thoughts which, in Eric's lingo, "do not serve us", whether or not they are literally "true". (If, for example, one of our life purposes is to create novels, but we are writing our first novel and know that only a very small percentage of first novels are accepted for publication, it does not serve us to keep thinking about publishing odds. Much better to redirect our thinking to our reasons for wanting to write novels in the first place).

3) "Balance", if there is such a thing, looks different for artists than it does for non-artists. (This could be a post unto itself, and perhaps should!). We are likely to lead a life of "cobbling" as opposed to doing/being one thing, and it helps us to think flexibly about this.

4) When it doubt, we should err on the side of completion. This especially true for hummingbird artists like me who flit from half-finished project to half-finished project, using legitimate artist questions and dilemmas which arise as part of the creative process as "reasons" to abandon ship on a project and start something brand new.

5) We should always hold our artist purpose as one of our life purposes, remembering the importance of our other life purposes, which generally include our valued relationships and may include contributions we're trying to make to a workplace, a community, or society.

So there you have it, my best stab at summarizing a weekend that surprised, moved, and challenged me. If you ever get a chance to work with Eric www.ericmaisel.com, individually or at one of his many workshops or trainings, I can't recommend it highly enough. I've returned from my weekend physically exhausted, but creatively energized, and feeling like a writer in a whole new way.

Think You Need a Complete Life Overhaul? Maybe Your Comfort Zone Just Needs Redecorating

     When I meet with new clients in my therapy practice, I ask them to identify one or two specific goals to work on together. Often, the initial answer I get is, "My whole life isn't working, and I want to change everything."
     I can relate to this way of thinking. Those who know me well know that when the going gets really tough in my own life, I tend to start daydreaming about moving to someplace distant and different, and starting over again as a "new" person (as if this were possible! In 12-step lingo, they call this the "geographical cure", which is their ironic way of saying it is no cure at all, for we always bring ourselves with us. But it can be tempting sometimes, right?-- to view one's life as a giant Etch-a-Sketch drawing that we can just shake to invisibility and start all over again from scratch.)
     The trouble with the Life Overhaul goal, though, is not just in its impracticality. The trouble is that it entails turning a blind eye to what is actually working well in our lives, what we're proud of, what we'd like to continue to enjoy. Seeing one's life as a problem in and of itself does not lend itself to feeling very good, nor does it position one well to recognize and cultivate the positive.
     I thought about this yesterday when I came across a quote that I had seen before on Facebook, but which has struck me very differently the first time I read it versus the second time. The quote was about how, while our comfort zones are pleasant, that "nothing much grows there".
     The first time I read the quote some months ago, I thought it was great, that it got at the importance of taking risks, braving change. And I can still see that aspect of it.
     But on reading it a second time, I found myself thinking of my clients who have felt, just as I have at times, that they wanted or needed to redo their entire lives. I thought about the underlying assumption that what's familiar is automatically unchallenging, failing to promote growth. And that what's new/different/unknown/hard automatically makes us stronger or better, or moves us in a valued direction.
     So I'm thinking now that maybe comfort zones are getting a bad rap. That we build them in part from knowing what makes us tick, what helps us feel secure. And sometimes feeling secure can be a damned good thing!
     Today, my own comfort zone is filled with things that are meaningful and positive for me. A lot of creativity, arts, and language. Some tried and true ways of enjoying time with my daughter. Some relationships that have nourished me along the way.
      At the same time, I want to keep making progress in certain areas. I don't want to feel stagnant. I want a certain amount of "new": new experiences, new insights, new accomplishments, new challenges.
     So for now, I am not looking to abandon my comfort zone completely. I appreciate what it does for me, the sense of ease and familiarity it gives.
     I am, however, doing some redecorating in my comfort zone. This month's redecorating has included:

- attending a new women's writing group
- venturing from my small town to Boston twice for two just-for-enjoyment activities, and
- going to a weekend retreat focusing on creativity.

Each of these has entailed some familiar along with unfamiliar , some "tried and true" along with some "novel and growth-inducing", and thus far, I've been happy with the experiences.

     How about you? Life overhaul, comfort zone, or comfort zone with redecorating-in-progress? Love to hear your thoughts and experiences.

    

My Non-Existent Guide for Knowing What's Right for You

There are times when it feels to me like everyone, everywhere is working on the same thing at the same time. Whether I'm in sessions with clients, connecting with family, and catching up with friends, conversations will seem to coalesce around a particular theme, and the same questions, observations, insights, and challenges come up again and again, as people grapple with exactly the same thing (albeit with different circumstances) that I'm grappling with in my own life.

Right now, the theme seems to be: How do I know what's right for me? An interesting question, considering how often we hear the advice to do what's right for us, as if we automatically know, in all circumstances, what that is.

And yet:

One person I know tries to decide whether she should leave a community where a tragedy happened; while it doesn't feel the same to her and she feels the urge to go, her partner remains devoted to it and wants to stay.

Another person I talked with recently is an artist who feels a strong pull to leave a well-paying but unsatisfying job to accept a rare and low-paying apprenticeship in a craft she feels incredibly drawn to. She sees her current work situation as a source of depression and stress. But, she is a single mother and the sole source of financial support for her family.

A third conversation was with a person who is in a long-standing and sometimes high-conflict relationship. She said that when things are harmonious in the relationship, it is everything she wants, but when they fight, their interactions are brutal and exhausting, and becoming more so over time. She said she feels the equal and strong pulls both to stay and to leave, and that her indecision about something so important is making her miserable.

Similarly, my own life this year has been full of crossroads and complicated tangles of  mixed-up thoughts and feelings as I've grappled, and continue to grapple, with major decisions in the realms of work, parenting, and personal life. So in recognizing this How-do-I-know-what's-right-for-me theme, I decided to do a little light Internet research on the subject (Isn't Google search wonderful?). I spent time browsing how to articles, psychology study summaries, and blogs, hoping, I suppose for something like a formula or road map.

But as everyone knows, simple strategies like Pros annd Cons lists offer little when it comes to deciphering answers which, in my opinion, must draw from many places, including our minds, our hearts, our experiences with previous decisions and change, and our valued connections with loved ones.

If you have navigated a difficult decision and are pleased with how things turned out, I would love to hear how you made the decision and what you've learned about figuring out  what's right for you. If, on the other hand, you are one of many people grappling with a decision right now, I would love to hear from you, too. We know, at least, that we're in a very large and crowded boat together, and there is strengh to be found in sharing experiences if not answers.

Here's to the journey.

I Watched a Not-for-Children Movie with My Daughter, and I'm Glad I Did

Let me be clear from the outset about what this post isn't. This is not a statement that kids should see any and all adult-geared movies. I want to be clear that I am not recommending that you bring your child to a matinee of Fifty Shades of Gray, or that you stay home and watch Gladiator or Saw with your youngster. Plenty of movies are just not kid-appropriate or friendly, period, no matter the child, family, or viewing context.

But as a parent, you might find yourself faced, as I was recently, with a situation in which your child wants to see a movie that is in the gray area (and not of the Fifty Shades variety). Such was the case when my daughter wanted to watch the movie "Waitress" with me recently, a movie I had planned to watch after she was in bed for the night.

"Waitress" has a sentimental value to me. I saw it at the Pleasant Street Theatre in Northampton (which no longer exists) when my daughter was an infant. I had been half-living at the NICU where she was receiving care after her premature birth, and a nurse firmly but kindly suggested I take some time to myself in a non-critical-care setting. I chose the movie "Waitress" because it was billed as a comedy (I thought I could use something light under the circumstances), and because I had read that Andy Griffith appears in the film.

Fast forward to present day. I remembered liking the movie, but also that, despite being marketed as a "comedy", "Waitress" included content about domestic violence, along with some other adult themes. I saw that it was rated PG-13, which is also the rating for several of the animated movies she enjoys. I also remembered that there were positive themes in the movie, including the depiction of strong and supportive friendships and the fact that the main character (of course, a waitress) figures out how to get out of a bad situation and into a life in which she is much happier.

In the end, I decided to watch it with her and talk with her about it. I told her that there were parts that might be upsetting, and that if she became upset or I became uncomfortable, we would stop the movie and talk about it.

And so, we watched. We also talked. A lot. Before, during, and after the movie. And we are still talking about things that the movie brought up for one or both of us.

These are some of the questions my daughter asked me.

- "How come he says that he loves her, but then he is so mean to her?"
- "Why doesn't she leave when he is being so mean?"
- "What if you're with someone who's mean to you, but you still love them? What should you do?"
- "Don't all women want to have babies?"
- "Does having a baby hurt?"
- "Why won't the husband let her have her own money? Or enter that pie contest? Or drive herself to work?"

I'm sure some people would argue that she is not old enough to grapple with subjects like these, or to understand my responses to her questions. That I should stick with more age-appropriate kids' movies like "Lion King" (in which a jealous lion murders his brother), "The Cat in the Hat" (in which the children's mother dates her boss, who conspires to have the son sent away to military school), or the uber-popular "Frozen" (in which a man pretends to love princess Ana when he is really planning to kill Ana's sister, Elsa, so he can eventually become king). Instead, I agreed to watch "Waitress" with her.

Sure, you could argue that "Waitress"' content is more appropriate for the average 16-year-old. However, I predict that at 16, even if she were to ask me the same questions, she would not be as receptive in her adolescent knowing-of-all-things to my responses. Watching the film with her before she has hit puberty, I am able to plant these seeds of ideas that I hope she will carry with her into adulthood:

1) When someone is hurting someone purpose, that is not love.
2) When someone does not care about your happiness, that is not love.
3) Controlling someone by not letting them have their own money, or keeping them from driving, or telling them they can't pursue a hobby, is a kind of abuse.
4) When someone hurts you, it is serious and should not be kept secret, but rather should be discussed with a safe and trustworthy person.
4) Friends are hugely important.
5) Some people want to become parents. Some people don't want to become parents. Neither position is "right" or "wrong".
6) Feeling trapped doesn't always mean you are trapped. Resolve to find a way out, as the main character in waitress does, and don't lose sight of that goal.

Someday in the not-so-distant future, my daughter will be bombarded with news, images, and ideas that are troublesome, at best. If she can take from this movie and the conversations that grew out of it any of the ideas expressed above, I will feel I made the right call about watching it with her. Already I feel that much closer to her for our having had such rich discussions.

I'm a Survivor, and I'm Proud of My Work with Offenders

From the moment I first thought to write about this, I was already deciding not to. It was too revealing, too controversial and potentially alienating. And I am, in general, a person who does not like to rock the boat.

The reason I am writing it after all is that it simply became too difficult not to. This is what happens to writers who reject the subjects which compel us. They become the thoughts that keep up awake at night. We can't stop thinking about ideas, phrases, sentences, for that piece we have tried to banish. It follows us around like the scrawny stray kitten we try to tell ourselves is not in our interest to bring home. Eventually, we set a plate of tuna and some water on the front step, telling ourselves we won't be shopping for a cat bed and a new scratching post next week. Eventually, we start to write. We tell ourselves it will be for our eyes only. In this way, it is possible to begin.

I am a survivor of sexual assault, and I have worked as a therapist for over a decade (to varying degrees at different times) with people who have been convicted of sexual offenses. These two aspects of my history and identity (the survivor part and the working with offenders part) have been sources of secrecy and shame, separately but especially when combined together.

You have been through it. You know what it can do to someone. I don't know how you can stand to sit in a room with them.

I did not set out to work with offenders. In graduate school, when we learned about knowing your professional limitations and the ethical responsibility to refer clients elsewhere that you would not serve well, I often thought of sex offenders as one group I would probably never work with.

The journey began for me when I was working as a social worker on a psychiatric unit. A major part of my role as social worker was to do discharge planning, helping patient transition from hospital to community. One day, I acquired a young man who had just "aged out" of the juvenile justice system (on his 18th birthday, his stay at a locked juvenile facility had automatically ended). He needed hospitalization for PTSD, and had nowhere to go when his hospital treatment was completed. I learned that he had been in juvenile lock-up as the result of sexual offense convictions. Suddenly, I was responsible for helping a young man find a home with the knowledge that he had victimized people in the past, but with very little knowledge myself about what, if anything, needed to be done in terms of both public safety and his own ongoing treatment. I was scared, and I was right to be.

Fortunately, when I approached by boss, the unit director, with my concerns, he not only understood, but shared my concerns. We talked at length, and he supported my taking time to connect with a professional organization that deals with the treatment of sex offenders (MATSA, a chapter of the national group called Association of the Treatment of Sexual Abusers) to start learning about the problem of sex offending, public safety/risk management, and rehabilitation. The MATSA group was warm, welcoming, and enormously helpful. I recognized early on that I had a tremendous amount to learn if only to be responsible and ethical with regard to this one particular case, never mind the growing number of patients we were seeing on the unit who had shown sexually abusive behaviors at some point, whether or not they had actual convictions for these.

In the years to follow, I participated in intensive trainings. I read extensively. I took on increasing levels of responsibility doing offender-specific work. I began accepting invitations to present at conferences, and I agreed to write a chapter on the subject in a book which has since been published.

Much of this is nowhere on my resume. You will not find it on my business card. There are various reasons for this, but the primary one is that I have learned the hard way that some people judge, dislike, and ostracize people who work with offenders with almost the same level of vehemence with which they shun the offenders themselves.

That kind of work is fine for some people, but my support is with the survivors. They didn't ask for what happened to them, and their lives have been shattered over something that wasn't their fault. I would never work with a sex offender, personally.

It's not really work that a feminist would do.

So many deserving people need therapy and can't get it. I would never give my time to people who've spent their lives victimizing, when there are so many victims who need help.

These comments, which are only a very small sample of the many I have heard, hit me different ways at different times, depending on the circumstances, the source, and how I am doing on any given day. On a good day, it's unpleasant, but I shoulder it, and I'm less and less inclined as time goes on to repeat myself about why I think clinical work with offenders is in fact valuable and important. But on a difficult day, or when the comment comes from a loved one, or a colleague I admire and respect and whose admiration and respect I want in return, such comments can feel like a knife. They hurt because they invalidate me as a therapist, as a human being, as a woman, and as a survivor. And so, in response, my work in this area becomes a secret, split-off part. It goes unmentioned in my therapists group in which I meet weekly with colleagues. It goes unmentioned in my conversations and my writing. And when I do mention it, it is usually with disclaimer and apology. This is part of my work, but only a small part. And it's not what I'm most passionate about. And it isn't, you know, me.

The topic has come up for me again because I have been approached about doing some group treatment with offenders. And since my currently work life is a patchwork quilt of my various writing, editing, and therapy endeavors, in thinking about any new commitment or project, I try to tune inward, consider my priorities, and see how a new piece of work would fit.

The trouble is, my best efforts to tune into my own inner experience and wisdom on this subject have been hard to really hear lately, outshouted at times by the loud and impassioned voices of my past and would-be critics.

Surely you wouldn't want to do that work as the mother of a young daughter.

Is that really work you would want to be known for?

They are the dregs of society. You've been in this field for a lot of years now; you don't have to work with those people anymore.

Don't you think that prospective clients who are survivors would not want to see someone who works with offenders?

So, here it is, the big picture for me.

I work with offenders. When I apologize for it, I am part of the problem. Here are some of the reasons why I work with offenders:

1. As a human being, woman, survivor, and mother, I understand how enormously destructive sexual violence is, and I believe it is incredibly important to work on the problem of sexual abuse from a variety of fronts.

2. The myth that offenders are all exactly alike and will inevitably offend again is not supported by the research. Instead, the research shows that different sub-groups of offenders re-offend at different rates, and that different sub-groups are more amenable to treatment efforts,

3. People who have committed sexual offenses are human beings with histories, futures, and people in their lives. A percentage will want and try to prevent future offenses from happening, but this will be made more difficult in a situation where they are faced with constant rejection, hostility, and alienation. Few people sustain motivation to engage in meaningful change in the context of hatred.

4. Most incarcerated offenders will be released at some point, and will be living in the community, perhaps near you or me, perhaps in proximity to our loved ones. Many of these will be guarded with probation and parole officers. A knowledgeable and skilled therapist can help monitor risk (which can fluctuate) and be part of the effort to address public safety, at the same time as they are helping those offenders who are motivated to receive help.

5. We take a dangerous stance whenever we characterize any group of people as being worth less than other people. It is one thing to say we are personally not comfortable working with a population, and another thing entirely to say that they don't deserve help, and that helping them is not worthwhile.

6. For me personally as a survivor, doing this work  makes me feel like I am doing something constructive in an area that connects with a difficult part of my history. This is not to say that all survivors should do or even consider this type of work. It is to say, though, that I should not be expected to refrain from it, or have my motives questioned or pathologized, or be accused of being on "their" side rather than the survivors' (Say what?) if I choose to do this work.

It feels important to mention that when I was first learning to do this work, I had the privilege of observing two top-notch female offender therapists facilitate groups at a prison-based treatment program. The therapists were competent, warm, no-nonsense, serious, empathic, direct, and just all-around fabulous. I have no idea whether or not they are survivors. What I do know is that they provided for groups of incarcerated men an experience with women who were strong and compassionate, powerful and emotional, receptive and directive and wise. I believe that at least some men in the group who had objectified women in their past will have a harder time doing so after interacting regularly with these two amazing women, and will therefore have more reservation about committing sexual violence against women in the future. For this and so many other reasons, I applaud these women and their work.

And I intend to stop apologizing for my own. Beginning with this post.

Re-defining Productivity and Taking On Distracted Parenting

I've come to the conclusion that single moms and artists may be among the two most productivity-challenged populations in the world, but for different reasons. If you happen to be, as I am, a single mother and an artist, well, there may not be great hope for you on the productivity front. Unless... you re-define productivity. Which is something I am doing for myself these days.

I'm going to focus today's post on the challenges to productivity facing single moms, and will delve into the same topic as applied to artists in my next post. (Your eyes will want that break, right?)  My challenges to productivity as a single mom are different now than they used to be, and will continue to be change their form throughout her developmental stages (having also raised a now-20-year-old, I know this to be true). Now that I'm single mom to a 7-year-old, most the biggest challenges to productivity fall into two major categories: 1) She wants to do things herself instead of have me do them for her (though this inevitably takes more time) and 2) she interrupts me. A lot.

First, the matter of her wanting to do things for herself. This means things like six before-school wardrobe-changes because she's trying for just the "right look" (for first grade?!). It can also mean watching her scrape ice from the car windshield. very. very. slowly. because. she is doing it. line. by. methodical. line.

The urge, of course, is to hurry her along, but this frustrates her and thwarts her developing independence. So, the alternative is to build in extra time for certain things, and, since she needs supervision for a lot of her new solo endeavors, giving up the idea that this is "wasting time" and taking away from the myriad other tasks I might be doing. I try to tell myself that this is time given to the work of parenting, and that parenting time is not a check-off item on a To Do list, but is "productive" all the same. It's "producing" a happier, more independent child (if not a batch of folded laundry or an errand run).

The second productivity challenge while parenting a 7-year-old is interruptions. This child ask questions about everything. And wants to show me things. And wants to do things with me. She interrupts so often and in so many ways that she sometimes interrupts herself in the middle of interrupting.

This latter category is the one I am struggling with the most these days. Not just because it hinders my productivity, for obvious reasons, but also because it contributes to a parenting problem of mine I'm trying to address recently. The problem of distracted parenting. Which is to say, I sometimes deal with her frequent interruptions by tuning out, often with assistance from my I-phone. I try to tell myself that I am "getting things done" (like checking and responding to email), but the truth is that I sometimes do it in such a way that I am physically present, but mentally AWOL. At which point, she has my physical presence, but not my real presence. I am elsewhere.

Now, to be clear, I am not advocating for a parenting approach in which one focuses attention on one's children constantly and does not pay attention to one's own needs/tasks/growth. But I am also calling myself out. My daughter, now school age, is not with me during the weekday daytime. And, my cell phone can be curiously addictive. If I'm not with her during the day, and I am engrossed with my phone for much of the night, that spells unavailability.

Increasingly, how I'm learning to think about productivity is not in focusing on how many tasks I crossed off a list, but in considering how my daily actions match up with my priorities. In making time for undistracted talk, silliness, and sometimes doing nothing together, I am co-producing with my daughter something I care about. Which is the bond between us. And the privilege of seeing her, really seeing her, at this age which she will never be again.