It was bound to happen sooner or later. After some consecutive days of working on my novel-in-progress, something got stuck in the gears and I found myself at a creative impasse, not knowing what to write next.
Sometimes when this happens, I turn to reading. I might read literature for enjoyment or inspiration, for a reminder of what I am trying to accomplish. Or I might read about the craft of writing, where I sometimes find ideas or tools to propel me forward again.
Today, I was reading Deepening Fiction: A Practical Guide for Intermediate and Advanced Writers, by Sarah Stone and Ron Nyren, and I found this about writers discovering their true material during the revision process:
"The hot spots--the areas where the story comes alive and is full of energy and interest--are likely to be those that fascinate us, that scare us, or that we don't want to explore. They may show characters behaving strangely or badly, trying to behave well and failing, or succeeding at something in a way that costs them or those around them more than it should."
Hmmm. I wonder if sometimes a writer's impasse when constructing a story is connected to hot spots. Perhaps we become stuck when we are nearing a plot point or characterization that moves us where we're afraid to go. Or, conversely, if an impasse means we are moving away from our story's true north, and our apparent writer's block is actually our muse whispering, "You're getting colder..."
So I've decided to go back to my novel-in-progress and look for signs of life in what's already on the page. In the meantime, as I figure out my next steps, I'd love to hear from my writer-readers about how you've understood and gotten over impasses in your own writing, as well as whether or not the "hot spots" concept resonates with you.
Thoughts?
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Addiction: the elephant in our living room has become the tsunami in our communities
I was running a group for court-mandated clients with substance abuse problems, and we were talking about triggers, the things that make them feel the urge to use their drug of choice. One person mentioned holidays. Another person mentioned anger. A third person referenced beer commercials. And then a fourth person said: "Turners Falls."
I stopped a minute, stunned. Turners Falls, which was not in the same county or even the same state where this group was being held, is a sleepy New England village with a population of less than 5,000. It is also my hometown. I looked at the person who'd said it, wondering if a) he was serious, and b) he somehow knew where I'd grown up.
Before I could read much in his eyes, though, a couple of other guys chimed in, talking about their drug-related ventures to Turners Falls or its neighboring towns and how they, too, now consider these places to be triggers, associating the places themselves with the use of drugs.
I'm not sure why I felt so surprised. Addiction is a life-threatening, tragic, and exorbinately expensive public health problem which has reached epidemic proportions. Recent figures from the Centers on Disease Control show a staggering increase of heroin overdose fatalities, for instance: in 2012, it was the reported cause of death for 5,927 people in the U.S., but a year later, it was the reported cause of death for 8,260, a 39% increase in a one-year period.
And heroin addiction is by no means the only national substance abuse emergency. Prescription medication overdose fatalities have also sharply increased, especially among women, and excessive drinking is the fourth leading preventable cause of death in the U.S., causing an estimated 1 in 10 deaths among "working age" adults. (I have my qualms about the CDC category "working age", but that's for another blog at another time).
Addiction is a multi-faceted problem which is destructive in many more ways than can be captured in cause of death statistics. It is a direct and indirect cause of violence and other crime, damages and sometimes destroys families, costs us billions in incarcerations and emergency medical treatment, and interferes with workplace productivity and relationships. It causes chronic and acute health conditions. It can lead to suicide and homicide. Often, it becomes a source of despair and self-loathing.
The problem is worsening, and there is not enough help available. In 2014, Vermont governor Peter Shumlin devoted his entire State of the State address to a discussion of Vermont's opiate addiction problem. People paid attention, and the states's budget for addiction treatment was more than doubled. Treatment resources were expanded, as promised. But a year later, treatment facilities there still have waiting lists of hundreds. Even with expanded resources, demand is still exceeding supply.
We need to understand that addiction is everyone's problem, and that it requires a sustained and committed response.
When I was a teenager growing up in the inocuous little mill town which is now a perceived trigger to some people recovering from addiction, I heard for the first time the analogy that addiction is like the elephant in the living room. It was described as a problem affecting certain families that was both so huge and so shame-inducing that families would tiptoe around the "elephant" without acknowledging to one another that it was even there. At the time, I thought it was a powerful analogy, and felt grateful it applied to other families, was not a factor in my home.
Today, addiction is not an elephant in the living room. It is a tsunami bearing down on our communities. If we underestimate its magnitude and ignore its size, it will drown us before we can say "home town". It will demolish us while we stand pointing our fingers . at those other, troubled communities where addiction supposedly lives.
I stopped a minute, stunned. Turners Falls, which was not in the same county or even the same state where this group was being held, is a sleepy New England village with a population of less than 5,000. It is also my hometown. I looked at the person who'd said it, wondering if a) he was serious, and b) he somehow knew where I'd grown up.
Before I could read much in his eyes, though, a couple of other guys chimed in, talking about their drug-related ventures to Turners Falls or its neighboring towns and how they, too, now consider these places to be triggers, associating the places themselves with the use of drugs.
I'm not sure why I felt so surprised. Addiction is a life-threatening, tragic, and exorbinately expensive public health problem which has reached epidemic proportions. Recent figures from the Centers on Disease Control show a staggering increase of heroin overdose fatalities, for instance: in 2012, it was the reported cause of death for 5,927 people in the U.S., but a year later, it was the reported cause of death for 8,260, a 39% increase in a one-year period.
And heroin addiction is by no means the only national substance abuse emergency. Prescription medication overdose fatalities have also sharply increased, especially among women, and excessive drinking is the fourth leading preventable cause of death in the U.S., causing an estimated 1 in 10 deaths among "working age" adults. (I have my qualms about the CDC category "working age", but that's for another blog at another time).
Addiction is a multi-faceted problem which is destructive in many more ways than can be captured in cause of death statistics. It is a direct and indirect cause of violence and other crime, damages and sometimes destroys families, costs us billions in incarcerations and emergency medical treatment, and interferes with workplace productivity and relationships. It causes chronic and acute health conditions. It can lead to suicide and homicide. Often, it becomes a source of despair and self-loathing.
The problem is worsening, and there is not enough help available. In 2014, Vermont governor Peter Shumlin devoted his entire State of the State address to a discussion of Vermont's opiate addiction problem. People paid attention, and the states's budget for addiction treatment was more than doubled. Treatment resources were expanded, as promised. But a year later, treatment facilities there still have waiting lists of hundreds. Even with expanded resources, demand is still exceeding supply.
We need to understand that addiction is everyone's problem, and that it requires a sustained and committed response.
When I was a teenager growing up in the inocuous little mill town which is now a perceived trigger to some people recovering from addiction, I heard for the first time the analogy that addiction is like the elephant in the living room. It was described as a problem affecting certain families that was both so huge and so shame-inducing that families would tiptoe around the "elephant" without acknowledging to one another that it was even there. At the time, I thought it was a powerful analogy, and felt grateful it applied to other families, was not a factor in my home.
Today, addiction is not an elephant in the living room. It is a tsunami bearing down on our communities. If we underestimate its magnitude and ignore its size, it will drown us before we can say "home town". It will demolish us while we stand pointing our fingers . at those other, troubled communities where addiction supposedly lives.
Monday, April 27, 2015
The unnamed emotional facets of the human heart
I was up two hours earlier than I needed to be this morning, working on my novel-in-progress. This is not in actuality as awful as it might sound. At 4 a.m. in my household, there are not work messages marked "Important" or small children protesting loudly about having their hair combed before school. At 4 a.m. in my household, you can actually hear the coffee brewing. You can even have a mug of it and drink it without interruption. In fact, exhaustion aside, 4 a.m. in my household can be really quite lovely.
So I don't know what made today the day that, sitting at my keyboard and trying to produce a steady flow of words, I went hurtling headlong into the Why question. As in, why am I writing this long thing that I don't know is actually any good?
On a certain level, it's an imposter question, a waste of contemplation, really. Because some people feel compelled to create things, and are never really happy if that's missing from their lives. I know this from my own experience, from the stories of my writer/dancer/painter/musician friends. I know from my therapy with artists, and most recently, from my artist coaching work. So I answered my why question-- I'm doing this because I have the urge to create--and thought I had settled the matter.
But then I slammed into the question inside the question: Ok, but why create THIS?
And I couldn't answer. Now, if this were a draft of a haiku, I might have been able to accept a non-answer from myself. But when you do the math of thousands of words written multiplied by hundreds of hours of sleep debt, and you can't definitively answer why you're doing a particular project, you start to wonder if you are doing something pointless and ridiculous.
Well, my morning went along, and soon enough, I had the distraction of a first grader needing to be woken for school and a work day which needed to be started. I put my Why question aside, and didn't think of it again until, while I was driving home, a song came on the radio. I heard its poignant lyrics and thought, This could be my character's theme song. It was a song about a complicated and somewhat haunted person, and I realized that a driving force for this particular project has to do with my fascination with the complexities of people's inner landscapes, in general and especially as people affect one another.
Later today, I came across this quote from Ron Carlson:
"If we're really writing we are exploring the unnamed emotional facets of the human heart. Not all emotions, not all states of mind have been named. Nor are all names we have been given always accurate."
I am willing to spend early morning hours with a cast of fictional characters who may or may not eventually make up a coherent novel (let alone a publishable one) because through them I inch closer to understanding as-yet-unnamed aspects of myself, people I work with, people I love. Just as a dancer might try to show longing or fury or hope through their movement, so I try to paint feeling and relationships with words that inevitably won't get it quite right. It may seem to other people on odd thing (to non-writers) to do early in the morning, but something about it makes me feel especially alive.
Even when the writing part is (as it certainly can be sometimes) more like difficult work. Even when progress seems painfully slow, and I suddenly, unexpectedly crash into the question: Why?
So I don't know what made today the day that, sitting at my keyboard and trying to produce a steady flow of words, I went hurtling headlong into the Why question. As in, why am I writing this long thing that I don't know is actually any good?
On a certain level, it's an imposter question, a waste of contemplation, really. Because some people feel compelled to create things, and are never really happy if that's missing from their lives. I know this from my own experience, from the stories of my writer/dancer/painter/musician friends. I know from my therapy with artists, and most recently, from my artist coaching work. So I answered my why question-- I'm doing this because I have the urge to create--and thought I had settled the matter.
But then I slammed into the question inside the question: Ok, but why create THIS?
And I couldn't answer. Now, if this were a draft of a haiku, I might have been able to accept a non-answer from myself. But when you do the math of thousands of words written multiplied by hundreds of hours of sleep debt, and you can't definitively answer why you're doing a particular project, you start to wonder if you are doing something pointless and ridiculous.
Well, my morning went along, and soon enough, I had the distraction of a first grader needing to be woken for school and a work day which needed to be started. I put my Why question aside, and didn't think of it again until, while I was driving home, a song came on the radio. I heard its poignant lyrics and thought, This could be my character's theme song. It was a song about a complicated and somewhat haunted person, and I realized that a driving force for this particular project has to do with my fascination with the complexities of people's inner landscapes, in general and especially as people affect one another.
Later today, I came across this quote from Ron Carlson:
"If we're really writing we are exploring the unnamed emotional facets of the human heart. Not all emotions, not all states of mind have been named. Nor are all names we have been given always accurate."
I am willing to spend early morning hours with a cast of fictional characters who may or may not eventually make up a coherent novel (let alone a publishable one) because through them I inch closer to understanding as-yet-unnamed aspects of myself, people I work with, people I love. Just as a dancer might try to show longing or fury or hope through their movement, so I try to paint feeling and relationships with words that inevitably won't get it quite right. It may seem to other people on odd thing (to non-writers) to do early in the morning, but something about it makes me feel especially alive.
Even when the writing part is (as it certainly can be sometimes) more like difficult work. Even when progress seems painfully slow, and I suddenly, unexpectedly crash into the question: Why?
Friday, April 24, 2015
When a Single Mother Writes
"Mom, do you want me to pack my own lunch this morning so you can work more on your novel?"
This was an actual question by an actual 7-year-old in my household this morning, and amazingly, I almost said no. My mind went to images of excessive amounts of plastic wrap and grape jelly streaks on counters, and I almost said no. But I didn't, and in the process, not only did my daughter get a chance to show off her new-found self-sufficiency (albeit with some amount of excess plastic wrap), but I got 10 more minutes and five more sentences. How great is that?
Recently, I renewed my commitment to my writing life and have been making daily (if sometimes small) progress on a novel. Since I am single mother with a job (a few small jobs cobbbled together, actually, but I digress), I worried that my daughter would feel slighted by my taking on yet another project. Instead, she asks how it's going, and how many words did I write today. Instead, she offers to pack her own lunch.
It will not always go this way, I know. There will be times when she wants my focus at the same time as I'm urgently trying to start or finish a paragraph. Times when she needs me more, or differently, or is just less patient about it.
But what I'm finding is, at least at this stage, she has taken her cue from me. She is treating my writing as a serious and important pursuit because I am.
For any creative writer, and for a single mother writer especially, this is no small deal. To invest one's time, energy, and creativity to kind of work that is not and may never be paid or even seen is an act of dedication, faith, self-care, and profound belief in the value of art for art's sake. I sometimes still struggle with making it a priority amidst a daily over-long To Do list. Life is short, and there will always be laundry, forms to fill out, toys to put away.
Here's to the many kindred spirits who are tuning in to the urge to create and making it a part of their lives. We all have Other Things which threaten to eclipse our creativity practice. But we can keep on creating, and affirm one another's need and right to do so. Starting... right... NOW.
This was an actual question by an actual 7-year-old in my household this morning, and amazingly, I almost said no. My mind went to images of excessive amounts of plastic wrap and grape jelly streaks on counters, and I almost said no. But I didn't, and in the process, not only did my daughter get a chance to show off her new-found self-sufficiency (albeit with some amount of excess plastic wrap), but I got 10 more minutes and five more sentences. How great is that?
Recently, I renewed my commitment to my writing life and have been making daily (if sometimes small) progress on a novel. Since I am single mother with a job (a few small jobs cobbbled together, actually, but I digress), I worried that my daughter would feel slighted by my taking on yet another project. Instead, she asks how it's going, and how many words did I write today. Instead, she offers to pack her own lunch.
It will not always go this way, I know. There will be times when she wants my focus at the same time as I'm urgently trying to start or finish a paragraph. Times when she needs me more, or differently, or is just less patient about it.
But what I'm finding is, at least at this stage, she has taken her cue from me. She is treating my writing as a serious and important pursuit because I am.
For any creative writer, and for a single mother writer especially, this is no small deal. To invest one's time, energy, and creativity to kind of work that is not and may never be paid or even seen is an act of dedication, faith, self-care, and profound belief in the value of art for art's sake. I sometimes still struggle with making it a priority amidst a daily over-long To Do list. Life is short, and there will always be laundry, forms to fill out, toys to put away.
Here's to the many kindred spirits who are tuning in to the urge to create and making it a part of their lives. We all have Other Things which threaten to eclipse our creativity practice. But we can keep on creating, and affirm one another's need and right to do so. Starting... right... NOW.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
Rape on Campus: On Deciding That Denial is Not Acceptable
It is human nature, I think, not to want to admit our shortcomings or trouble spots. In a society obsessed with perfection, we sometimes go to great lengths to hide from ourselves and from the world that which is wrong with us.
This is a truth I have found in all aspects of my life. As a writer, for instance, I sometimes write sentences and paragraphs that are truly atrocious, that I might even deny writing if they were ever discovered. As a therapist, I might miss an important clinical indicator sometimes, or I miss the boat just in how I interact with a client. And as parent, the mistakes I've made could fill a book. Some of these mistakes and deficiencies in all three areas have directly led to my making improvements, though I can't say that this has been true 100% of the time. What I can say is, denying them has been helpful 0% of the time, and has proven at times downright harmful.
When denial is applied to a problem as serious and harmful as campus rape, however, the harm extends well beyond the failure of any one person to face their flaws and make positive change. Denial about rape on college campus hurts and re-traumatizes victims, increases likelihood of new instances of sexual assault, and provides a false sense of security to everyone.
Yesterday I saw the documentary film Hunting Ground, which is about rape on college campuses and the ways in which various systems collude to deny the problem. Having worked as a therapist with both survivors and perpetrators, I already knew that rape happens on college campuses, that it happens a lot, and that many survivors suffer in silence and secrecy, while the smaller percentage who come forward are often met with skepticism, criticism, and sometimes ostracism as well.
But Hunting Ground is not a depiction of sexual assault in general so much as an exploration of a specific context in which sexual assault is not only likelier to happen, but where it is far likelier to be minimized, denied, and dramatically under-reported. The film provides an exploration of some of the facets that influence rape culture on college campuses, factors which include incentives for colleges to report low or non-existent rates of sexual assault at their institution, measures to protect sub-groups from being penalized for committing sexual assaults (especially athlete "celebrities"), and significant financial incentives for keeping alumnae organizations and fraternities happy. In other words, there are substantial incentives for pretending that college students are not being sexually assaulted on one's own campus, that rape is something that only happens at other campuses.
If you are a sexual assault survivor in the above scenario, you are a person to be silenced, shamed, and persuaded that what you experienced was not real or was your fault. I have worked with survivors who were sold this crap, and the psychological and emotional aftermath is not pretty.
This is not to say that college administrators are inherently uncaring or unethical, or that college campuses as a whole are not taking steps to address both the prevention and the appropriate systemic response to sexual assault. I viewed the film with a higher education program director who is very committed to addressing the problem of campus sexual assault, for instance, and I know of others who are taking steps in terms of both policy and research to do more.
It is to say, however, that the necessary starting place is with this fact.
Sexual assault happens on ALL college campuses. This includes the ones we went to, ones we go to now, the ones we send our children to, the ones we work for. The statistics available, based on reported assaults, do not give anywhere near the accurate picture. Most assaults are not reported.
If we start with the premise that sexual assaults are happening at the campuses we are involved in, then we have a call to action. We must get better at reducing risk, promoting safety, and intervening swiftly on behalf of survivors.
As for those of us who consider ourselves The Larger Community--some of whom are alums with fond memories and ongoing social connections to our alma maters--what it means is that we can no longer perpetuate the myth that the institution we love is somehow above having sexual assaults happen. We need to make decisions about sending our children to college grounded in a presumption that sexual assault is one of many risks that increase in a college setting. This is not to imply that we need to accept it as the ongoing truth of things. It is to say, however, that we cannot begin to address it if we continue to collectively turn a blind eye.
So, we acknowledge it exists. And then we say it's unacceptable. Which is a different matter entirely from saying that it never really happens at all, not on our campus. Not on our watch.
Once we acknowledge that campus rape exists, that it is prevalent, that it is embedded in the larger problem of rape culture, and that we haven' been doing a good job in dealing with it, that's when the real work can begin.
This is a truth I have found in all aspects of my life. As a writer, for instance, I sometimes write sentences and paragraphs that are truly atrocious, that I might even deny writing if they were ever discovered. As a therapist, I might miss an important clinical indicator sometimes, or I miss the boat just in how I interact with a client. And as parent, the mistakes I've made could fill a book. Some of these mistakes and deficiencies in all three areas have directly led to my making improvements, though I can't say that this has been true 100% of the time. What I can say is, denying them has been helpful 0% of the time, and has proven at times downright harmful.
When denial is applied to a problem as serious and harmful as campus rape, however, the harm extends well beyond the failure of any one person to face their flaws and make positive change. Denial about rape on college campus hurts and re-traumatizes victims, increases likelihood of new instances of sexual assault, and provides a false sense of security to everyone.
Yesterday I saw the documentary film Hunting Ground, which is about rape on college campuses and the ways in which various systems collude to deny the problem. Having worked as a therapist with both survivors and perpetrators, I already knew that rape happens on college campuses, that it happens a lot, and that many survivors suffer in silence and secrecy, while the smaller percentage who come forward are often met with skepticism, criticism, and sometimes ostracism as well.
But Hunting Ground is not a depiction of sexual assault in general so much as an exploration of a specific context in which sexual assault is not only likelier to happen, but where it is far likelier to be minimized, denied, and dramatically under-reported. The film provides an exploration of some of the facets that influence rape culture on college campuses, factors which include incentives for colleges to report low or non-existent rates of sexual assault at their institution, measures to protect sub-groups from being penalized for committing sexual assaults (especially athlete "celebrities"), and significant financial incentives for keeping alumnae organizations and fraternities happy. In other words, there are substantial incentives for pretending that college students are not being sexually assaulted on one's own campus, that rape is something that only happens at other campuses.
If you are a sexual assault survivor in the above scenario, you are a person to be silenced, shamed, and persuaded that what you experienced was not real or was your fault. I have worked with survivors who were sold this crap, and the psychological and emotional aftermath is not pretty.
This is not to say that college administrators are inherently uncaring or unethical, or that college campuses as a whole are not taking steps to address both the prevention and the appropriate systemic response to sexual assault. I viewed the film with a higher education program director who is very committed to addressing the problem of campus sexual assault, for instance, and I know of others who are taking steps in terms of both policy and research to do more.
It is to say, however, that the necessary starting place is with this fact.
Sexual assault happens on ALL college campuses. This includes the ones we went to, ones we go to now, the ones we send our children to, the ones we work for. The statistics available, based on reported assaults, do not give anywhere near the accurate picture. Most assaults are not reported.
If we start with the premise that sexual assaults are happening at the campuses we are involved in, then we have a call to action. We must get better at reducing risk, promoting safety, and intervening swiftly on behalf of survivors.
As for those of us who consider ourselves The Larger Community--some of whom are alums with fond memories and ongoing social connections to our alma maters--what it means is that we can no longer perpetuate the myth that the institution we love is somehow above having sexual assaults happen. We need to make decisions about sending our children to college grounded in a presumption that sexual assault is one of many risks that increase in a college setting. This is not to imply that we need to accept it as the ongoing truth of things. It is to say, however, that we cannot begin to address it if we continue to collectively turn a blind eye.
So, we acknowledge it exists. And then we say it's unacceptable. Which is a different matter entirely from saying that it never really happens at all, not on our campus. Not on our watch.
Once we acknowledge that campus rape exists, that it is prevalent, that it is embedded in the larger problem of rape culture, and that we haven' been doing a good job in dealing with it, that's when the real work can begin.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Unicorns, Big Foot, and Life "Balance"
Ok, so I won't actually be discussing unicorns and Big Foot here. This post is about the third-mentioned mythical concept, the notion of life balance. At least, life balance as I originally understood it, where life is like a pie divided into multiple pieces, and the task is to keep those pieces as equal-sized as possible. A certain amount of interacting mixed with a comparable "slice" of alone time, a certain amount of productivity along with an equal amount of relaxation/enjoyment/"down time", etc. This idea, while it makes great rational sense ("To everything, turn, turn, turn")) is tricky-if-even-remotely for most everyone I know, and if you're a single parent and/or artist, forget it.
As I mentioned in a previous post, when I went to my creativity coaching weekend recently, Eric Maisel addressed the balance myth head-on, beginning with the statement that an artist's balance, if there is such a thing, "is a little different" than other people's. I thought this was fabulously understated, like saying that if you were going to go on a cruise, boarding the Titanic was "a little more risky". That said, I found his statemen to be incredibly validating. It made me realize that my pie will sometimes have more slices than would make up a circle, and that fitting them into units of time like days, weeks, and months is going to be an exercise in creativity and flexibility (and sometimes, I'm afraid, futility).
Take my recent Wednesday. I had intended to get up very early to work on my novel for at least an hour before the rest of my busy day. Exhaustion trumped creative impulse, though: having just worked two extra-long days on Monday and Tuesday, my body refused to obey my writer plan to get up at 5 a.m. At work, where I spent a busy 10-hour day running groups at a Probation/Parole office, I hoped to sneak in at least a few minutes of being sociable with co-workers--you know, to "balance" productivity with sociability and enjoyment. Too much to do, so it didn't happen. So much to do, in fact, that at the end of the day, I was almost late picking up my daughter to bring her to her dance class. We rushed like first responders racing to a fire. There, I watched half her class and worked on my novel for the other half. I think I managed to write 4 sentences.
Things I meant to do with my Wednesday, but didn't? Exercise. Respond to a heartfelt message from a dear friend. Get outside for even 15 minutes to enjoy the amazing 70-degree weather. Eat a meal without multi-tasking. Read a new book to my daughter.
During days like that, I'd be insane to define "balance" in terms of equal-sized pie slices or a feeling of covering all the bases. Instead, it's the picture I took of my daughter dancing, both to capture the moment and to make her feel like she had my interest and attention even as I spent part of "her" time trying to write fiction. It's the decision to be temporarily satisfied with four new sentences, because, hey, at least they are four new sentences. It's knowing I will get back to my friend within a day or two, explaining how absurdly busy I've been but how glad I am that we're in touch.
Is this "balance"? It feels more like improvisational theater, full of intent, spontaneity, rapid adjustments and re-adjustments, along with occasional one liners and actions which miss their mark completely. But there's a kind of sense to it all, whether or not it can be easily grasped by others.
Maybe there is some amount of selfishness on my part, to want the pie that is my life to continually stretch, trying to accomodate too many pieces. The bottom line is, I don't know any other way to be as a writer and single mom, two aspects of my life that are really more about who I am than what I do. And so I abandon conventional "balanced life" models and, in solidarity with the other artists, single parents, and free spirits in my life, we find our own truth. We make our own way.
As I mentioned in a previous post, when I went to my creativity coaching weekend recently, Eric Maisel addressed the balance myth head-on, beginning with the statement that an artist's balance, if there is such a thing, "is a little different" than other people's. I thought this was fabulously understated, like saying that if you were going to go on a cruise, boarding the Titanic was "a little more risky". That said, I found his statemen to be incredibly validating. It made me realize that my pie will sometimes have more slices than would make up a circle, and that fitting them into units of time like days, weeks, and months is going to be an exercise in creativity and flexibility (and sometimes, I'm afraid, futility).
Take my recent Wednesday. I had intended to get up very early to work on my novel for at least an hour before the rest of my busy day. Exhaustion trumped creative impulse, though: having just worked two extra-long days on Monday and Tuesday, my body refused to obey my writer plan to get up at 5 a.m. At work, where I spent a busy 10-hour day running groups at a Probation/Parole office, I hoped to sneak in at least a few minutes of being sociable with co-workers--you know, to "balance" productivity with sociability and enjoyment. Too much to do, so it didn't happen. So much to do, in fact, that at the end of the day, I was almost late picking up my daughter to bring her to her dance class. We rushed like first responders racing to a fire. There, I watched half her class and worked on my novel for the other half. I think I managed to write 4 sentences.
Things I meant to do with my Wednesday, but didn't? Exercise. Respond to a heartfelt message from a dear friend. Get outside for even 15 minutes to enjoy the amazing 70-degree weather. Eat a meal without multi-tasking. Read a new book to my daughter.
During days like that, I'd be insane to define "balance" in terms of equal-sized pie slices or a feeling of covering all the bases. Instead, it's the picture I took of my daughter dancing, both to capture the moment and to make her feel like she had my interest and attention even as I spent part of "her" time trying to write fiction. It's the decision to be temporarily satisfied with four new sentences, because, hey, at least they are four new sentences. It's knowing I will get back to my friend within a day or two, explaining how absurdly busy I've been but how glad I am that we're in touch.
Is this "balance"? It feels more like improvisational theater, full of intent, spontaneity, rapid adjustments and re-adjustments, along with occasional one liners and actions which miss their mark completely. But there's a kind of sense to it all, whether or not it can be easily grasped by others.
Maybe there is some amount of selfishness on my part, to want the pie that is my life to continually stretch, trying to accomodate too many pieces. The bottom line is, I don't know any other way to be as a writer and single mom, two aspects of my life that are really more about who I am than what I do. And so I abandon conventional "balanced life" models and, in solidarity with the other artists, single parents, and free spirits in my life, we find our own truth. We make our own way.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
So what the heck is artist coaching and why are you doing it?
Some of you are aware that I recently started offering artist coaching to writers, painters, musicians, and other creative types. This has resulted in people asking me a lot of questions, some curious, some skeptical. It has also resulted in several people signing on for a two-month coaching stint with me, which has affirmed what I already suspected: that this is meaningful and enjoyable work. For the uninitiated, though, the term "artsist coaching" does tend to raise eyebrows. So I wanted to demystify it here.
If you are one the skeptical ones, thinking that artist coaching sounds like fluff and can probably offer little in the way of really helping someone, you might be interested to know that I was one of you first. I never envisioned myself working with a coach. And I certainly I never imagined calling myself a coach. Coaches were for athletes, and therefore existed in a world I neither belonged in or aspired to. When the trend began for business coaches and life coaches, I made fun of it, to tell the truth. In this context, "coach" seemed like something that anyone could call themselves, and therefore, like a job title that lacked both authority and integrity. Which I, as a credentialed therapist and therefore "real" helping professional, should know. (My apologies to the growing number of my colleagues who have added coaching to their helping professional repertoires, have obtained coaching training, and who are doing it responsibly and well).
What changed things for me was the experience of being coached by the creativity coaching pioneer, Eric Maisel. I had enlisted his help in addressing some difficulty I was having in choosing a project and goal for my next creative writing venture. Sounds like a practical problem, right? Something a good self-help article might be able to solve? But it actually ran a lot deeper than that, and manifested itself in my being a very stuck-feeling and frustrated writer, spinning my wheels, not finishing things, sometimes not writing at all.
In his coaching work with me, Eric asked me questions based on his many years of learning about what makes artists tick and what gets in their way, and then he listened deeply to what I said, catching clues in my phrasing of thoughts and feelings that I was barely conscious of myself. Within hours of our talking, I knew what I wanted and needed to work on next, and very early the next morning, I was off and running with a renewed sense of purpose and a deep connection to what I was writing.
I continue to work as both coach and coachee. Both of these feed my creative writing, which in turn feeds the coaching. It's a pretty good gig.
So, what is artist coaching? (Eric Maisel and a number of others who are doing the work call it creativity coaching. I choose to call it artist coaching for reasons that probably belong in a different post). In a nutshell, it's a working relationship in which the coach offers the coachee a combination of support, accountability, assistance with setting goals and monitoring progress, and feedback from someone who knows a lot about the unique set of joys and challenges that make up the artist's life. It can be accomplished one to one or in groups, in person or from a distance. I provide mine through email and phone.
As a coach right now, I'm helping artists work on goals which range from showing paintings in an art exhibit to marketing a poetry collection to resuming a regular arts practice that was abandoned for years. It's interesting and gratifying work.
As a coachee, I'm working regularly on a large project I had given up on previously, challenging myself to stay the course and keep showing up for the writing work even when life gets busy, even when my self-doubt and self-criticism would have me abandon the writing and in doing so, abandon myself.
I have had the experience of being a client in therapy and a student in writing classes. These have been helpful in their own ways. But when it comes to that place where my personality traits and identity as a writer meet my creative work, it was artist coaching that helped me understand myself better and get out of my own way.
So that's the story on my new artist coaching venture. I'll be writing more about it in the weeks and months ahead. If you're curious about anything I haven't covered here, I welcome any questions and will likely feature them (without identifying you) in upcoming posts.
Now, back to that writing project of mine...
If you are one the skeptical ones, thinking that artist coaching sounds like fluff and can probably offer little in the way of really helping someone, you might be interested to know that I was one of you first. I never envisioned myself working with a coach. And I certainly I never imagined calling myself a coach. Coaches were for athletes, and therefore existed in a world I neither belonged in or aspired to. When the trend began for business coaches and life coaches, I made fun of it, to tell the truth. In this context, "coach" seemed like something that anyone could call themselves, and therefore, like a job title that lacked both authority and integrity. Which I, as a credentialed therapist and therefore "real" helping professional, should know. (My apologies to the growing number of my colleagues who have added coaching to their helping professional repertoires, have obtained coaching training, and who are doing it responsibly and well).
What changed things for me was the experience of being coached by the creativity coaching pioneer, Eric Maisel. I had enlisted his help in addressing some difficulty I was having in choosing a project and goal for my next creative writing venture. Sounds like a practical problem, right? Something a good self-help article might be able to solve? But it actually ran a lot deeper than that, and manifested itself in my being a very stuck-feeling and frustrated writer, spinning my wheels, not finishing things, sometimes not writing at all.
In his coaching work with me, Eric asked me questions based on his many years of learning about what makes artists tick and what gets in their way, and then he listened deeply to what I said, catching clues in my phrasing of thoughts and feelings that I was barely conscious of myself. Within hours of our talking, I knew what I wanted and needed to work on next, and very early the next morning, I was off and running with a renewed sense of purpose and a deep connection to what I was writing.
I continue to work as both coach and coachee. Both of these feed my creative writing, which in turn feeds the coaching. It's a pretty good gig.
So, what is artist coaching? (Eric Maisel and a number of others who are doing the work call it creativity coaching. I choose to call it artist coaching for reasons that probably belong in a different post). In a nutshell, it's a working relationship in which the coach offers the coachee a combination of support, accountability, assistance with setting goals and monitoring progress, and feedback from someone who knows a lot about the unique set of joys and challenges that make up the artist's life. It can be accomplished one to one or in groups, in person or from a distance. I provide mine through email and phone.
As a coach right now, I'm helping artists work on goals which range from showing paintings in an art exhibit to marketing a poetry collection to resuming a regular arts practice that was abandoned for years. It's interesting and gratifying work.
As a coachee, I'm working regularly on a large project I had given up on previously, challenging myself to stay the course and keep showing up for the writing work even when life gets busy, even when my self-doubt and self-criticism would have me abandon the writing and in doing so, abandon myself.
I have had the experience of being a client in therapy and a student in writing classes. These have been helpful in their own ways. But when it comes to that place where my personality traits and identity as a writer meet my creative work, it was artist coaching that helped me understand myself better and get out of my own way.
So that's the story on my new artist coaching venture. I'll be writing more about it in the weeks and months ahead. If you're curious about anything I haven't covered here, I welcome any questions and will likely feature them (without identifying you) in upcoming posts.
Now, back to that writing project of mine...
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Letter to My Daughter on the Sad Plight of Girls
Dear Daughter,
Today seems like a tough time to be a daughter's mother, which is to say, today seems a tough time to be a 7-year-old girl. I know I tell you all the time that you have a place in this world, as a human being among human beings, and as a girl in a society that has always had, and continues to have, highly problematic ways of thinking about gender. That said, there are days when I'm forced to face the ways in which life will probably be pretty hard for you, unless things change more quickly and more radically than I have faith sometimes can happen. Today feels like one of those days.
I went to Facebook this morning and saw a picture of two "onesies" for sale at the NYU campus store. Remember onesies, those made-to-be-dribbled on, snaps-at-the-crotch outfits from when you still needed diaper-changing? You'd have been way too young, at a onesie-wearing age, to have appreciated the message "I'm super" written boldly and superhero-esque across the blue one, and would not have understood at all the message of the pink one: "I hate my thighs". But even at that young age, dear daughter, you'd have pointed to the "girls" onesie vs. the "boys" onesie, based on color alone. You'd have already begun to internalize, in ways you might not ever understand, strong societal messages about what it means to be Girl as opposed to Boy, Female as opposed to Male.
Having grappled for much of my life with self-esteem issues, it is heartbreaking to know that a garment exists which overtly portrays boys as possessing and proclaiming superhero-level self-confidence while portraying girls as leading with insecurity, body/self-loathing, and preoccupation with personal appearance. It is even more heartbreaking that these messages are on onesies, for God's sake! But most heartbreaking of all? The realization that someone(s) thought it was a good idea to make these, someone(s) else thought it was a good idea to offer them for sale in a campus store, and possibly someone, somewhere, is actually buying them.
So, my dear daughter, it is hard sometimes to be a daughter's mother. Hard to answer your questions about the NPR news item about Massachusetts legislation aimed at trying to decrease the wage gap. ("But why would men make more money doing the same thing as women in the first place, Mommy?") Hard to hear you comment, based on Disney movies and fairy tales, that "the man asks the woman to marry him, and the woman just has to wait, right?". Hard to juxtapose my parenting with years of working with women clients who are rape survivors and domestic violence escapees, clients who hate their bodies or are scared to lick a postage stamp because they're terrified of hidden calories.
Today, dear daughter, your thighs will carry you to art class, to swimming, to dance. They are part of you, but they are not where your worth resides, and it would devastate me if you ever grew to despise them. I so wish for you a kinder world context, a place more conducive to healthy self-esteem for everyone. I love your heart, your humanity, your girlness as you express and experience it. I hope you will be a change-maker. I hope if your daughter, and your daughter's daughter, were to read this, by then this post and the onesies that prompted it would make no sense to them at all.
My love goes with you always,
Mom
Today seems like a tough time to be a daughter's mother, which is to say, today seems a tough time to be a 7-year-old girl. I know I tell you all the time that you have a place in this world, as a human being among human beings, and as a girl in a society that has always had, and continues to have, highly problematic ways of thinking about gender. That said, there are days when I'm forced to face the ways in which life will probably be pretty hard for you, unless things change more quickly and more radically than I have faith sometimes can happen. Today feels like one of those days.
I went to Facebook this morning and saw a picture of two "onesies" for sale at the NYU campus store. Remember onesies, those made-to-be-dribbled on, snaps-at-the-crotch outfits from when you still needed diaper-changing? You'd have been way too young, at a onesie-wearing age, to have appreciated the message "I'm super" written boldly and superhero-esque across the blue one, and would not have understood at all the message of the pink one: "I hate my thighs". But even at that young age, dear daughter, you'd have pointed to the "girls" onesie vs. the "boys" onesie, based on color alone. You'd have already begun to internalize, in ways you might not ever understand, strong societal messages about what it means to be Girl as opposed to Boy, Female as opposed to Male.
Having grappled for much of my life with self-esteem issues, it is heartbreaking to know that a garment exists which overtly portrays boys as possessing and proclaiming superhero-level self-confidence while portraying girls as leading with insecurity, body/self-loathing, and preoccupation with personal appearance. It is even more heartbreaking that these messages are on onesies, for God's sake! But most heartbreaking of all? The realization that someone(s) thought it was a good idea to make these, someone(s) else thought it was a good idea to offer them for sale in a campus store, and possibly someone, somewhere, is actually buying them.
So, my dear daughter, it is hard sometimes to be a daughter's mother. Hard to answer your questions about the NPR news item about Massachusetts legislation aimed at trying to decrease the wage gap. ("But why would men make more money doing the same thing as women in the first place, Mommy?") Hard to hear you comment, based on Disney movies and fairy tales, that "the man asks the woman to marry him, and the woman just has to wait, right?". Hard to juxtapose my parenting with years of working with women clients who are rape survivors and domestic violence escapees, clients who hate their bodies or are scared to lick a postage stamp because they're terrified of hidden calories.
Today, dear daughter, your thighs will carry you to art class, to swimming, to dance. They are part of you, but they are not where your worth resides, and it would devastate me if you ever grew to despise them. I so wish for you a kinder world context, a place more conducive to healthy self-esteem for everyone. I love your heart, your humanity, your girlness as you express and experience it. I hope you will be a change-maker. I hope if your daughter, and your daughter's daughter, were to read this, by then this post and the onesies that prompted it would make no sense to them at all.
My love goes with you always,
Mom
Saturday, April 4, 2015
When an Easter Egg Hunt is a Contact Sport, What Are We Teaching Kids?
This is not about one particular community Easter egg hunt. I have been to Easter egg hunts in different locations and had similar experiences to the one I am writing about here. But without mentioning the specific Easter egg hunt that I brought my seven-year-old to, I would like to say this: If I decide to bring my child to a community Easter egg hunt in the future, she will have to wear knee pads, elbow pads, and a helmet. I am only half-kidding here.
The egg hunt seemed a good idea, in general and especially for my daughter. She has no close-in-age siblings at home, no cousins in the area, with whom to race around and giggle at a low-stakes family egg hunt, so while I'm sure she gets a certain delight from her mine-all-mine solo egg hunting experiences, I have often felt that she was missing something of the shared experience I had hunting for Easter eggs when I grew up.
The throngs of people milling around clutching baskets and bags should have been my first clue that this was going to be something of a free-for-all. The fact that kids were to wait behind a line of tape which would be cut as if for racing might have been my second clue.
Of course, the requisite "rules" were announced over loudspeaker-- no running, no pushing, no grabbing, no hogging--but even as this was happening, I could hear snippets of conversation from two categories of parents: the ones who were reiterating the importance of kindness, and the ones who were talking strategy. ("Ok, Junior, run for the eggs in the middle and to the side--there's a bunch there, and kids will be grabbing the closer ones first."
The countdown began. The tape was cut. And while my daughter disappeared into a sea of children, I meandered around and observed.
There were a few kids showing kindness. One actually came to the aid of a peer she did not seem to know whose eggs had fallen out of her bag. Another began to run, then slowed himself to allow some littler kids to get to some eggs. In the frenzied atmosphere of the hunt, I was extra impressed by these moments of caring and generosity.
But. I also observed some children shoving. I saw a child taunting a younger child who had managed to find only one egg. And at the end of the hunt, when my daughter ran into a friendof hers, I was disheartened to hear her father's description of seeing older kids literally grabbing eggs out of his daughter's hands.
My daughter ended up with a very small number of eggs. She was a little disappointed, but perked up when I told her how proud I was that she had participated in a way that was fair, gentle and kind.
Will I bring her to a community egg hunt in the future? I'm really not sure. I get the idea that it's fun and challenging to hunt for eggs and try to amass a larger bounty than other kids. But when rudeness, roughness, and self-centeredness is the ticket to the greatest Easter egg hunt "success", is this really what we want to be teaching our kids?
The egg hunt seemed a good idea, in general and especially for my daughter. She has no close-in-age siblings at home, no cousins in the area, with whom to race around and giggle at a low-stakes family egg hunt, so while I'm sure she gets a certain delight from her mine-all-mine solo egg hunting experiences, I have often felt that she was missing something of the shared experience I had hunting for Easter eggs when I grew up.
The throngs of people milling around clutching baskets and bags should have been my first clue that this was going to be something of a free-for-all. The fact that kids were to wait behind a line of tape which would be cut as if for racing might have been my second clue.
Of course, the requisite "rules" were announced over loudspeaker-- no running, no pushing, no grabbing, no hogging--but even as this was happening, I could hear snippets of conversation from two categories of parents: the ones who were reiterating the importance of kindness, and the ones who were talking strategy. ("Ok, Junior, run for the eggs in the middle and to the side--there's a bunch there, and kids will be grabbing the closer ones first."
The countdown began. The tape was cut. And while my daughter disappeared into a sea of children, I meandered around and observed.
There were a few kids showing kindness. One actually came to the aid of a peer she did not seem to know whose eggs had fallen out of her bag. Another began to run, then slowed himself to allow some littler kids to get to some eggs. In the frenzied atmosphere of the hunt, I was extra impressed by these moments of caring and generosity.
But. I also observed some children shoving. I saw a child taunting a younger child who had managed to find only one egg. And at the end of the hunt, when my daughter ran into a friendof hers, I was disheartened to hear her father's description of seeing older kids literally grabbing eggs out of his daughter's hands.
My daughter ended up with a very small number of eggs. She was a little disappointed, but perked up when I told her how proud I was that she had participated in a way that was fair, gentle and kind.
Will I bring her to a community egg hunt in the future? I'm really not sure. I get the idea that it's fun and challenging to hunt for eggs and try to amass a larger bounty than other kids. But when rudeness, roughness, and self-centeredness is the ticket to the greatest Easter egg hunt "success", is this really what we want to be teaching our kids?
Friday, April 3, 2015
The Resurrection of My Dead Novel: A Love Story
With Easter just around the corner, it seems appropriate that I tell the story of a different resurrection. The resurrection of a novel that I started writing before entering my MFA program in 2010, and to which I read its last rites shortly after my graduation in 2012.
"It was a dark and stormy night." Okay, not really, nor is this sentence any kind of narrative opening besides a laughable one. Still, it's a starting place, which is sometimes what are writing projects are. Sometimes initially. Sometimes eternally. Can you feel a moral to the story coming?
Wait--are morals even supposed to be in stories? And even if they are, isn't this one too heavy-handed? Geez, maybe I shouldn't be telling this story in the first place. Maybe I shouldn't be telling any story. Maybe I'm not really a writer at all.
This is basically what life inside my head was like, before and after I abandoned my novel. We artists of any kind of awfully plagued with self-doubt, right? The thing is, I took on the challenge of writing a novel, found my first draft to be deeply flawed, and kicked it to the curb, focusing on other writing (and sometimes no writing) for a while after that.
Then I went to a weekend of creativity coaching training with Eric Maisel, and I learned two things.
1) That novel (which I referred to that weekend first as my "failed" novel and then as my "dead" novel) was flawed, absolutely. Maybe irrevocably so. But if the novel itself was a hot mess, it was nothing compared to the mess my thinking was. It was my thinking, in the end, that proved much more problematic than that novel was.
2) The more I had tried before to "fix" the novel, the further away I had moved from why I felt compelled to write it, what it meant to me, what my deep hopes for it were. And in the process, I fell out of love. Certainly with the novel, but in many ways, with writing itself.
As it turned out, the novel was not dead, it was just comatose. I've fallen in love with it again, and am working on it regularly. Which is not to say that it will be publishable, or that I'll want it to be. But I am now on the path of finishing, and I know the "why" of that, and the rest of it has ceased to matter much to me.
As I write this, others who took the weekend with Eric, along with some brave souls who have entered into coaching with me, are honoring and/or trying to find the truth in their relationship to their art form. It is work that not everyone can understand. But it's meaningful and beautiful, and as I return to a novel-writing process that can be difficult as well as valuable, tedious as well as thrilling, and confusing as well as enlightening, I am happy and comforted to know that others are on the same path.
Here's to creating and all that goes with it. May we help one another to stay the course.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
The Creativity Process for Commitment-phobes
In my last post, I talked about the exciting, inspiring, rejuvenating weekend I spent at a creativity coaching weekend led by Eric Maisel. During that time, I dug into my real reasons for writing, and in a certain way, I fell in love with writing again. Honestly, it was a little like meeting an exciting new love interest just when you've resigned yourself to being single for all of eternity.
Well. I'm back home again, and my newly-recharged ambitions and urges to write regularly and meaningfully have been tempered somewhat by the daily realities of a work life and the demands of parenting a 7-year-old. Which is to say, that plan for waking up early every day and spending at least that first hour focused on my writing-in-progress? I'm following it, but it's beginning to give me dark circles. And make me a little grumpier at night. And kick up questions about how important this particular writing project is really, when held up against the alternative of, say, getting more sleep? Perhaps aimlessly surfing the Net while I suck down my coffee in the morning? In other words, if last weekend my writing life was a thrilling new affair, this week, it's becoming the real live person with quirks and foibles that I continue to spend time with.
The question, in art as in with those sparkling new relationships, is, will I make a commitment? Will I stick with this project because I said I would, because I know what it means to me, even if I let myself lose sight of that amidst the more challenging moments? Am I ready to be an arts grownup, knowing that a certain percentage of projects are mediocre at best, knowing that this one may not live up to the hopes I've bestowed on it?
Eric Maisel advised us repeatedly: "When it doubt, err on the side of completion." Completion can be tough, especially when life's curveballs and challenges happen, especially when we lose faith in our projects and ourselves. But it matters for many reasons, not the least of which is that it forces us get clear about what matters to us and why, what we're really willing to give ourselves to, even when it isn't easy. A lot of things in life are like that.
I recently took on some artists to coach, hoping to pass along some of the support and accountability that was given to me recently on the other side of the coaching exchange. But in truth, there is a huge part of doing this that's for me, and I don't mean just the obvious part of trying on this new role, this new (to me) way of helping. It's also my way of keeping myself honest. I know from my work as a therapist that it was start to really bother me if I am not doing what I am advising my artists to do.
Having the novelty and thrill of a brand-new experience or project is seductive, no question. New-ness is exciting. Flitting from project to project because you're scared to see a project through, though? Not so much.
So, here's thanking Eric Maisel and my artist cohorts for inspiring me, and here's thanking the people who have volunteered to coach with me over the next two months, for deepening my experience and keeping me honest. As for that brand new and shiny thing that has caught your attention recently? Maybe it's a fun thing of the moment. But. Maybe it will be something more substantial that loses its shimmer after a minute, an hour, a day. But still it matters. Really matters. And you'll have to decide whether you're ready and willing to give your heart to it, without knowing the ending ahead of time.
Well. I'm back home again, and my newly-recharged ambitions and urges to write regularly and meaningfully have been tempered somewhat by the daily realities of a work life and the demands of parenting a 7-year-old. Which is to say, that plan for waking up early every day and spending at least that first hour focused on my writing-in-progress? I'm following it, but it's beginning to give me dark circles. And make me a little grumpier at night. And kick up questions about how important this particular writing project is really, when held up against the alternative of, say, getting more sleep? Perhaps aimlessly surfing the Net while I suck down my coffee in the morning? In other words, if last weekend my writing life was a thrilling new affair, this week, it's becoming the real live person with quirks and foibles that I continue to spend time with.
The question, in art as in with those sparkling new relationships, is, will I make a commitment? Will I stick with this project because I said I would, because I know what it means to me, even if I let myself lose sight of that amidst the more challenging moments? Am I ready to be an arts grownup, knowing that a certain percentage of projects are mediocre at best, knowing that this one may not live up to the hopes I've bestowed on it?
Eric Maisel advised us repeatedly: "When it doubt, err on the side of completion." Completion can be tough, especially when life's curveballs and challenges happen, especially when we lose faith in our projects and ourselves. But it matters for many reasons, not the least of which is that it forces us get clear about what matters to us and why, what we're really willing to give ourselves to, even when it isn't easy. A lot of things in life are like that.
I recently took on some artists to coach, hoping to pass along some of the support and accountability that was given to me recently on the other side of the coaching exchange. But in truth, there is a huge part of doing this that's for me, and I don't mean just the obvious part of trying on this new role, this new (to me) way of helping. It's also my way of keeping myself honest. I know from my work as a therapist that it was start to really bother me if I am not doing what I am advising my artists to do.
Having the novelty and thrill of a brand-new experience or project is seductive, no question. New-ness is exciting. Flitting from project to project because you're scared to see a project through, though? Not so much.
So, here's thanking Eric Maisel and my artist cohorts for inspiring me, and here's thanking the people who have volunteered to coach with me over the next two months, for deepening my experience and keeping me honest. As for that brand new and shiny thing that has caught your attention recently? Maybe it's a fun thing of the moment. But. Maybe it will be something more substantial that loses its shimmer after a minute, an hour, a day. But still it matters. Really matters. And you'll have to decide whether you're ready and willing to give your heart to it, without knowing the ending ahead of time.
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