November 05, 2003
It’s been a struggle to chronicle what is going on because I have been so busy with so many writing projects that when it comes to write for just me, I become too tired and lose interest. However, when a friend who is a probaseball player told me that despite being tired all day from playing ball for work, he always makes time to play ball for fun with his son because it’s important, I decided that writing, for me, is too.
September 20, 2003
I realised the reason why I was so frustrated over some events that had recently happened, even though previous bad events and disappointments have never affected me as deeply as this one.
I think it was because I was caught up in a game I didn’t want to play in. For the most part I wasn’t, but the fact that I was aware of it, thinking about it, obsessing over it, talking about it, I was in turn participating in it. The messy bits of the game were never my intentions, but the outcomes that they were creating had become my goals – if that makes sense.
After thinking about this last week I decided to get back to basics and asked myself, “What am I doing and what am I doing it for? What are my intentions?” When I sat in silence for a couple of days I answered those questions and realised that they were the same answers as they’ve always been: to be of use and to enjoy my life. I just forgot those intents for awhile because I had so many people telling me what my intentions should be (opportunity, money, connections, fame) instead of listening to myself.
Getting back to my intentions was at first difficult because I was afraid that having integrity and doing as I needed meant that I would lose opportunities, stand alone and not succeed anymore. I was afraid if I didn’t play the game the way others played it, I wouldn’t be able to play it at all. But then I reminded myself if I won at that game by playing by rules I didn’t like or respect, it wouldn’t be winning. Being authentic, real and having integrity are essential to me. Even if that sounds daft or naive, I like that; it’s worked for the past 29 years.
Living my intentions meant that I had to let go of projects that were negative, let go of friendships that were negative (and in letting go it’s not in a “I hate you because you suck” kind of way which I believes, makes hate linger, but in a way of “You do your thing, I do mine, and I wish us both well” kind of way). I also stopped asking myself what the outcome would be if I did things and instead focused on the process. This is generally how I operate but stopped doing because people were telling me to be goal oriented and fearfully aware of the outcome. Like, if I wrote X way, I wouldn’t get a book deal, if I wrote B way, I would lose an audience, if I wrote C way, I would have to write like someone else but be guaranteed work etc.
This was an amazing thing. What also helped was physically shutting out people from email, web sites, and telephone. Sometimes a girl needs a break.
By working and living as I need to, the stress of the past couple of months began to fade, as did the fear. I felt in control again instead at the mercy of others.
I was reading the Yoga Journals current edition and I read an article “Dharma Wisdom” and it just really summed up best my experience these couple of months and where I am now. I’d like to share a bit here because I believe that what I’ve just gone through is NOT unique in any way and that at some point we will be challenged to ask ourselves what really matters, what do we believe in and what will we stand up for.
Although the student thought she was focusing on her inner experience of the present moment, she was actually focusing on a future outcome; even though she had healthy goals that pointed in a wholesome direction, she was not being in her values. Thus, when her efforts did not go well, she got lost in disappointment and confusion…
Goals help you make your place in the world and be an effective person. But being grounded in intention is what provides integrity and unity in your life. Through skilful cultivation of intention, you learn to make wise goals and then to work hard toward achieving them without getting caught in attachment to outcome.
…only by remembering your intentions can you reconnect with yourself during those emotional storms that cause you to lose touch with yourself.
Ironically, by being in touch with and acting from your true intentions, you become more effective in reaching your goals than when you act from wants and insecurities.
In choosing to live with the right intention, you are not giving up your desire for achievement or a better life, or binding yourself to being morally perfect. But you are committing to living each moment with the intention of not causing harm to others… You are connecting to your own sense of kindness and innate dignity. Standing on this ground of intention, you are then able to participate as you choose in life’s contests, until you outgrow them.
Naturally, sometimes things go well for you and other times not, but you do not live and die by these endless fluctuations. Your happiness comes from the strength of you internal experience of intention. You become one of those fortunate human beings who know who they are and are independent of our culture’s obsession with winning.”
Dec. 02, 2002
I gave up reading “writing self-help” books back in June when I realised that nothing gets done by reading and talking but only by doing what works for you.
However, a few months ago I snuck one in and for me, it blew all the others out of the water. The reason? It took all the romance and dream dust out of writing and made the whole process real. Something I’ve tried to do here.
With Stephen King’s On Writing, I found myself nodding as I read, laughing at parts and squishing my brow in others. There are no dreamy words, no mention magic boxes nor is there any talk of “morning pages.” Instead, he uses every day language and sentences with words like “fart” which, surprisingly, had more impact on me than any other book filled with wistful reminiscing ever did.
Reading this book reminded to keep things real; something I sometimes forget to do when I read some of the e-mail I receive. E-mail such as, “My life sucks right now, if only I could write full-time it would be perfect!” or “I could write a novel if only I had a cabin by the sea and an uninterrupted year.” Better yet, “I would be in a state of eternal bliss if only I could wear my boa, drink tea, and write all day, every day.”
I realise with e-mails like those that I perhaps ignore some of the reality of my life. Things such as the isolation is far too much for me to bear as I learned when I chatted up the UPS man for twenty minutes one day. I don’t like to write every day in fact, if I try to write every day I don’t want to write for a month. I work on a schedule – Tuesday through Friday with weekends off – although I don’t work on a consistent time base which throws my body off kilter a lot. Sometimes I work from 11PM until 10AM for days straight; sometimes I work for only two hours each day. I don’t drink that much tea. Money matters which makes me budget everything like mad and constantly check the balance in my Microsoft Money Program. Sometimes the pressure to make money at writing takes away any of the passion I had when I didn’t have to earn a living from it. I really enjoy my life and what I get to do, but writing isn’t what I want to do for the rest of my life – as I have other ambitions such as being a vagabond again and running a bed and breakfast in France.
Writing isn’t my only passion. I wrote more when I held a three week temporary Christmas job than I did the three months previous; having all the time to write I did anything but. I have days where I feel like useless crap and don’t write anything and then suffer great guilt because of it. That is when I wish I had some papers to staple just so I would feel productive. Writing in Pajamas makes me feel frumpy instead of lucky. Writing, and working on my own terms is bloody hard work. It’s a business, something I didn’t think about when I started.
It’s easy when you’re sitting in a grey cube with a boss who wants you in at seven and out at six and a headache that matches your stress level to assume that if only you could live your dream of writing/painting/singing twenty-four seven would life truly be good. But the reality is sometimes living your dream sucks. Sometimes it’s hard, frustrating, overwhelming. Sometimes you’ll hate it just as much as if you were sitting in a pantsuit with an eight o’clock meeting. If you keep your dream in a dream state, you’ll never get anywhere because you’ll be sinking in disappointment when you get it. I’ve learned through trial and error that being real with your wants, expectations and outcomes is what makes living a dream possible.
You have to get real to make it work whether that be by just doing what you want, understanding what really happens, or using words like “fart” in your sentences.
Dreams are good to have but reality, so much better.
Nov. 06, 2002
Although I declared myself a homebody for the fall and winter, cheap airfares, a friends CD launch party and the chance to visit one of my favourite cities made me otherwise.
Four days ago when I left for San Francisco, I had the feeling that I would get something I needed with this trip. I thought perhaps I would get out of the slump I’ve felt that I’ve been in, a chance to relax with people instead of the usual isolation I’m in or a creative spark that seemed to have left me long ago.
I also thought perhaps this trip would help me to figure out what to do next.
Last year I said that writing wasn’t the only thing I wanted to do, yet it’s been the only thing I’ve done. I want more, I’m capable of doing more yet I haven’t been able to manifest my wants into something bigger – I’ve been stuck.
There have been programs I’ve tried to participate in, creative writing groups I’ve tried to start and a mix of other things that I’ve tried to do to help cure me of my isolation and lack of feeling fulfilled. Despite all efforts, my feelings haven’t changed – where I am isn’t where I want to be.
It’s a frustrating train of thought because people hear my story and think I am so lucky to have the freedom that I do. I hear others say what they would give to work at home, to write all day, to be creative. Yet their envy doesn’t make me feel right. Instead it makes me feel awkward because we don’t share the same excitement for what I have.
In reality the isolation is too much for me to bear. The lack of creativity around me pains me. The inability to live out every idea I have makes me cringe. The lack of support this city offers makes me want to pack up my bags and move.
The past year was spent trying to ignore all this. By filling myself up with work and trips I was trying to escape the reality that I wasn’t happy doing what I was doing. That was hard to admit because I felt I had to to prove that living a dream is what everyone should do. It wasn’t until I read on a billboard, “If you’re livelihood isn’t making you lively, isn’t there a problem?” that I realized yes, there is a problem.
Taking time off from writing about writing, from being a role model, from trying to be only a writer, has been what I’ve needed. It’s allowed me private moments to wallow, to be angry, to be frustrated, to have new dreams and desires without having to explain any of it. It’s also allowed me to realise that I’m now at the same point I was just before I started writing – when I realized there was something more for me to do with my life and I could almost feel it, but I didn’t have a name for it. I can taste something coming on again, but what it is, I have no idea.
In San Francisco my many friends gave me the same message: visualize what you want and it will happen. I’ve had the problem of not being able to visualize anything because I haven’t known what I wanted. Without even attempting to think of what I want, nothings been happening. But I heard this message so often from so many people that I thought this was my lesson.
I picked up a CD, Higher Ground by the Blind Boys of Alabama, based purely on a friends recommendation. Two things unusual about this is that I never purchase CD’s and I’ve never listened to gospel music. When I played the first song this morning, I laid on the floor utop a quilt, the rain beating hard outside and I cried as the warmth of the song came over me:
“People get ready
There’s a train a-comin’
You don’t need no baggage
Just get on board
All you need is faith
To hear the diesel hummin’
You don’t need no ticket
Just thank the lord”
It was the same message: have faith, just believe.
I used to tell people to have faith mixed with visualization and effort and you’d have whatever you wanted, but I’ve forgotten that myself.
I’m dealing with so many different things at the moment – direction, placement, want – that I know it might be awhile before it’s all figured out. Somehow, that’s OK, I’m actually welcoming this feeling of uncertainty. I’m not trying to rush it out the door, I’m asking why it’s here and learning about where I am right now.
However, I’m still asking for the future. I’m thinking about what I want no matter how small or crazy and putting it in my special box. Somethings going to happen, I feel it. I just don’t know what – or when – just yet.
Oct. 20, 2002
When people discover I am a full-time writer, they often say to me, “I would write more if I, too, had all the time in the world.” I usually just smile when I hear that because I know better; you don’t need all the time in the world to write, you just need to make time.
When I was in the corporate world with a nine hour day topped with a four hour commute, I wrote – even if it was just for fifteen minutes at the end of the day. Yet when I began my writing career and finally had a full day to write or be creative I would sometimes to do anything but.
I’d surf the net, take long walks, wreck my brain for ideas and then beat myself up for not doing anything about them. I’d make up lists of chores that I had to do – even though I hate chores. I’d find necessity in doing laundry, scrubbing dishes and general flat tidying. I ended up feeling as though with everything going on in my life, I actually had little time for writing.
It took me awhile to understand that what I perceived as little time was actually a misuse of time. I didn’t know how to control my day or the excuses I made as to why I couldn’t write. Excuses such as I was too tired, unmotivated, lacked creativity, no deadlines, too busy, it’s late, what does it matter, I’ll get better tomorrow.
However, I stopped making excuses one night when my husband came home with a look of shear exhaustion on his face. He had spent a full day in a demanding job followed by two demanding university classes even with little sleep since the night before he had been studying all night long. For the past two years, he’s been doing this four days a week and some weekends which leaves him with little time for anything else. However, he takes what little time he has and uses it to attend guitar lessons, practice guitar, study, work on the home, spend time with me and even fit in naps.
Asking him how he does it all (and without complaining!) he simply told me, “It’s my choice.”
That simple answer was a wake-up call for me for here I was with all the time, few demands but little done. He doesn’t have more time in the day than I do, in fact, he has less. Yet he gets all his work done as well as all his personal tasks because he knows how to use every second of the day. He has learned he won’t have a full day to learn guitar so he has learned how to use the time he has so that he can do what he wants to do.
I decided then to make another choice – to really use the time I had. If I used to write when I had a full-time job, I should be able to now that writing was my full-time job.
Now, I’m finding, I have a lot more time and a lot less stress. Finally.
Oct. 15, 2002
For me, the creative process is generally more interesting than the outcome so when I discovered that the author/artist Nick Bantock would be in town to talk about his work, I was more than excited.
For two-hours he spoke of his creative process in great detail; from the setup of his studio to the music he played in it. He talked of his walks to the post, people he knew, and his life in art school. He also told the story of how he created his famous work, Griffin and Sabine and how it became published. Simply fascinating because it was all so real.
He didn’t have an out of the ordinary childhood, or talents that were given to him by gods. He didn’t drink special detoxifying drinks to help him stay creative and he spoke plainly without fancy catch-phrases. He was a real man with a real passion – art – and he made it into something real.
At the end I waited in line so that I could have him sign his biography book that I own. When it came my turn we chatted for a moment and then I did something that was scary – I handed him my business card.
At first, I felt sheepish about showing him my work as next to his collages and stories, my 4X6 postcard seemed rather awkward. Yet I did it because just like him, what I’m doing is real. Although I might lack the years or talent that he possess, I’m doing what I love to do as is he. There are no special levels when it comes to people – we’re all just doing what we do.
By handing him my card, I was trying to solidify my belief in that as it’s one thing to think it and another to act on it. To accept that I’m an artist just as any other, I have to get over my fear of showing it.
Tonight, I did just that.