Monday, June 12, 2006
Thursday, June 08, 2006
10 Things About Me
1. I am a counselor through and through
2. I love creating small sacred spaces
3. Gardening clears my worries
4. I am blessed with a true partner and a precious daughter
5. I could devote my life to helping abused dogs
6. My home is cozy and colorful
7. I have little tolerance for dishonesty
8. My weaknesses are bread, pasta, and sad movies
9. I am appalled by my president's actions and zealotry
10. My favorite word is "grace"
2. I love creating small sacred spaces
3. Gardening clears my worries
4. I am blessed with a true partner and a precious daughter
5. I could devote my life to helping abused dogs
6. My home is cozy and colorful
7. I have little tolerance for dishonesty
8. My weaknesses are bread, pasta, and sad movies
9. I am appalled by my president's actions and zealotry
10. My favorite word is "grace"
Monday, June 05, 2006
Positive Stress...
I'm back to thinking about positive stress, not the kind that has its roots in unresolved anxiety or unexpected problems, or even the kind that comes from a who-knows-why bad day. Positive stress is my reaction to circumstances that are rooted in good things--in people and events that exist because of my decisions and desires.
Today is a good example. jb and I have been fortunate to be able to convert our rittery back porch into what is now becoming a bona fide four season room. We've had a great carpenter replacing the windows so they now magnificently extend across three of four walls, putting in a new door with a cool built in mini-blind, adding new woodwork, etc. The tranformation and prospect of using this new "sunroom" has been exciting.
But today a simple job--blowing insulation into the roof--took on a life of its own. The insulation company did a bad job, it rained, all the insulation got wet, it leaked into our new room in two places, and the mess can only be fixed by replacing the entire flat roof. We now have a blue tarp blowing in the proverbial wind of our back yard and jb and I have spent too much of the day protecting ourselves. learning about levers and tar, and figuring out how to handle all this.
Tomorrow the nefarious company will replace the roof and assumingly make it all whole again. Probably we'll spend another day being cautious and vigilant, but in the big scheme of things, this is a small small event. I know it's a small event. I just have to train myself to act accordingly.
I am working hard to differentiate between legitimate difficult stress and optional positive stress because I waste precious time when I go off due to reasons of my own making, and good reasons to boot. The sunroom is a good thing. It will be a wonderful space for years ahead. We're proud of how it will look and feel. That's the real story. The rain and the roof are just a paragraph.
Every day there are reasons for me to overreact. I took my car in and the service manager was a bozo. (I'm lucky I have a car). I lost my ATM card (I have money in my account). Another bad haircut (Hair grows).
I know I'll never be above being petty here and there, but getting it right about stress is going to help me. I'm reminded of a silly little quote I saw on a greeting card: "Angels fly because they take themselves lightly". This summer, I'm working on my own version of flying.
UPDATE--8 hours later
The shingles are flying. The saws are screeching. The grass is shuddering from the thrown wooden planks and hostile nails. The guys brought the wrong tools. It is all a total mess.
Our stress level is through the roof. So much for positive growth--we're ready to rip this company apart along with the roofing material. jb is on her way to work and I, beginning my unexpected summer off, will spend my day dealing with this XX@**X$@**.
I'll update again: the pathetic diary of an agitated homeowner.
UPDATE--16 hours later
The new roof is on. The yard is a mess. The chimney has tar on it. But: My day got better as it progressed. Tomorrow is the Wednesday Farmer's Market, I am revising my book proposal, and Stella and I took a mile walk in Look Park. Today WAS stressful, but I wrestled it down when I could. Right now I'm reasonably dandy.
Today is a good example. jb and I have been fortunate to be able to convert our rittery back porch into what is now becoming a bona fide four season room. We've had a great carpenter replacing the windows so they now magnificently extend across three of four walls, putting in a new door with a cool built in mini-blind, adding new woodwork, etc. The tranformation and prospect of using this new "sunroom" has been exciting.
But today a simple job--blowing insulation into the roof--took on a life of its own. The insulation company did a bad job, it rained, all the insulation got wet, it leaked into our new room in two places, and the mess can only be fixed by replacing the entire flat roof. We now have a blue tarp blowing in the proverbial wind of our back yard and jb and I have spent too much of the day protecting ourselves. learning about levers and tar, and figuring out how to handle all this.
Tomorrow the nefarious company will replace the roof and assumingly make it all whole again. Probably we'll spend another day being cautious and vigilant, but in the big scheme of things, this is a small small event. I know it's a small event. I just have to train myself to act accordingly.
I am working hard to differentiate between legitimate difficult stress and optional positive stress because I waste precious time when I go off due to reasons of my own making, and good reasons to boot. The sunroom is a good thing. It will be a wonderful space for years ahead. We're proud of how it will look and feel. That's the real story. The rain and the roof are just a paragraph.
Every day there are reasons for me to overreact. I took my car in and the service manager was a bozo. (I'm lucky I have a car). I lost my ATM card (I have money in my account). Another bad haircut (Hair grows).
I know I'll never be above being petty here and there, but getting it right about stress is going to help me. I'm reminded of a silly little quote I saw on a greeting card: "Angels fly because they take themselves lightly". This summer, I'm working on my own version of flying.
UPDATE--8 hours later
The shingles are flying. The saws are screeching. The grass is shuddering from the thrown wooden planks and hostile nails. The guys brought the wrong tools. It is all a total mess.
Our stress level is through the roof. So much for positive growth--we're ready to rip this company apart along with the roofing material. jb is on her way to work and I, beginning my unexpected summer off, will spend my day dealing with this XX@**X$@**.
I'll update again: the pathetic diary of an agitated homeowner.
UPDATE--16 hours later
The new roof is on. The yard is a mess. The chimney has tar on it. But: My day got better as it progressed. Tomorrow is the Wednesday Farmer's Market, I am revising my book proposal, and Stella and I took a mile walk in Look Park. Today WAS stressful, but I wrestled it down when I could. Right now I'm reasonably dandy.
Friday, June 02, 2006
The Prompt
Divine Justice
Twice I’ve tried and failed. I hate regrets and I have two big ones.
Through an intermediary I send word to my first deep and true love. It is 25 years later and I calmly see my part in the painful bitter betrayal that choked us both. The response back is a non response: a dollop of vanilla variety silence. If I read into it, the non words are clear: ‘I am ignoring you. Leave me alone.”
The second regret is less complicated but equally unfortunate. I lost a good friend to a bad decision, one that was not then and definitely not now worth anything close to the cost. It’s been four years. I’ve sent a couple of cards and left a couple of phone messages, apologizing, lamenting, hoping for a reconnect. I’ve gotten word back, politely and indirectly, that the time is not right… maybe some other time.
I am looking for redemption and find it buried in rejection.
Isn’t that just the way sometimes? You have to let go of someone you wished you had gripped harder or softer. You have to accept what you can’t make right. That’s your only chance.
I’ve phoned my friend Dory and we’re sharing a double scooped hot fudge sundae in downtown Northampton. It is a warm breezy Sunday night in June and gratitude skips around our ankles. Dory has made a few regret calls herself lately, with similar results.
We are two minds now less emcumbered by several less people. It’s a loss and the ice cream is quite divine. Just ice and no heat.
Isn’t that just the way sometimes?
Twice I’ve tried and failed. I hate regrets and I have two big ones.
Through an intermediary I send word to my first deep and true love. It is 25 years later and I calmly see my part in the painful bitter betrayal that choked us both. The response back is a non response: a dollop of vanilla variety silence. If I read into it, the non words are clear: ‘I am ignoring you. Leave me alone.”
The second regret is less complicated but equally unfortunate. I lost a good friend to a bad decision, one that was not then and definitely not now worth anything close to the cost. It’s been four years. I’ve sent a couple of cards and left a couple of phone messages, apologizing, lamenting, hoping for a reconnect. I’ve gotten word back, politely and indirectly, that the time is not right… maybe some other time.
I am looking for redemption and find it buried in rejection.
Isn’t that just the way sometimes? You have to let go of someone you wished you had gripped harder or softer. You have to accept what you can’t make right. That’s your only chance.
I’ve phoned my friend Dory and we’re sharing a double scooped hot fudge sundae in downtown Northampton. It is a warm breezy Sunday night in June and gratitude skips around our ankles. Dory has made a few regret calls herself lately, with similar results.
We are two minds now less emcumbered by several less people. It’s a loss and the ice cream is quite divine. Just ice and no heat.
Isn’t that just the way sometimes?
Thursday, June 01, 2006
A Memorial to Willa
I spent yesterday in a sad beautiful world. It began in an old Jewish cemetary in Glendale/Queens New York--with hundreds, thousands of tall, thin elegant grave markers, tightly standing one aside another in every direction , and there too the age and date of death, many markers with small stones and rocks carefully placed around the engraved name, as is the Jewish tradition. It ended at a lush one story rustic designer home and abundant landscape in Westchester, decorated in the best welcoming colors and complete with a pool and accompanying sweet cottage alone atop a hill in a clearing of tall pines and songbirds. This was not a show-off house: it was home to Willa's sister, and the love of it showed.
Willa died 12 months ago. Yesterday was the unveiling of her headstone. She was diagnosed with lung cancer--she who quit smoking with me twenty years ago, after too many late night talks of philosophies and longings. Quickly she beat it, and then quickly it beat her. In life and death she was equal parts brave, wise, whimsical, kind, adventureous, outlandish, spiritual, fair, perceptive, and a standout candidate for the growth-of-the-decade award.
When Willa died, it made no sense. This was a woman who grew into herself, became a leader in disability rights, could combine any food source together for quick magnifigence, wore purple and red and mysterious earrings, who readily shared her view but so easily you were gently rocked as you listened. This was a woman who secretly was a best friend to so many people that her memorial last year became abit comical as one person after another claimed Willa's best-friendship (including me). This was a woman who knew this deep precious part of me only as I and perhaps one or two other people ever will. This was a woman who knew my soul. This was my friend, Dan and Sarah's mother, Susan and Ellen's sister, Vivian and Gail's guardian angels.
Willa spent alot of her life with a cautious perceptible shaking of her hands as she showed up every day, every moment to face down her fears and become her unshakeable wonderful self. Whenever it counted, she raised two strong kids, pushed herself into dazzling career success, and unbeknownst until her memorial, served as best-friend-in-residence whenever the need.
Is it ok to confidently say that Willa's death is unfair? I'm generally not a poor sport about life's ups and downs, and I've never been delusional about mortality. I'm also not new to death: I've lost my father, two friends (both car accidents), a cousin and a sister-in-law. But Willa? Finally at the intersection of peace and calm, when her life is just fine thank you, Willa has to check out? Very very unfair. Very very unbelievable.
Yesterday about 20 people quietly sobbed and lovingly watched as her children removed the thin white vail from her headstone. There it was: Willa's name: confirmation of a loss too huge to ever truly accept. "This is what love does", her gravestone said. Yes, Willa, this is what love does. It lives in my heart, gives me courage, and reminds me that I can be truly known. Thanks, pal. I'll keep an eye out.
Love, KJ
Willa died 12 months ago. Yesterday was the unveiling of her headstone. She was diagnosed with lung cancer--she who quit smoking with me twenty years ago, after too many late night talks of philosophies and longings. Quickly she beat it, and then quickly it beat her. In life and death she was equal parts brave, wise, whimsical, kind, adventureous, outlandish, spiritual, fair, perceptive, and a standout candidate for the growth-of-the-decade award.
When Willa died, it made no sense. This was a woman who grew into herself, became a leader in disability rights, could combine any food source together for quick magnifigence, wore purple and red and mysterious earrings, who readily shared her view but so easily you were gently rocked as you listened. This was a woman who secretly was a best friend to so many people that her memorial last year became abit comical as one person after another claimed Willa's best-friendship (including me). This was a woman who knew this deep precious part of me only as I and perhaps one or two other people ever will. This was a woman who knew my soul. This was my friend, Dan and Sarah's mother, Susan and Ellen's sister, Vivian and Gail's guardian angels.
Willa spent alot of her life with a cautious perceptible shaking of her hands as she showed up every day, every moment to face down her fears and become her unshakeable wonderful self. Whenever it counted, she raised two strong kids, pushed herself into dazzling career success, and unbeknownst until her memorial, served as best-friend-in-residence whenever the need.
Is it ok to confidently say that Willa's death is unfair? I'm generally not a poor sport about life's ups and downs, and I've never been delusional about mortality. I'm also not new to death: I've lost my father, two friends (both car accidents), a cousin and a sister-in-law. But Willa? Finally at the intersection of peace and calm, when her life is just fine thank you, Willa has to check out? Very very unfair. Very very unbelievable.
Yesterday about 20 people quietly sobbed and lovingly watched as her children removed the thin white vail from her headstone. There it was: Willa's name: confirmation of a loss too huge to ever truly accept. "This is what love does", her gravestone said. Yes, Willa, this is what love does. It lives in my heart, gives me courage, and reminds me that I can be truly known. Thanks, pal. I'll keep an eye out.
Love, KJ
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Free but not Cheap.....
I am astonishingly, unexpectedly free this summer! Turns out my major customer has to pull back its business and my partner jb is willing to work extra so I do not have to replace the work--probably not until September. Wow. I will spend the next two months (at least) writing: I'm still wrestling with my book proposal but I anticipate some modicum of success with it. And I have submitted one story and one poem to writing contests (is that the right word?). And I will take tiny but observable steps to plan and landscape our backyard. (We aim to create a sanctuary of sorts, just yards away from a major road but somehow a calm and kind space).
I can't believe my good fortune.
So I'm thinking tonight about how grateful I am and how much I'm benefiting from blogging. Sometimes I feel like I'm attending a private poetry reading or an art gallery opening night for Friday Illustrations. And from this comes an idea and offering:
I help people build businesses. I help them plan, develop, coordinate and market a variety of self-employment and small to midsize business ideas, from restaurants to artisian cooperatives, to real estate firms to technology consulting to disability management counseling. I also help people find their way to careers that matter and away from those that don't.
I can't say for how long, and I will not/cannot delve into therapy-related issues, but for now I am willing to use part of my blogsite to answer any career and/or business questions that may be helpful--a kind of Career Ann Landers. :) If I can't help, I won't try. But if my two cents can be of benefit to you or someone you know, I'll do my best.
It's an experiment, for reasons unknown, but for what's it's worth, the offer's now out there.
kj
I can't believe my good fortune.
So I'm thinking tonight about how grateful I am and how much I'm benefiting from blogging. Sometimes I feel like I'm attending a private poetry reading or an art gallery opening night for Friday Illustrations. And from this comes an idea and offering:
I help people build businesses. I help them plan, develop, coordinate and market a variety of self-employment and small to midsize business ideas, from restaurants to artisian cooperatives, to real estate firms to technology consulting to disability management counseling. I also help people find their way to careers that matter and away from those that don't.
I can't say for how long, and I will not/cannot delve into therapy-related issues, but for now I am willing to use part of my blogsite to answer any career and/or business questions that may be helpful--a kind of Career Ann Landers. :) If I can't help, I won't try. But if my two cents can be of benefit to you or someone you know, I'll do my best.
It's an experiment, for reasons unknown, but for what's it's worth, the offer's now out there.
kj
Friday, May 26, 2006
The (little yellow) Writing Prompt
Well, let's try it! It turns out there are already some very neat writing prompt groups (see Joy Eliz' comments below)--but in the humble tradition of the Big Yellow fellowship, the first week's prompt is:
Divine Justice
Write anything you'd like, as short or as long as you'd like, in whatever form you'd like, and post it on your blog by next Saturday, June 3rd. (Is Saturday is a good day overall?). Send along any ideas for future prompts and we're rocking...
ps. The Rules (no surprise): No apron wringing, just words
:) kj
Joy Eliz said...
There is a writing prompt group that just started called Sunday Scribblings that you should check out/participate and maybe get ideas to start another writing group. I see you write some wonderful poetry...check out Poetry Thursday which is open to everyone as well
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Live as though You Believe It
My years of counseling training pale beside this thoughtful observation from Nelson Mandella. I hope you will consider living from this perspective:
"Our worst fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?..."
kj!
"Our worst fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?..."
kj!
Monday, May 22, 2006
Feed a Starving Artist....
Hello anyone and everyone. I've had the good fortune to stumble onto several illustrator blogs, which appear to be part of a larger illustrator support network. The artwork and creativity is soulfully lovely and it makes me appreciate the gifts of the internet more than I ever thought I would.
If I've figured it out correctly, once a week is "Illustrator Friday", when someone chooses a topic and anyone who wants to responds to the topic prompt by designing and shareing his/her own illustration. The results are awesome. Check out any of the following blogs:
il mondo di gaia
moncando
christy beckwith
(By the way, I am not sufficiently computer-literate to make it easy for you to find or enter these blogs. So if you need to, go into my entry called "Work for Pay" and click on Michael O'Connell's comments. Once you're into his blog, you'll find many many cool illustrators.
check out the comments on these blogs as well. These are an appreciative and encouraging group of folks.
Perhaps you can see where I'm going with this. Is anyone interested in participating in a weekly writing prompt? This could be a word, topic, subject--anything, that we then write about in whatever form we wish. I'd hope it might be a variation of the big yellow prompts--a reason to write at least weekly and a reason to share.
Illustrator Friday generates dozens of wonderful feedback: priceless food for the soul.
I also wonder if some of these illustrators might like to check out our writing blogs as much as I've enjoyed checking out their creative work.
What'dya think?
:) kj
If I've figured it out correctly, once a week is "Illustrator Friday", when someone chooses a topic and anyone who wants to responds to the topic prompt by designing and shareing his/her own illustration. The results are awesome. Check out any of the following blogs:
il mondo di gaia
moncando
christy beckwith
(By the way, I am not sufficiently computer-literate to make it easy for you to find or enter these blogs. So if you need to, go into my entry called "Work for Pay" and click on Michael O'Connell's comments. Once you're into his blog, you'll find many many cool illustrators.
check out the comments on these blogs as well. These are an appreciative and encouraging group of folks.
Perhaps you can see where I'm going with this. Is anyone interested in participating in a weekly writing prompt? This could be a word, topic, subject--anything, that we then write about in whatever form we wish. I'd hope it might be a variation of the big yellow prompts--a reason to write at least weekly and a reason to share.
Illustrator Friday generates dozens of wonderful feedback: priceless food for the soul.
I also wonder if some of these illustrators might like to check out our writing blogs as much as I've enjoyed checking out their creative work.
What'dya think?
:) kj
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Work for Pay
Too many people hate or endure their jobs. Since habit and fear are tough taskmasters, here's my two cents on the matter:
Work for pay
is not the way
to need
or lead
or heed
or plead.
Work for pay
can be ok
when you accept,
inspect,
reject and
trek.
Work for pay
you might attest
is not the best,
without the zest,
even with the smallest
crest.
But since you still
must pay the bills,
plan refills,
fuel the tills, and
climb the hills
And work you must,
avoid the rust,
and dust,
mistrust and
crust.
Try instead
to work for joy
Use your head
and make your bed
Don't stay wed
when all is said.
Work and feel
keep it real,
Maybe heal,
Sometimes squeal,
and now and then
accept the deal.
When work and joy
combine—oh boy!
Time put in
where there’s a grin,
perhaps the sin
of an easy win,
So find the path
Let it last
Have a blast,
Make it fast
And in the doing
The joy is cast.
Work for pay
is not the way
to need
or lead
or heed
or plead.
Work for pay
can be ok
when you accept,
inspect,
reject and
trek.
Work for pay
you might attest
is not the best,
without the zest,
even with the smallest
crest.
But since you still
must pay the bills,
plan refills,
fuel the tills, and
climb the hills
And work you must,
avoid the rust,
and dust,
mistrust and
crust.
Try instead
to work for joy
Use your head
and make your bed
Don't stay wed
when all is said.
Work and feel
keep it real,
Maybe heal,
Sometimes squeal,
and now and then
accept the deal.
When work and joy
combine—oh boy!
Time put in
where there’s a grin,
perhaps the sin
of an easy win,
So find the path
Let it last
Have a blast,
Make it fast
And in the doing
The joy is cast.
Colorado
What a grand time we had in Colorado. Hannah's graduation was highlighted by an after-party at a pan Asian restaurant, where the most gorgeous and abundant platters of sushi came pouring forth! Maybe it was the color, but I will see those platters in my mind's eye forever more.
jb and I had our first "vacation" with Jess and Mike--traveling and gallavanting from Friday to Monday, through and over the Rockies. We four had total fun--easy going plans and pleasures, which probably surprised all of us. Mike calls us his mothers-in-laws, which is an accurate plural take on what is normally a singular distinction.
Cripple Creek was quite an experience. We stayed at the Imperial Hotel, opened in 1896, complete with a documented ghost and original oak furniture in all its glory. I should have known from the room rate of $ 60/night that it has not been upgraded since 1896. Truly--we could just as well have checked in a hundred years ago. It was dingy and past the peeling walls and lumpy bed, delightfully authentic.
jb and played the slots--to which I am squealingly addicted--it's a good thing I only go a couple of times a year--plus I stopped winning anything over a year ago and haven't found my lucky footing since. My exurburance in anticipating those jackpots that never came prevented us from joining jess and mike at the blackjack table, which also looked like a group of cowhands in 1896.
Cripple Creek has a population of 1500 people. Most of the homes are run down small victorians or arts and crafts bungalows. The partially toothless receptionist at the hotel told us with some disgust that housing prices have become out of sight, "You could buy a house for $ 3000 or $4000 but now it's $ 60,000." As I always do, I thought about what it would be like to live there--vast breathtaking land and mountains--I mean vast--and little else besides 25 or 30 little casinos and one grocery store. Folks told me the ride through the mountain to Colorado Springs is only one hour and 15 minutes--"no problem there".
jb had a half day's work in Boulder, so after the kids left for home, we drove there. Boulder is a planned community and home of the University of Colorado. It was pretty cool. I hung out at Starbucks, looked at upscale home furnishings, and as always migrated to the bookstores for the 3 hours jb worked. I made two notable purchases: I bought and read Natalie Goldberg's book on writing, Wild Mind: Living the Writer's Life, which I highly recommend; and I stumbled onto a CD by folksingerPhil Ochs. In the 60's, though I was younger than most of his fans, I loved this guy. I knew the words to all his songs and belted them out in my little bedroom with the belief that I could indeed contribute to saving the world. Forty years later, with new definations on torture and phone taps and righteous zealots and a stupid stupid president misleading the country, I wonder deeply if the idealism of the 60's dormantly lives still? Including myself, we all seem concerned but quite passive about the state of the state.
So I am going to listen to Phil Ochs again--this time in the privacy of my car--to see what's still real and true for me.
I am now back home, marveling at the depth and volume of green trees and delighted to sit at my writing desk. I love to travel, I love to come home. It works out pretty well.
jb and I had our first "vacation" with Jess and Mike--traveling and gallavanting from Friday to Monday, through and over the Rockies. We four had total fun--easy going plans and pleasures, which probably surprised all of us. Mike calls us his mothers-in-laws, which is an accurate plural take on what is normally a singular distinction.
Cripple Creek was quite an experience. We stayed at the Imperial Hotel, opened in 1896, complete with a documented ghost and original oak furniture in all its glory. I should have known from the room rate of $ 60/night that it has not been upgraded since 1896. Truly--we could just as well have checked in a hundred years ago. It was dingy and past the peeling walls and lumpy bed, delightfully authentic.
jb and played the slots--to which I am squealingly addicted--it's a good thing I only go a couple of times a year--plus I stopped winning anything over a year ago and haven't found my lucky footing since. My exurburance in anticipating those jackpots that never came prevented us from joining jess and mike at the blackjack table, which also looked like a group of cowhands in 1896.
Cripple Creek has a population of 1500 people. Most of the homes are run down small victorians or arts and crafts bungalows. The partially toothless receptionist at the hotel told us with some disgust that housing prices have become out of sight, "You could buy a house for $ 3000 or $4000 but now it's $ 60,000." As I always do, I thought about what it would be like to live there--vast breathtaking land and mountains--I mean vast--and little else besides 25 or 30 little casinos and one grocery store. Folks told me the ride through the mountain to Colorado Springs is only one hour and 15 minutes--"no problem there".
jb had a half day's work in Boulder, so after the kids left for home, we drove there. Boulder is a planned community and home of the University of Colorado. It was pretty cool. I hung out at Starbucks, looked at upscale home furnishings, and as always migrated to the bookstores for the 3 hours jb worked. I made two notable purchases: I bought and read Natalie Goldberg's book on writing, Wild Mind: Living the Writer's Life, which I highly recommend; and I stumbled onto a CD by folksingerPhil Ochs. In the 60's, though I was younger than most of his fans, I loved this guy. I knew the words to all his songs and belted them out in my little bedroom with the belief that I could indeed contribute to saving the world. Forty years later, with new definations on torture and phone taps and righteous zealots and a stupid stupid president misleading the country, I wonder deeply if the idealism of the 60's dormantly lives still? Including myself, we all seem concerned but quite passive about the state of the state.
So I am going to listen to Phil Ochs again--this time in the privacy of my car--to see what's still real and true for me.
I am now back home, marveling at the depth and volume of green trees and delighted to sit at my writing desk. I love to travel, I love to come home. It works out pretty well.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
How Can It Be?
I'm back from the Rocky Mountains and a great few days. Family. Friends. Health. Integrity. No work. The Lessons of the Five Balls are not lost on me.
Lately I've been thinking about serenity. How is it that one day is four-star, and another below horrible? It's not simply about circumstance. I can guess what a ZenMaster would say. But tonight I'm not interested in attainment. I'd rather roll in the slippery mud of confusing and endearing humanity. So here's my current thinking:
How can this be?
I am content and restless,
Fearless and concerned,
Simple and tangled—
All in the same body
In the same place
At the same time.
All at once
Reading the paper,
Surveying the yard,
Thinning the sprouts.
Working the phones and files
Each only in a small way—
No longer so much that
Survival overtakes
The little creative voice
That patiently whispers,
“It’s time, friend”
How can it be
That I don’t know about “good stress”—
The kind that overtakes
Even when it’s just about choosing a vacation
Or wall colors for a weary kitchen?
How could I live this many years
And believe the path lessens
When all is well?
How could I not know
That the jagged corners
Of life and love and lucky charms
Never settle altogether.
My life is one of those little glass snow balls,
I shake it and the tiny speck flakes
Flutter and fall upon the little figurine
That is me.
I really thought I would feel calm
When all else is calm.
And yet I wake some mornings
With the clueless questions
Of a sheltered person.
I look to a fine day and
Prepare for something less,
Just in case, afterall.
My self—hardly sheltered!
My life—all I could ever ask for or expect!
So how can it be
That I am still my petty and lost self
On too many days?
Searching—where?—for exactly what?
How can it be that I snap at Janet
For asking me to turn the volume down
And I stop writing for three days
Because the agent didn’t offer one kind word.
How can I let a 3 day weekend
Slip through my grateful fingers
While I bitch about the smallest detail
and inwardly brood about something
I don’t even recognize?
Is this the human composition?
Is there a DNA connection
That keeps me slightly off course
For some of the time?
I know about embracing the journey
And I’m not tangled by rushing the destination,
But I’m a ball of emotion
Leaning here, moving there
Wanting the core of me
To set the course
And calm the nerves.
Some days
I can tell you what to do
As surely as I guide myself
Along the certain wall
Of possibility and passion.
Then again, it has taken me all these years
To face the confusion
That comes from not knowing,
Really not knowing from one moment
To the next what I will do
Or not do.
I am wild in my innocence,
Accepting in varying degrees
That it’s up to me to show up.
After that, I can only guess.
Lately I've been thinking about serenity. How is it that one day is four-star, and another below horrible? It's not simply about circumstance. I can guess what a ZenMaster would say. But tonight I'm not interested in attainment. I'd rather roll in the slippery mud of confusing and endearing humanity. So here's my current thinking:
How can this be?
I am content and restless,
Fearless and concerned,
Simple and tangled—
All in the same body
In the same place
At the same time.
All at once
Reading the paper,
Surveying the yard,
Thinning the sprouts.
Working the phones and files
Each only in a small way—
No longer so much that
Survival overtakes
The little creative voice
That patiently whispers,
“It’s time, friend”
How can it be
That I don’t know about “good stress”—
The kind that overtakes
Even when it’s just about choosing a vacation
Or wall colors for a weary kitchen?
How could I live this many years
And believe the path lessens
When all is well?
How could I not know
That the jagged corners
Of life and love and lucky charms
Never settle altogether.
My life is one of those little glass snow balls,
I shake it and the tiny speck flakes
Flutter and fall upon the little figurine
That is me.
I really thought I would feel calm
When all else is calm.
And yet I wake some mornings
With the clueless questions
Of a sheltered person.
I look to a fine day and
Prepare for something less,
Just in case, afterall.
My self—hardly sheltered!
My life—all I could ever ask for or expect!
So how can it be
That I am still my petty and lost self
On too many days?
Searching—where?—for exactly what?
How can it be that I snap at Janet
For asking me to turn the volume down
And I stop writing for three days
Because the agent didn’t offer one kind word.
How can I let a 3 day weekend
Slip through my grateful fingers
While I bitch about the smallest detail
and inwardly brood about something
I don’t even recognize?
Is this the human composition?
Is there a DNA connection
That keeps me slightly off course
For some of the time?
I know about embracing the journey
And I’m not tangled by rushing the destination,
But I’m a ball of emotion
Leaning here, moving there
Wanting the core of me
To set the course
And calm the nerves.
Some days
I can tell you what to do
As surely as I guide myself
Along the certain wall
Of possibility and passion.
Then again, it has taken me all these years
To face the confusion
That comes from not knowing,
Really not knowing from one moment
To the next what I will do
Or not do.
I am wild in my innocence,
Accepting in varying degrees
That it’s up to me to show up.
After that, I can only guess.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Westward Bound
Time to head off to Colorado with my family to visit family. Our one-of-a-kind niece Hannah graduates from college on Saturday, and then we'll drive through the Rockies to Cripple Creek, where we'll play the slot machines in this once thriving, then ghostown of a gold mining town, and now again thriving community built around all these little casinos with their original wild west storefronts.
I like it out west--not as much as I like the ocean, but it brings out an Americana spirit in me.
Now that I'm better, I can say I've had a tough week. The book agent was pretty harsh with my book proposal. I'm not a wimp about criticism, but I do better with an occasional good word thrown into the mix. She had some clear and helpful suggestions, and it's not unusual to expect several re-writes before sending the proposal to publishers, but when I asked her what about the book she liked, all she could say is, "It's a publishable topic". Almost 70 pages of summaries and samples, and not one positive word or observation. After all the work, and some growing confidence in my ability to write something meaningful, I was surprised, then pissed, that she didn't speak to the "seedling" that I am.
I've thought about sending a query elsewhere--some folks are just not compatible and it's no-one's fault--but the delay in starting fresh is discouraging. Plus for some reason it seems important to stick this out, at least now. I took a few days, asked a few friends for advice, and today called ps the book agent. She knew I was upset and she spent some time telling me that her approach with me is "not personal....the book industry is all about rejection...the point is to get your book ready for an editor to like it... there will be time ahead when I give more compliments than criticism, but you still have alot of work to do first..."
This is a tricky tightrope: she knows what sells far better than I but I don't want to sell something that is not who I am or what I care about. So I need to keep my voice in all of this, even as I integrate her suggestions and comments.
I am going to revise the proposal and send it along again. The good news is that I am clearly motivated. I don't think I'll lose steam, which could so easily happen. I love writing. I want to be a writer. I want to walk into Barnes and Noble and say, "Hot damn--there's my book". (I hope this doesn't sound as pompous or self absorbed as it might...)
So I'm pushing forward and hoping for the best again. Here's hoping the hard knox will help me stretch and grow. And, if I find that I need to find another agent, or approach publishers myself, I trust that I will do just that. I'm going for it.
I like it out west--not as much as I like the ocean, but it brings out an Americana spirit in me.
Now that I'm better, I can say I've had a tough week. The book agent was pretty harsh with my book proposal. I'm not a wimp about criticism, but I do better with an occasional good word thrown into the mix. She had some clear and helpful suggestions, and it's not unusual to expect several re-writes before sending the proposal to publishers, but when I asked her what about the book she liked, all she could say is, "It's a publishable topic". Almost 70 pages of summaries and samples, and not one positive word or observation. After all the work, and some growing confidence in my ability to write something meaningful, I was surprised, then pissed, that she didn't speak to the "seedling" that I am.
I've thought about sending a query elsewhere--some folks are just not compatible and it's no-one's fault--but the delay in starting fresh is discouraging. Plus for some reason it seems important to stick this out, at least now. I took a few days, asked a few friends for advice, and today called ps the book agent. She knew I was upset and she spent some time telling me that her approach with me is "not personal....the book industry is all about rejection...the point is to get your book ready for an editor to like it... there will be time ahead when I give more compliments than criticism, but you still have alot of work to do first..."
This is a tricky tightrope: she knows what sells far better than I but I don't want to sell something that is not who I am or what I care about. So I need to keep my voice in all of this, even as I integrate her suggestions and comments.
I am going to revise the proposal and send it along again. The good news is that I am clearly motivated. I don't think I'll lose steam, which could so easily happen. I love writing. I want to be a writer. I want to walk into Barnes and Noble and say, "Hot damn--there's my book". (I hope this doesn't sound as pompous or self absorbed as it might...)
So I'm pushing forward and hoping for the best again. Here's hoping the hard knox will help me stretch and grow. And, if I find that I need to find another agent, or approach publishers myself, I trust that I will do just that. I'm going for it.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
A Love Letter to Jessica
For those who may not know, I have been fortunate to be a part of Nerissa Nield's writing groups. On the very day I was writing this poem to my very very favorite (and only) daughter Jessica, Nerissa was giving birth to a daughter of her own. So here's to the fathomless blessings of daughters:
For Jessica
Take both eyes, both hands,
My legs and arms,
Even take the precious German clock
And every special book.
Take my bank account,
All twenty photo albums,
My garden in August
And the miraculous April rain.
Take it all if you can promise.
I knew in the instant this would be so.
I’m in to any burning house,
On to a frigid raft at sea,
I’m ripping the mangled steel with my bare hands.
Anything, anything for this girl.
The edgeless corners of the truest love
And the endless reserve of cavernous protection
Surround this child who lives within and without,
This fantabulous kid with the crack up wit
And the tender expansive heart.
Take it all, whether you are a son-of-a-bitch
Or an evolving angel,
Whether the cost is temporary or forever,
Take it all, and then shelter this child
Through every molecular motion and moment.
She sits at a desk in Anyville
And she finds little bargains at the malls.
She eats salads at Bugaboo Creek and
On Sundays brings Sprite to her grandmother.
She is an anchor in an unsteady world.
She is hybrid fuel to those who love her.
She is a reason to push
And the forever foremost answer
To everything that could ever matter
Given the chance to love like this,
The price of my sightless limbless body
And wiped clean barren possessions
Amounts to nothing more than shiny pennies and
And effortless will.
That’s all. That’s everything.
For Jessica
Take both eyes, both hands,
My legs and arms,
Even take the precious German clock
And every special book.
Take my bank account,
All twenty photo albums,
My garden in August
And the miraculous April rain.
Take it all if you can promise.
I knew in the instant this would be so.
I’m in to any burning house,
On to a frigid raft at sea,
I’m ripping the mangled steel with my bare hands.
Anything, anything for this girl.
The edgeless corners of the truest love
And the endless reserve of cavernous protection
Surround this child who lives within and without,
This fantabulous kid with the crack up wit
And the tender expansive heart.
Take it all, whether you are a son-of-a-bitch
Or an evolving angel,
Whether the cost is temporary or forever,
Take it all, and then shelter this child
Through every molecular motion and moment.
She sits at a desk in Anyville
And she finds little bargains at the malls.
She eats salads at Bugaboo Creek and
On Sundays brings Sprite to her grandmother.
She is an anchor in an unsteady world.
She is hybrid fuel to those who love her.
She is a reason to push
And the forever foremost answer
To everything that could ever matter
Given the chance to love like this,
The price of my sightless limbless body
And wiped clean barren possessions
Amounts to nothing more than shiny pennies and
And effortless will.
That’s all. That’s everything.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Your Jittery Mind and Your Hopeful Heart
It must be about time that I took multiple gulps and put forth some of the material from "the book", currently titled Good Work! I mailed the book proposal to "the agent" this week. Two days later I expanded and read this "chapter" aloud in Nerissa's writing group. And now I am putting it on this blog. More and more I am sticking my neck out to be a "public" writer. I am doing this because writing passionately matters to me and I will not be snuffed out by fear. Which is the point of the chapter.
I look at it and my first thought is, "Way too long to read". My second thought is, "Probably pretty boring". It's not until I have identified a half dozen big and small reasons to step backwards that the voice of the heart says, "Maybe it will be helpful to someone..."
So here it is: Chapter 6: Your Jittery Mind and Your Hopeful Heart
Your heart pounds Your hands clench. Your jaw is locked shut.
Your head spins and your balance sways. Your legs buckle like
a wet banana, or worse. You are in full panic mode.
Scene 1: Are you facing a predator in a dark alley? Or an intruder at
the foot of your bed? Is a moving vehicle coming at you at 70 miles
an hour? Are you on the receiving end of a phone call that includes
the words “cancer” and “inoperable”? Or,
Scene 2: Are you preparing for that job interview? Or being introduced
to a blind date? Are you fighting rush hour traffic? Or presenting a
marketing plan to your boss?
These two scenes are night-and-day different. Can you tell?
I am intrigued by the ghosts in the closet. Psychological fear is not the same as actual danger, but it will feel that way unless you understand how fear works and how your mind reacts to it.
I hold myself personally accountable to explain this phenomenon with words that comfort, in a manner that helps and heals, from a second story balcony that exposes foolish fear for all that it is and all that it isn’t.
I know about fear as well any anyone. Its effects are particularly challenging for an optimist, which I am, and particularly restrictive for a pinpoint observer, which I also am. I can see the wild canvas of bad decisions I have made when I was afraid, as well the easier path when I venture forth with quiet trust.
So here’s something I know about fear.
First of all, it comes from the most rational of places: the mind. It’s true that your mind’s response to fear can protect you from grave harm, but it can also close you down and freeze
you shut.
Preparing for crises and creating contingency plans is useful in the concrete world of flying airplanes and repairing heart valves. But in your day-to-day life, the more you try to control events and bolster your protection against real or perceived hurts, the more fear begins to dominate how you live and what you decide. Your biological ancestors had to worry in the most basic of ways about surviving another day, another year, but when you do that, one minute after another, one day, one month after another, you step right out of the present moment.
back to the past or into the future.
The problem with moving backward or forward is that neither place is where you breathe, see, hear, smell, talk, feel, touch, or live. You exist only in this moment. It’s a tricky concept—harder even to do than understand—but this moment is really, truly all there is. If you and I were to die five minutes from now, in this room where we write and stretch, here we would be—
decent folks still stretching in this magical room.
Here’s what else I know.
Since the very beginning of time, the human mind has been hardwired to warn of impending danger. The warning comes through screeching physical alarms: rapid heartbeat, profound sweating, imaginable lightheadedness, increased adrenaline, sometimes even unnatural strength and courage.
What has changed since the very beginning of time is that most often in the 21st century, real life “dangers” are mostly psychological, not physical: the unexpected layoff, the broken heart, the fear of the dark--but get this!--your mind doesn’t know the difference. In the world of DNA hardwiring, danger is danger, and unless you understand that the difference between psychological fear and true threat, you will probably react to any of these symptoms as if you are in a fight for your life. Except you aren’t, because a blind date or a new job interview is not in the same class as facing a frothing hostile tiger or feeling a knife at your throat.
So unless you actively intervene, here’s what happens as you prepare for that blind date or job interview: your reved-up mind kicks into high gear, preparing, planning, and anticipating every step you take and every step you even think about taking. In high alert, it triggers what’s commonly called the ‘fight or flight’ response--You mobilize in an instant and you either tightly stand and defend yourself, or run like hell.
The good news is that in dire terrifying circumstances, you will try every means possible to shield yourself from harm—sometimes even through supernatural strength or courage that you didn’t know you had. But the bad news is that your mind’s focus on safety, facts, and guarantees can overreact to normal events and that can limit your possibilities and smother your movement. When it comes to the decisions of life, the very thought of moving to a new location or readying for a job interview can send you into full alert mode. From your mind’s perspective, the unknown is the enemy.
Here’s something else I know.
You’ve got to find a way to convince your mind that things are ok. This is a problem because your mind can’t hear you very well when it’s searching so quickly for facts and solutions. You experience this as racing—a mind that never stops. When the facts aren’t clear, it resists taking any steps or making making any decisions without them. It is the nature of the conscious rational mind to doubt. The problem here is that you never decide with absolute certainty when you decide with your head, because there are always at least two sides to every argument.
There are only two ways you are going to be able to overcome the strict rationality and overprotection of your mind: you either need to quiet it (meditation? physical exercise? Prayer?) or re-assure it (“It’s ok, mind, we’re going to try something new, but I promise I will check with you before making a final decision”).
If you have any doubts about any of this, Dr. Herbert Benson of the Mind and Body Institute in Boston has empirically proven that reason works better when emotions are present—you see sharper and more accurately when your emotions are engaged. The truth is you really can’t see an object or a situation clearly unless you have some emotional involvement with it.This probably contradicts what you’ve been taught since childhood, which is that reason and logic are far more trustworthy than faith or emotion or intuition.
This brings me to your Hopeful heart.
Don Juan asks,
"Does this path have heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn’t,
it is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other
doesn’t. One makes for a joyful journey: as long as you follow it, you are
one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong;
the other weakens you." --Don Juan, as written by Carlos Castenada
Your mind wants facts and assurances. Your heart wants passion and purpose. Your mind looks at information and possibilities along a straight line. Your heart swirls and soars and glides, unencumbered in a cloudless sky.
Fear has its place, but when you let it replace the wisdom of your heart, you lose your way. The trick is to be able to bypass your mind, which worries about everything, long enough to allow the voice of your heart—your feelings, your emotions, your faith, and your intuition—to at least, at length, be heard.
Your mind asks the hard questions, for which there are no true advance answers. No liife is linear. Your mind thinks things through, objectively weighing options, measuring, calculating, estimating, anticipating.
Your heart on the other hand asks tender questions, considers feelings and relationships. Your heart asks what feels right.
Here’s a final thing I know.
Making the “right” decision is actually impossible —you can’t know with certainty that you have the information you need no matter when or what you decide. There is no one decision you will ever make in your lifetime that comes with an advance guarantee. Once you accept this fact, you can approach the decisions you make from a place that includes and soothes your jittery mind but also refuses to diminish and disregard your hopeful heart. You can proceed knowing you did your best at the time, allowing your mind and heart room to breathe. It usually takes both of them to get it right.
I look at it and my first thought is, "Way too long to read". My second thought is, "Probably pretty boring". It's not until I have identified a half dozen big and small reasons to step backwards that the voice of the heart says, "Maybe it will be helpful to someone..."
So here it is: Chapter 6: Your Jittery Mind and Your Hopeful Heart
Your heart pounds Your hands clench. Your jaw is locked shut.
Your head spins and your balance sways. Your legs buckle like
a wet banana, or worse. You are in full panic mode.
Scene 1: Are you facing a predator in a dark alley? Or an intruder at
the foot of your bed? Is a moving vehicle coming at you at 70 miles
an hour? Are you on the receiving end of a phone call that includes
the words “cancer” and “inoperable”? Or,
Scene 2: Are you preparing for that job interview? Or being introduced
to a blind date? Are you fighting rush hour traffic? Or presenting a
marketing plan to your boss?
These two scenes are night-and-day different. Can you tell?
I am intrigued by the ghosts in the closet. Psychological fear is not the same as actual danger, but it will feel that way unless you understand how fear works and how your mind reacts to it.
I hold myself personally accountable to explain this phenomenon with words that comfort, in a manner that helps and heals, from a second story balcony that exposes foolish fear for all that it is and all that it isn’t.
I know about fear as well any anyone. Its effects are particularly challenging for an optimist, which I am, and particularly restrictive for a pinpoint observer, which I also am. I can see the wild canvas of bad decisions I have made when I was afraid, as well the easier path when I venture forth with quiet trust.
So here’s something I know about fear.
First of all, it comes from the most rational of places: the mind. It’s true that your mind’s response to fear can protect you from grave harm, but it can also close you down and freeze
you shut.
Preparing for crises and creating contingency plans is useful in the concrete world of flying airplanes and repairing heart valves. But in your day-to-day life, the more you try to control events and bolster your protection against real or perceived hurts, the more fear begins to dominate how you live and what you decide. Your biological ancestors had to worry in the most basic of ways about surviving another day, another year, but when you do that, one minute after another, one day, one month after another, you step right out of the present moment.
back to the past or into the future.
The problem with moving backward or forward is that neither place is where you breathe, see, hear, smell, talk, feel, touch, or live. You exist only in this moment. It’s a tricky concept—harder even to do than understand—but this moment is really, truly all there is. If you and I were to die five minutes from now, in this room where we write and stretch, here we would be—
decent folks still stretching in this magical room.
Here’s what else I know.
Since the very beginning of time, the human mind has been hardwired to warn of impending danger. The warning comes through screeching physical alarms: rapid heartbeat, profound sweating, imaginable lightheadedness, increased adrenaline, sometimes even unnatural strength and courage.
What has changed since the very beginning of time is that most often in the 21st century, real life “dangers” are mostly psychological, not physical: the unexpected layoff, the broken heart, the fear of the dark--but get this!--your mind doesn’t know the difference. In the world of DNA hardwiring, danger is danger, and unless you understand that the difference between psychological fear and true threat, you will probably react to any of these symptoms as if you are in a fight for your life. Except you aren’t, because a blind date or a new job interview is not in the same class as facing a frothing hostile tiger or feeling a knife at your throat.
So unless you actively intervene, here’s what happens as you prepare for that blind date or job interview: your reved-up mind kicks into high gear, preparing, planning, and anticipating every step you take and every step you even think about taking. In high alert, it triggers what’s commonly called the ‘fight or flight’ response--You mobilize in an instant and you either tightly stand and defend yourself, or run like hell.
The good news is that in dire terrifying circumstances, you will try every means possible to shield yourself from harm—sometimes even through supernatural strength or courage that you didn’t know you had. But the bad news is that your mind’s focus on safety, facts, and guarantees can overreact to normal events and that can limit your possibilities and smother your movement. When it comes to the decisions of life, the very thought of moving to a new location or readying for a job interview can send you into full alert mode. From your mind’s perspective, the unknown is the enemy.
Here’s something else I know.
You’ve got to find a way to convince your mind that things are ok. This is a problem because your mind can’t hear you very well when it’s searching so quickly for facts and solutions. You experience this as racing—a mind that never stops. When the facts aren’t clear, it resists taking any steps or making making any decisions without them. It is the nature of the conscious rational mind to doubt. The problem here is that you never decide with absolute certainty when you decide with your head, because there are always at least two sides to every argument.
There are only two ways you are going to be able to overcome the strict rationality and overprotection of your mind: you either need to quiet it (meditation? physical exercise? Prayer?) or re-assure it (“It’s ok, mind, we’re going to try something new, but I promise I will check with you before making a final decision”).
If you have any doubts about any of this, Dr. Herbert Benson of the Mind and Body Institute in Boston has empirically proven that reason works better when emotions are present—you see sharper and more accurately when your emotions are engaged. The truth is you really can’t see an object or a situation clearly unless you have some emotional involvement with it.This probably contradicts what you’ve been taught since childhood, which is that reason and logic are far more trustworthy than faith or emotion or intuition.
This brings me to your Hopeful heart.
Don Juan asks,
"Does this path have heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn’t,
it is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other
doesn’t. One makes for a joyful journey: as long as you follow it, you are
one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong;
the other weakens you." --Don Juan, as written by Carlos Castenada
Your mind wants facts and assurances. Your heart wants passion and purpose. Your mind looks at information and possibilities along a straight line. Your heart swirls and soars and glides, unencumbered in a cloudless sky.
Fear has its place, but when you let it replace the wisdom of your heart, you lose your way. The trick is to be able to bypass your mind, which worries about everything, long enough to allow the voice of your heart—your feelings, your emotions, your faith, and your intuition—to at least, at length, be heard.
Your mind asks the hard questions, for which there are no true advance answers. No liife is linear. Your mind thinks things through, objectively weighing options, measuring, calculating, estimating, anticipating.
Your heart on the other hand asks tender questions, considers feelings and relationships. Your heart asks what feels right.
Here’s a final thing I know.
Making the “right” decision is actually impossible —you can’t know with certainty that you have the information you need no matter when or what you decide. There is no one decision you will ever make in your lifetime that comes with an advance guarantee. Once you accept this fact, you can approach the decisions you make from a place that includes and soothes your jittery mind but also refuses to diminish and disregard your hopeful heart. You can proceed knowing you did your best at the time, allowing your mind and heart room to breathe. It usually takes both of them to get it right.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Thought for the Day
Don't ask yourself what the world needs;
Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and then go and do that.
Because what the world needs is people who come alive.
Harold Whitman
Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and then go and do that.
Because what the world needs is people who come alive.
Harold Whitman
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Happiness
Although I've recently "allowed" my writing to become more public, I haven't included any of the work I've chisled and loved for the past three years. I've been studying happiness: who is, who isn't, what helps, what doesn't. There is a growing body of research and literature about these essential age old questions. For me, this will be a book someday, but for now, it seems like a good thing to share some of what I know.
So here is my take on the factors that make happiness possible. I've covered many of them in happiness workshops I've presented, and one of these 12 principles stands out as the absolute hardest to do and the absolute most helpful to achieve. Can you guess which one?
1.Keep It Simple (Unclutter Your Mind, Your Memories, and Your Closets)
2. Stay Present (Correct the Past, Plan the Future--but Be Where You Are)
3. Commit (Find a Purpose and Live it)
4. Give Yourself a Break (Don't Turn on Yourself)
5. Keep Conflict to a Minimum (Walk Away)
6. Laugh & Cry
7. Do Good Work (It’s Not What You Do, but How you Do It)
8. Bend (Choose Happy Over Right)
9. Notice
10. Speak True (Words Matter)
11. Create (Creativity is not Optional)
12. Connect
So here is my take on the factors that make happiness possible. I've covered many of them in happiness workshops I've presented, and one of these 12 principles stands out as the absolute hardest to do and the absolute most helpful to achieve. Can you guess which one?
1.Keep It Simple (Unclutter Your Mind, Your Memories, and Your Closets)
2. Stay Present (Correct the Past, Plan the Future--but Be Where You Are)
3. Commit (Find a Purpose and Live it)
4. Give Yourself a Break (Don't Turn on Yourself)
5. Keep Conflict to a Minimum (Walk Away)
6. Laugh & Cry
7. Do Good Work (It’s Not What You Do, but How you Do It)
8. Bend (Choose Happy Over Right)
9. Notice
10. Speak True (Words Matter)
11. Create (Creativity is not Optional)
12. Connect
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Lost and Found
She wakes this morning with one foot at peace
And the other rumbling, tumbling
Concerned for something quite unknown.
It is springtime today. There are fast moving finches
Turning their curious beaks up at the tall birdhouse
That stands between the patio and kitchen window.
What happened that night it and the chirps inside
Fell to the ground, only a scattered feather or two
Telling a vague and troubled story?
She is still for the stillest moment—
The stillness of the kettle just before it steams--
Wondering how anything could be amiss on this promising day.
Still rumbling, tumbling—curious how she could today
Feel unsettled, sometimes lost, sometimes found,
Either way with empty pockets and partial gratitude.
She looks at this grateful dog
And in her mind reviews
Every real reason this is a good good day.
There will be time to plant the peas
And plan the garden.
There will be no work today, no chores to speak of.
No sickness, no broken promises, no unexpected loss.
No late payments, no betrayals,
Not even an empty gas tank.
Today is a good day.
She asks ever so slightly,
a moment before the commitment is made:
How she can be so wise, and so lucky, so alive,
And so aware
And too, so paperthin?
She rises from the night,
Feeds the dog, makes the coffee,
Answers the phone, picks up the mail,
Calls the dentist, waters the plants,
Readies the peas:
Every act born of
cautious hope for a good good day.
And the other rumbling, tumbling
Concerned for something quite unknown.
It is springtime today. There are fast moving finches
Turning their curious beaks up at the tall birdhouse
That stands between the patio and kitchen window.
What happened that night it and the chirps inside
Fell to the ground, only a scattered feather or two
Telling a vague and troubled story?
She is still for the stillest moment—
The stillness of the kettle just before it steams--
Wondering how anything could be amiss on this promising day.
Still rumbling, tumbling—curious how she could today
Feel unsettled, sometimes lost, sometimes found,
Either way with empty pockets and partial gratitude.
She looks at this grateful dog
And in her mind reviews
Every real reason this is a good good day.
There will be time to plant the peas
And plan the garden.
There will be no work today, no chores to speak of.
No sickness, no broken promises, no unexpected loss.
No late payments, no betrayals,
Not even an empty gas tank.
Today is a good day.
She asks ever so slightly,
a moment before the commitment is made:
How she can be so wise, and so lucky, so alive,
And so aware
And too, so paperthin?
She rises from the night,
Feeds the dog, makes the coffee,
Answers the phone, picks up the mail,
Calls the dentist, waters the plants,
Readies the peas:
Every act born of
cautious hope for a good good day.
Monday, April 17, 2006
rightly untitled
la la girl and mr. twirl
took a trip around the world.
what they did i cannot tell
but la la girl went straight to hell.
they told this story traveling through
when one of them lived in a shoe
i've often wondered how it went
that la la girl did spend a cent
on greeting cards and dafodils
while mr. twirl spared every frill
i 've always liked her more it's true
so mr twirl, here's boo to you.
took a trip around the world.
what they did i cannot tell
but la la girl went straight to hell.
they told this story traveling through
when one of them lived in a shoe
i've often wondered how it went
that la la girl did spend a cent
on greeting cards and dafodils
while mr. twirl spared every frill
i 've always liked her more it's true
so mr twirl, here's boo to you.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
for the record.....
For the record, here's how I'm spending my time.
1. I suddenly have too many clients, all of whom need time and support. Since I'm self employed, this is good, except it's not good that I have worked all all day today...and tomorrow....and..
2. Does it get any better than this?--I am finishing up my book proposal on Good Work! and this includes some simple but very cool graphic design work I finally purchased. ( actually, i finally admitted I do not have the skills to do it myself, only the intent) One of the "tools" in the book is called the "good work circle" and it now looks colorfully fantastic. When the proposal reaches the agent, either she will like it or I will be back to revision-land. Either way, I'm moving where I want to be.
3. jb and I used our unexpected tax refund to buy a hottub, which as of last friday sits in the back yard with this illuminating robin-blue water light. this is a luxury beyond our comprehension. we are hottubbing at midnight and sleeping like angels, except this morning jb had misquito-sized rashes all over her body. seems we misjudged how to get the water ready....we may be land-bound for the next few days.
4. our new dog Stella is a doll. This dog was abused and abandoned and came to us with soulful cautious eyes. Every day she trusts us alittle more and I am completely in love with her. At 3 or 4 years old, a cross between a german shepard and coon, she has a damaged spine but she jumps and plays and now gives occasional kisses. As always, it is good to love yet again. How nice to be reminded of that!
5. Despite a total ground cover of SNOW this morning, I have pansies and a few perrenials waiting for my attention and for the first time ever I've hired someone to dig up a garden space for me. This will be my first season in our new house and new move to Northampton and I am estastic. The garden will be a half circle, which for some reason excites me even more.
6. tonight is American Idol and Lost--the only two shows I watch regularly. Except that we bought the whole 6 years of Sex & the City and are gleefully watching a few episodes at a time.
7. Ok, I am (probably) (hopefully) ready to lose all this weight. I have enough problems without slugging through space any longer.
8. what else today? I'll leave out the complaints. Noone complains better than I do. I am a very polished complainer, but this afternoon I'm going to behave. Universe: thank you today. I'm glad I am upright and I love the hottub....
Sincerely,
1. I suddenly have too many clients, all of whom need time and support. Since I'm self employed, this is good, except it's not good that I have worked all all day today...and tomorrow....and..
2. Does it get any better than this?--I am finishing up my book proposal on Good Work! and this includes some simple but very cool graphic design work I finally purchased. ( actually, i finally admitted I do not have the skills to do it myself, only the intent) One of the "tools" in the book is called the "good work circle" and it now looks colorfully fantastic. When the proposal reaches the agent, either she will like it or I will be back to revision-land. Either way, I'm moving where I want to be.
3. jb and I used our unexpected tax refund to buy a hottub, which as of last friday sits in the back yard with this illuminating robin-blue water light. this is a luxury beyond our comprehension. we are hottubbing at midnight and sleeping like angels, except this morning jb had misquito-sized rashes all over her body. seems we misjudged how to get the water ready....we may be land-bound for the next few days.
4. our new dog Stella is a doll. This dog was abused and abandoned and came to us with soulful cautious eyes. Every day she trusts us alittle more and I am completely in love with her. At 3 or 4 years old, a cross between a german shepard and coon, she has a damaged spine but she jumps and plays and now gives occasional kisses. As always, it is good to love yet again. How nice to be reminded of that!
5. Despite a total ground cover of SNOW this morning, I have pansies and a few perrenials waiting for my attention and for the first time ever I've hired someone to dig up a garden space for me. This will be my first season in our new house and new move to Northampton and I am estastic. The garden will be a half circle, which for some reason excites me even more.
6. tonight is American Idol and Lost--the only two shows I watch regularly. Except that we bought the whole 6 years of Sex & the City and are gleefully watching a few episodes at a time.
7. Ok, I am (probably) (hopefully) ready to lose all this weight. I have enough problems without slugging through space any longer.
8. what else today? I'll leave out the complaints. Noone complains better than I do. I am a very polished complainer, but this afternoon I'm going to behave. Universe: thank you today. I'm glad I am upright and I love the hottub....
Sincerely,
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