I have been on the South Beach Diet for the past week. I know that sounds cheesy (and it actually is. I can stuff myself with feta and mozz, at least), but hey, it is also working. I have lost about 5 lbs. according to the pants-tightness index. I refuse to weigh myself as that seems too obsessive. I figure if the pants that once fit me in the past fit again, that's good enough. But the most remarkable result - the result I was really going for when I started this- is that I've become pretty indifferent to sugar and carbs. I was working up a pretty severe sugar addiction. I had desert breakfast, lunch and dinner. But no more, thanks to the Good Doctor of South Beach. And I have tons more energy.
Lest you think this is a covert advert for South Beach, let me move on to the real premise of this post: We All Need Treats. My dogs are primarily motivated by treats. When Charming, my older Border Collie, lies stolidly in the backyard refusing to come in and I need to leave for class (or to shop for South Beach-appropriate foods), all I have to do is ask him "Are you hungry? Do you want a treat?" and he's in like a flash. I give him a bit of chicken and he's ecstatic. Astro, my young BC, is also compelled by chicken, but also by toy as treat, walk as treat, car ride as treat. Even petting as treat still makes the grade.
And for me, it doesn't always have to be a food treat. Lots of treats I give myself are even better than a Dagoba 60% Xocolatl bar (for my money, the best chocolate bar in the world). These include: trips to local college art museums, going to readings by authors I like or love or don't know at all, having a bathe with lots of lavender, walking in beautiful places, cracking open a new book from the library, having a cup of my favorite tea (a nice Pu-erh currently, but sometimes a jasmine or a really redolent Earl Grey). I could go on and on. One of my students tells me I'm the Queen of Treats. And I think she's right. I think there should be a playing card made over in my image. I like to give myself one treat a day, at least. Why not? It greatly contributes to my happiness, and I bet it will contribute to yours. So, for the rest of the week, give yourself a treat a day. Make sure the treats aren't only food treats, but a few are OK, especially fresh strawberries. Then write or draw your treats. Don't forget, now. EVERY DAY! A treat a day will make you a better, finer, happier person, after only a week. It's even better than the South Beach Diet. I guarantee it.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Peeling Potatoes
Every day is different, but then again...every day you need to perform certain tasks. Brushing your teeth, feeding and walking your dogs, if you have a horse you have to clean the stall. Every day the same thing. In our house, I have to add to the list of neverending chores the peeling of potatoes. Mom likes potatoes every day, either mashed or fried or baked. Some type of potato must accompany every major meal. I like potatoes, they're all right. So I go along with the neverending potato peeling. Sometimes I just space out while I peel them. Sometimes I daydream about things like my future writing studio. What furniture I will have, what kind of window treatments. That's fun. Sometimes I write in my head, which is very productive. One thing I have noticed that I never do is worry or fret. Peeling potatoes for me is like some kind of meditation, unlike other mindless activities. I find myself transported, in a good way, into my head. Maybe it's because of the tactile quality of peeling potatoes. The rough skin, the cool crisp interior of the potato. Its translucent whiteness. The sound of the potato pieces plopping into the water is soothing, too. I highly recommend peeling potatoes as a meditative activity. So, go peel some potatoes (I'm not kidding). Get yourself into a potato trance, then write it, draw it. Describe the potato itself, you standing at the kitchen sink, and then where your mind goes. It should be an interesting experiment. And then you can make garlic mashed potatoes for your dinner.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Resurrection
I remember Easter when I was a kid. Smelly lilies almost overwhelming me in church, long processions, the empty tomb recreated with, I don't know, wire and paper mache. After the doom and gloom of Good Friday and the Stations of the Cross -which I rather liked, but was tiring- Easter was a relief. I remember also the laden table: kielbasa, the huge ham, the festive pastel eggs that I'd colored the day before, all laid out on a sparkling white tablecloth for the priest to bless with his holy water microphone (that's what it looked like). My mom running anxiously to the picture window every minute to see whether the priest's big black Lincoln had pulled in the driveway.
The priest no longer comes to bless the food. I guess we are now trusted to bless it with our own love and presence. Some things are the same, though. We sit down at the table at noon on the dot, rush through our Easter meal, and are done by 12:30. My mother, my aunts, my cousins eating pretty sparsely of all the abundance. This year we drank a nice Prosecco with our meal, though (my influence, I'm afraid. I've had enough Martini & Rossi at holidays to last a lifetime). Then the dishes were done, and everyone left, and I packed up to head to Sparky's. He's sick with flu, first time in twenty years he says, so I brought ham and green beans and sweet potatoes for yet another Easter feast. When I arrived in the hilltowns, still burdened with three feet of snow on the ground, I unloaded the dogs and took them for a pee on the side of the house, where I saw something odd. A porcupine tail, disembodied and lying atop the snow, ripped right off the porcupine. I called the dogs off, not wanting to spend the evening pulling quills or spending millions of dollars for an emergency visit to the vet. Once the dogs were safely stashed in the house, I went out to deal with the tail. Which was beautiful, really, a four inch chunk of black fur covered with shining white quills. And I wondered. Worms can grow themselves back after being chopped in half, salamanders can grow tails after the originals had been lost. What about porcupines? Was there somewhere a porcupine lumbering through the sparkling woods, tailless but unphased, growing a new one, resurrecting a part of itself as it went?
I feel this Spring that part of me has been resurrected in the dark winter nights, the loving, feeling part, slowly growing back after having been chopped at. It is rising with the embryonic crocuses and daffodils under the snow.
So today, write/draw your own Resurrection, actual or representational. I drew the porcupine tail, for instance. What's your porcupine tail, your empty tomb, your crocuses rising from the snow?
The priest no longer comes to bless the food. I guess we are now trusted to bless it with our own love and presence. Some things are the same, though. We sit down at the table at noon on the dot, rush through our Easter meal, and are done by 12:30. My mother, my aunts, my cousins eating pretty sparsely of all the abundance. This year we drank a nice Prosecco with our meal, though (my influence, I'm afraid. I've had enough Martini & Rossi at holidays to last a lifetime). Then the dishes were done, and everyone left, and I packed up to head to Sparky's. He's sick with flu, first time in twenty years he says, so I brought ham and green beans and sweet potatoes for yet another Easter feast. When I arrived in the hilltowns, still burdened with three feet of snow on the ground, I unloaded the dogs and took them for a pee on the side of the house, where I saw something odd. A porcupine tail, disembodied and lying atop the snow, ripped right off the porcupine. I called the dogs off, not wanting to spend the evening pulling quills or spending millions of dollars for an emergency visit to the vet. Once the dogs were safely stashed in the house, I went out to deal with the tail. Which was beautiful, really, a four inch chunk of black fur covered with shining white quills. And I wondered. Worms can grow themselves back after being chopped in half, salamanders can grow tails after the originals had been lost. What about porcupines? Was there somewhere a porcupine lumbering through the sparkling woods, tailless but unphased, growing a new one, resurrecting a part of itself as it went?
I feel this Spring that part of me has been resurrected in the dark winter nights, the loving, feeling part, slowly growing back after having been chopped at. It is rising with the embryonic crocuses and daffodils under the snow.
So today, write/draw your own Resurrection, actual or representational. I drew the porcupine tail, for instance. What's your porcupine tail, your empty tomb, your crocuses rising from the snow?
Friday, March 21, 2008
Take A Walk
Does it ever happen to you that everything converges? You're thinking of painting your living room red and think that's a unique idea, then you see an interview with your favorite author, and her living room is red. You go to a Tupperware party and the hostess (who is a friend of a friend and you've never before set foot in her house), she has a red living room. Then you see a red living room on the cover of Martha Stewart, and it's all over. Everyone has a red living room. How do you pick up on this stuff, and what does it do with taking a walk? Well, I have been similarly barraged with prompts from the universe to take a walk. Now, I usually take walks. Having dogs means lots of walking. But since I am seeing references to taking walks (recently read Larry McMurtry's great book, Duane's Depressed, which is all about walking. I find walking in every writing book I'm picking up). So I figure, I must be doing it wrong and need to work on my walking. I think what it means is that I am walking and thinking of the next thing too much, mind racing as fast as the dogs are whirling. So, do this exercise with me. Take a walk. Without dogs or children or your mother or husband. Walk slowly. Forget the power walking. Look around. What do you see? Bring a notebook to write it/draw it. Breathe. Then when you are back home, write/draw the whole walk, from Mrs. Motyka sweeping the driveway to the bright ballons on someone's mailbox announcing "It's A Girl!" to the swollen red just budding trees.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
OK Is Pretty Darn Good
Again, haven't posted in way too long. Could make numerous excuses. I have no Internet access more than half the time, and am alone so infrequently. But then I have to come to the conclusion that I am a big baby and am just sulking. Happy, but sulking all the same. I want my own house with my own room to write with my own Internet connection. I want to have scads of uninterrupted time to write. I want a house without a television. I want to be famous. What I need is a kick in the butt.
I have to remind myself that I have quite a lot, including the ability to write and teach, a decent amount of time to write and plan my classes, heat, hot water, great dogs, a mom and a Sparky who love me (though not each other), some disposable income to do things like go to writing conferences and buy books. Things are really OK. More than OK. I live a life of luxury and comfort, when I really think about it. So, I am rededicating myself to these pages, just so you know. So I invite you to rededicate yourself, too. We can all go about our business with the knowledge that happiness begins with a recognition of our great blessings, our luxuries and comforts, even if those wouldn't seem so great to others (movie stars, investment bankers, the skinny young woman at the gas station with the long blond hair and DKNY jeans pumping premium into her Mercedes).
So for an exercise today, think of all the things that make OK pretty darn good for you. List them. Choose your favorite and write it/draw it. See you tomorrow.
I have to remind myself that I have quite a lot, including the ability to write and teach, a decent amount of time to write and plan my classes, heat, hot water, great dogs, a mom and a Sparky who love me (though not each other), some disposable income to do things like go to writing conferences and buy books. Things are really OK. More than OK. I live a life of luxury and comfort, when I really think about it. So, I am rededicating myself to these pages, just so you know. So I invite you to rededicate yourself, too. We can all go about our business with the knowledge that happiness begins with a recognition of our great blessings, our luxuries and comforts, even if those wouldn't seem so great to others (movie stars, investment bankers, the skinny young woman at the gas station with the long blond hair and DKNY jeans pumping premium into her Mercedes).
So for an exercise today, think of all the things that make OK pretty darn good for you. List them. Choose your favorite and write it/draw it. See you tomorrow.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Of Love and Martyrs
Today is an odd sort of holiday. Valentine's Day commemorates either the feast day or the death day of some St. Valentine. It could be one of three St. Valentines. The Church is not terribly clear which it might be. All were martyred, either beheaded or imprisoned and tortured. And either St. Valentine defied the government by conducting secret banned marriages or wrote the first valentine to his sweetie from prison (I thought saints were not supposed to have sweethearts, though). In any case, it's confusing. In any case, it's not exactly a pretty hearts and flowers story. And I'm not sure whether hearts came to symbolize love because the heart is St. Valentine's symbol, like St. Lucy who had her eyes plucked out and has to carry them around on a plate forevermore, in every depiction of her. We think the heart is such a natural symbol of love, but why? Because it pumps the lifeblood to all parts of out body? But then, why isn't the symbol of love hands, with which we can touch our love, or lips with which we kiss them? There are many other mysteries surrounding Valentine's Day, such as why it makes kindergarten teachers crazier than any other holiday. The kids are wild over it. More wild over it than Christmas, even. Another mystery is how chocolate came to be associated with Valentine's Day. I'm happy about that, though, however it came about.
My Valentine's Day this year was no less confusing. I wrote the above on the actual day, before being embroiled in no end of aggravation. In the midst of writing the above post, Sparky asked if I could move my car. The previous night, drenching rain had fallen over about six inches of fresh snow. All was sheeted over ice on V Day. And the town plow had thrown snow and slush onto the driveway, and on and under my car. All the mess had frozen solid, and I broke the shovel trying to extricate my poor car. I managed to back it out a few feet, so one tire was on the road, but the rest of the car was irretrievably mired in ice. I thought, I'll just call AAA. I did, and was told someone would come within an hour. So far, so good. But just before the hour was up, I had another call from AAA, saying that they were confused about where the car was. Was it in Hampshire or Berkshire county? Well, it's right on the line, the mailing address in one county, and the actual driveway in the other. It seemed that the closest towing company didn't want to send a driver, and it would take another two hours, at least, for the further one to come. I said, forget that. The nice woman on the phone (who was in Hampshire county) said she'd see what she could do. Shortly thereafter, I got a call from AAA in Berkshire county, some weird guy telling me what I requested wasn't a service AAA provided at all. "AAA doesn't pull out cars that are stuck in five inches of ice?" "The drivers can't drive into unshoveled driveways." "But they don't have to. One quarter of my car is already in the road." "Doesn't matter. It's not a service we provide." So I was back on the phone with Hampshire county AAA who said it was a service they provided. And on, and on.
I ended up wasting most of the day on this idiocy, and Sparky ended up pushing my car out with his car, denting the bumper in the process. One word could sum up our Valentine's Day at that point. AAArrrgh!
But then, Sparky made me chocolate covered strawberries. We went out to see a movie (Chocolat), but the theatre didn't have our online reservation. They couldn't say if the tickets had been charged to Sparky's card, so we decided to go out to dinner at our current fave restaurant. They were very nice, although we had no reservation. We met wonderful, interesting people at the bar while waiting for a table, and then when we were seated. Everyone we encountered was in a fine mood, enjoying the holiday of lovers. We ate good food. We seemed to finally be in the right place in the universe.
So, I think our memorably fine Valentine's evening was due to our persistence in refusing to be martyrs. Going on with our day, assuming our luck would change. Some days, that's all you can do. And writing about your experience of changed luck can make you feel better about your AAArrgh times. Do not pass go, do not call AAA, refuse to be a martyr. Persist in going directly to the place you most need to be. Then write it, draw it.
My Valentine's Day this year was no less confusing. I wrote the above on the actual day, before being embroiled in no end of aggravation. In the midst of writing the above post, Sparky asked if I could move my car. The previous night, drenching rain had fallen over about six inches of fresh snow. All was sheeted over ice on V Day. And the town plow had thrown snow and slush onto the driveway, and on and under my car. All the mess had frozen solid, and I broke the shovel trying to extricate my poor car. I managed to back it out a few feet, so one tire was on the road, but the rest of the car was irretrievably mired in ice. I thought, I'll just call AAA. I did, and was told someone would come within an hour. So far, so good. But just before the hour was up, I had another call from AAA, saying that they were confused about where the car was. Was it in Hampshire or Berkshire county? Well, it's right on the line, the mailing address in one county, and the actual driveway in the other. It seemed that the closest towing company didn't want to send a driver, and it would take another two hours, at least, for the further one to come. I said, forget that. The nice woman on the phone (who was in Hampshire county) said she'd see what she could do. Shortly thereafter, I got a call from AAA in Berkshire county, some weird guy telling me what I requested wasn't a service AAA provided at all. "AAA doesn't pull out cars that are stuck in five inches of ice?" "The drivers can't drive into unshoveled driveways." "But they don't have to. One quarter of my car is already in the road." "Doesn't matter. It's not a service we provide." So I was back on the phone with Hampshire county AAA who said it was a service they provided. And on, and on.
I ended up wasting most of the day on this idiocy, and Sparky ended up pushing my car out with his car, denting the bumper in the process. One word could sum up our Valentine's Day at that point. AAArrrgh!
But then, Sparky made me chocolate covered strawberries. We went out to see a movie (Chocolat), but the theatre didn't have our online reservation. They couldn't say if the tickets had been charged to Sparky's card, so we decided to go out to dinner at our current fave restaurant. They were very nice, although we had no reservation. We met wonderful, interesting people at the bar while waiting for a table, and then when we were seated. Everyone we encountered was in a fine mood, enjoying the holiday of lovers. We ate good food. We seemed to finally be in the right place in the universe.
So, I think our memorably fine Valentine's evening was due to our persistence in refusing to be martyrs. Going on with our day, assuming our luck would change. Some days, that's all you can do. And writing about your experience of changed luck can make you feel better about your AAArrgh times. Do not pass go, do not call AAA, refuse to be a martyr. Persist in going directly to the place you most need to be. Then write it, draw it.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Waiting
A friend has pointed out to me that I have been inconsistent with my posts. She is right. And I have no excuses, except every excuse in the world. I was busy. I was not having enough computer time, due to various boring factors. I was doing a lot of 'more important' writing. But really, what it comes down to is that I have been a little dispirited. Yes, me, cheerleader for happiness that I usually am. Or try to be.
The truth is, I just got tired of waiting for all the good things I want in my life. My own house, where I can write uninterrupted for hours at a stretch. More privacy, more solitude. An agent. An advance. Etc. I have gone through a stretch of wanting what I've been waiting for NOW. Or actually, yesterday. I stopped making my own happiness book, so could hardly preach to others. This state of affairs has been going on for a little over two months. But I discovered a few things this week. One: being anxious about waiting did not make things happen any faster. Two: being anxious about waiting makes me unhappy. Three: I have been getting subliminal messages (or not so subliminal) about being grateful for what I do have, right now. And this is the interesting part. Almost everything I pick up to read concentrates on gratitude, or portrays people in situations much more dire than my own. This has not been a conscious choice. When I went to Mass Ash Wednesday with my mum, the deacon (who I usually think of as officious and negative) preached a sermon on gratitude. On Ash Wednesday, this is unheard of. The sermons are usually about repenting, giving up pleasures for lent, suffering a little like Jesus. Not about being grateful. Even a photo I came across while looking for prompts for my writing class focused on the back of an Irish bus that proclaimed: Be Grateful for Guinness! (And I am, believe me).
So, after all these various signs, I figure I'd better get back on track, before the next, more serious, wake up call. I knew a carpenter, a gentle Southern gentleman, who used to talk about God's two-by-four to the head method. It happens when you ignore all the softer, more kindly messages. You get enough of them, and still refuse to see them, and BLAM! God takes a two-by-four to your left temple. You lose your job. You lose your house. You get sick. Something big, anyway, to really wake you up to the great life you had before the two-by-four struck. My friend's solution was to always be paying attention to those small signs, looking for the nudges before the BLAM. I think it's a good idea.
In the spirit of paying attention to the nudges, think of all the things you can be grateful for. Make a list, a big long one, of everything you are blessed with while you are Waiting for all your dreams to come true. Make it really long. Fifty things, a hundred. Use up all twenty minutes simply being grateful. Then wait again, but with a more cheerful heart.
The truth is, I just got tired of waiting for all the good things I want in my life. My own house, where I can write uninterrupted for hours at a stretch. More privacy, more solitude. An agent. An advance. Etc. I have gone through a stretch of wanting what I've been waiting for NOW. Or actually, yesterday. I stopped making my own happiness book, so could hardly preach to others. This state of affairs has been going on for a little over two months. But I discovered a few things this week. One: being anxious about waiting did not make things happen any faster. Two: being anxious about waiting makes me unhappy. Three: I have been getting subliminal messages (or not so subliminal) about being grateful for what I do have, right now. And this is the interesting part. Almost everything I pick up to read concentrates on gratitude, or portrays people in situations much more dire than my own. This has not been a conscious choice. When I went to Mass Ash Wednesday with my mum, the deacon (who I usually think of as officious and negative) preached a sermon on gratitude. On Ash Wednesday, this is unheard of. The sermons are usually about repenting, giving up pleasures for lent, suffering a little like Jesus. Not about being grateful. Even a photo I came across while looking for prompts for my writing class focused on the back of an Irish bus that proclaimed: Be Grateful for Guinness! (And I am, believe me).
So, after all these various signs, I figure I'd better get back on track, before the next, more serious, wake up call. I knew a carpenter, a gentle Southern gentleman, who used to talk about God's two-by-four to the head method. It happens when you ignore all the softer, more kindly messages. You get enough of them, and still refuse to see them, and BLAM! God takes a two-by-four to your left temple. You lose your job. You lose your house. You get sick. Something big, anyway, to really wake you up to the great life you had before the two-by-four struck. My friend's solution was to always be paying attention to those small signs, looking for the nudges before the BLAM. I think it's a good idea.
In the spirit of paying attention to the nudges, think of all the things you can be grateful for. Make a list, a big long one, of everything you are blessed with while you are Waiting for all your dreams to come true. Make it really long. Fifty things, a hundred. Use up all twenty minutes simply being grateful. Then wait again, but with a more cheerful heart.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Pride and Persistence
I got word last week that I am a semi-finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest. This was good news, needless to say. Actually, I was ecstatic for about 24 hours. I'm still very pleased, although there are interesting side issues, like having one's work so exposed (excerpts from all the semi-finalists work are posted on Amazon's website for all and sundry to read and review). And coming to the realization that my novel still needs work. One reviewer brought up the issue of my inconsistent use of past and present tense, and she is correct. I still think the book is worthy of publication, and the minor glitches are very fixable. In other words, I am proud of my book. Proud that I finished it. Proud that it's getting some attention, aside from the great rejection letters from publishers I have received. But I have to say, it's difficult to maintain the pride in my work, to persist in believing in it and myself. Pride is supposed to be a fault, and to cause all kinds of trouble. But I find that in general, people aren't able to muster up enough pride in their work and in themselves. I have to talk myself into it, frequently. I think, "Really all I want to do is run away and hide in a cabin in the deep woods of northern Minnesota for about thirty years and live on fried squirrels and nuts and berries and avoid all contact with humans." I have to convince myself that this would not be a good thing. That it's fine to receive and accept constructive criticism. That it's actually helpful and allows me to grow as a writer and a person. That I need to persist and be proud of my work and of who I am.
This is easier said than done.
It's also no less difficult to accept praise. We are very complicated. We don't like criticism, but we don't like praise either. We get all weird about it and when we are praised we want to retreat to our cabin in the woods to eat squirrels no less than when we are criticized. We get all flustered and tend to denigrate ourselves: "No, really, it's a piece of crap, and I know it. You don't have to lie to me!"
So, today let's practice Pride and Persistence. List five things you are proud of about yourself or your work. Then list the reasons why. Then think of compliments you have received. Write them down, too, whether you think they are deserved or not. Then keep working. Write down how you might keep putting yourself out there, as a person, as an artist, as a soccer player, as whatever you are proud of in your life. Keep persistently pushing aside those thoughts of cabins.
This is easier said than done.
It's also no less difficult to accept praise. We are very complicated. We don't like criticism, but we don't like praise either. We get all weird about it and when we are praised we want to retreat to our cabin in the woods to eat squirrels no less than when we are criticized. We get all flustered and tend to denigrate ourselves: "No, really, it's a piece of crap, and I know it. You don't have to lie to me!"
So, today let's practice Pride and Persistence. List five things you are proud of about yourself or your work. Then list the reasons why. Then think of compliments you have received. Write them down, too, whether you think they are deserved or not. Then keep working. Write down how you might keep putting yourself out there, as a person, as an artist, as a soccer player, as whatever you are proud of in your life. Keep persistently pushing aside those thoughts of cabins.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Abundance
Yeah, I know, it's one of those new agey catch-words that are so over used they become meaningless. But this is a kind of companion piece to the last post, which was Anticipation. Last time, I wrote about how much fun it is anticipating events and cups of tea. Today, I'm going to write about how much fun it should be when what you anticipate comes to pass and turns out to be what you'd hoped for. When your Anticipation blossoms into Abundance.
There are some odd responses to this phenomenon. One is to negate it. "Oh," you think. "It's really not so great that I (won $500 in the lottery, it could have been $500,000) (got accepted to Williams College, it could have been Yale) (had a story published in The Berkshire Review, it could have been The New Yorker). Another response is the knee-jerk reaction that I sometimes fall prey to: "It must have been some kind of fluke. It can't really be happening. I'll find out tomorrow it was all a mistake."
This is crazy thinking. Accept your abundance. Enjoy it. Who else will, if you won't? And if it does turn out to be a mistake, at least you will have had an hour, a day, a week of pleasure appreciating the abundance in your life.
So, go for it. Start learning to see and appreciate Abundance. Make a list of five things that have made you feel abundant lately. Study them. Then write how you really feel about them. Let yourself go with this one. Write down as well all the possible great outcomes you can foresee that might result from your abundance. Imagine your mother, husband, child telling you how great you are. Imagine what you will wear when you accept your prize, or meet with your new editor. Write it, draw it. Do some daydreaming and revel in it.
There are some odd responses to this phenomenon. One is to negate it. "Oh," you think. "It's really not so great that I (won $500 in the lottery, it could have been $500,000) (got accepted to Williams College, it could have been Yale) (had a story published in The Berkshire Review, it could have been The New Yorker). Another response is the knee-jerk reaction that I sometimes fall prey to: "It must have been some kind of fluke. It can't really be happening. I'll find out tomorrow it was all a mistake."
This is crazy thinking. Accept your abundance. Enjoy it. Who else will, if you won't? And if it does turn out to be a mistake, at least you will have had an hour, a day, a week of pleasure appreciating the abundance in your life.
So, go for it. Start learning to see and appreciate Abundance. Make a list of five things that have made you feel abundant lately. Study them. Then write how you really feel about them. Let yourself go with this one. Write down as well all the possible great outcomes you can foresee that might result from your abundance. Imagine your mother, husband, child telling you how great you are. Imagine what you will wear when you accept your prize, or meet with your new editor. Write it, draw it. Do some daydreaming and revel in it.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Anticipation
I had all these great ideas for today's post rattling around in my head right before I went to sleep last night. I was going to be serious, profound. I was going to change your life. Unfortunately, this morning I couldn't remember any of those remarkable ideas. But as I was driving around doing errands, I heard a Carly Simon song ("You're So Vain") on the radio. That made me think of other Carly Simon songs, including the one which title I've stolen for this post.
I have been anticipating many wonderful things in this new year, such as the completion of the first draft of my new novel, a writing conference in March, the reading my students and I planned (and executed this past Saturday). And I notice that while I am in this state of anticipating good things, I feel pretty great. And if I think really positively about the things anticipated, they usually don't disappoint when they actually take place. Of course, this thinking is not original, and is in line with the plethora of new agey self help books a la The Secret. But it is nonetheless true, if at the moment a little cheesy seeming. The less I complain about my fate and my future, the more I concentrate on positively anticipating events, the better I feel. Even contemplating with anticipation the small things in my day, like my next cup of tea, or reading the Irish Times in the morning, do me good.
So, for today's exercise, make a list of ANTICIPATION. Write down five things you are positively anticipating. Big things like a vacation, or small things like seeing a new movie. Then dwell on them. Think how you will feel when they happen. Extend the pleasure. Write about how you'll feel, draw it. Start getting some kicks out of your one wild and precious life, to paraphrase Mary Oliver.
I have been anticipating many wonderful things in this new year, such as the completion of the first draft of my new novel, a writing conference in March, the reading my students and I planned (and executed this past Saturday). And I notice that while I am in this state of anticipating good things, I feel pretty great. And if I think really positively about the things anticipated, they usually don't disappoint when they actually take place. Of course, this thinking is not original, and is in line with the plethora of new agey self help books a la The Secret. But it is nonetheless true, if at the moment a little cheesy seeming. The less I complain about my fate and my future, the more I concentrate on positively anticipating events, the better I feel. Even contemplating with anticipation the small things in my day, like my next cup of tea, or reading the Irish Times in the morning, do me good.
So, for today's exercise, make a list of ANTICIPATION. Write down five things you are positively anticipating. Big things like a vacation, or small things like seeing a new movie. Then dwell on them. Think how you will feel when they happen. Extend the pleasure. Write about how you'll feel, draw it. Start getting some kicks out of your one wild and precious life, to paraphrase Mary Oliver.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Creatively Attitudinous
I'm back after a long hiatus, during which I completed 2/3 of the first draft of my new novel, planned a reading for my Save Your Life Writing students, had very fine holidays and took a brief vacation. As well as maintaining my sanity and happiness. Hope you've done the same.
So, on this my first day back blogging and ranting to promote happiness, I'd like to concentrate on two things: Creativity and Attitude. And how they affect happiness in general.
First, creativity. I'll illustrate with an example. I've been staying with my mum quite a bit, and nearly every week we have the same argument. She wants me to accompany her to the Polish Catholic church I was raised up in. I don't particularly want to go. Not because I object to church as a general rule, but because the deacon who most times officiates I consider to be small-minded and negative. I end up grinding my teeth and muttering under my breath, and get a bruise from mum nudging me with her elbow. I leave aggravated and unhappy, which doesn't seem to be the purpose of church. But if I don't go, it makes mum very unhappy, indeed. About a week ago, I had a brainstorm, which did not involve a) killing the deacon, b) being in Canada every Sunday, or c) breaking my leg so I'd have an excuse not to go. I suggested we go to the Polish mass. It worked a charm. I got the comfort of hearing the language of my childhood (my parents would always argue in Polish), without understanding any of it to make me crazy. I just said my own little prayers and contemplated the pretty altar. And it made mum happy. The priest seemed OK, too. He even took out a guitar at one point and regaled us with Polish folk songs. Very cool. So in coming up (finally) with a creative solution to a problem for once, I managed to enrich my own life, and make my mum happy.
Now for attitude. Again, I'll illustrate with an example. I've considered myself a writer for, oh, the past ten years. I write books. I teach creative writing classes. But before NaNoWriMo, I didn't WRITE like a writer. I lolligagged and procrastinated. I wrote when I was 'inspired.' Which was still pretty frequently, or I would not have even completed novel #1. But all the same, I didn't write every day. I didn't take my writing seriously enough to make the commitment. But I did in November, with the knowledge that loads of other people were taking their writing seriously, too. And it felt so good, I've continued trying to write every day, at least 500-1000 words, and I've been more or less succeeding. I FEEL more like a writer. My writing is the better for it. So I am incredibly happy I was motivated to change my attitude.
So,for the exercise of the day, the first of the New Year, I'd suggest you take a look at where in your life you can be more creative and also what attitude you might want to change about yourself. Maybe your husband wants you to go bird-watching with him. You hate bird-watching as you can never see the birds. But you like x-country skiing. Tell him you'll go on a birding ski. That way, you both get something out of it. For the attitude piece, maybe you want to write poetry(or learn belly-dancing, or grow up). Tell yourself you can do it. Psyche yourself up. Find friends to do it with you. Dare to be Creatively Attitudinous. Write it, draw it, envision yourself doing it. Then work at it, truly. You will feel better, about everything, I promise.
So, on this my first day back blogging and ranting to promote happiness, I'd like to concentrate on two things: Creativity and Attitude. And how they affect happiness in general.
First, creativity. I'll illustrate with an example. I've been staying with my mum quite a bit, and nearly every week we have the same argument. She wants me to accompany her to the Polish Catholic church I was raised up in. I don't particularly want to go. Not because I object to church as a general rule, but because the deacon who most times officiates I consider to be small-minded and negative. I end up grinding my teeth and muttering under my breath, and get a bruise from mum nudging me with her elbow. I leave aggravated and unhappy, which doesn't seem to be the purpose of church. But if I don't go, it makes mum very unhappy, indeed. About a week ago, I had a brainstorm, which did not involve a) killing the deacon, b) being in Canada every Sunday, or c) breaking my leg so I'd have an excuse not to go. I suggested we go to the Polish mass. It worked a charm. I got the comfort of hearing the language of my childhood (my parents would always argue in Polish), without understanding any of it to make me crazy. I just said my own little prayers and contemplated the pretty altar. And it made mum happy. The priest seemed OK, too. He even took out a guitar at one point and regaled us with Polish folk songs. Very cool. So in coming up (finally) with a creative solution to a problem for once, I managed to enrich my own life, and make my mum happy.
Now for attitude. Again, I'll illustrate with an example. I've considered myself a writer for, oh, the past ten years. I write books. I teach creative writing classes. But before NaNoWriMo, I didn't WRITE like a writer. I lolligagged and procrastinated. I wrote when I was 'inspired.' Which was still pretty frequently, or I would not have even completed novel #1. But all the same, I didn't write every day. I didn't take my writing seriously enough to make the commitment. But I did in November, with the knowledge that loads of other people were taking their writing seriously, too. And it felt so good, I've continued trying to write every day, at least 500-1000 words, and I've been more or less succeeding. I FEEL more like a writer. My writing is the better for it. So I am incredibly happy I was motivated to change my attitude.
So,for the exercise of the day, the first of the New Year, I'd suggest you take a look at where in your life you can be more creative and also what attitude you might want to change about yourself. Maybe your husband wants you to go bird-watching with him. You hate bird-watching as you can never see the birds. But you like x-country skiing. Tell him you'll go on a birding ski. That way, you both get something out of it. For the attitude piece, maybe you want to write poetry(or learn belly-dancing, or grow up). Tell yourself you can do it. Psyche yourself up. Find friends to do it with you. Dare to be Creatively Attitudinous. Write it, draw it, envision yourself doing it. Then work at it, truly. You will feel better, about everything, I promise.
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