occasionally, i am reminded -- usually in an unexpected way -- how few people truly know me. who really know who i am.
the ones who do, get me. this doesn't happen overnight. it takes time. ultimately, though, they understand me and i know it.
the ones who think they do but really don't -- or, worse, the ones *i* thought did but really don't -- sometimes leave me shaking my head in disbelief.
or, every now and again, disappointment.
further to my “WWGD?” post below, i’ve been contemplating what gemma teller morrow might do were she to take over my body and my life for a day.
what would gemma do as vickie?
first, she’d delete my facebook account. immediately. she’d know it was a massive time waster in my life, and she’d also recognize how readily i use it (foolishly) to be self-critical. if i protested, she’d remind me i managed to survive before facebook – in a way that was, on various levels, healthier emotionally and psychologically.
failing that, in the event that she also recognized how i use FB as a social outlet and means by which to stay in touch with my faraway friends, she’d instantly halve my friends list. she’d get rid of all the folks with whom i never, ever actually interact via that medium or any other, so that my friends list would reflect my real friends... a seemingly rare thing in the often quantity-over-quality realm of facebook.
come to think of it, she’d probably also disconnect my modem and hide it for a good week or two.
she’d kick down the door of the crazy girl who lives at the end of the hall – who had yet another tantrum (this time, with a guy i assume is her boyfriend) late last night... IN the hallway – and tell her to shut the hell up, take her drama inside, pack all her things and find a new place to live or else, in gemma’s words, “i’ll shove my fist so far up your ass your cup size will double.”
she’d launch the website i’ve been sitting on for about six months and take it live. then she’d wait for the work to come flooding in. actually, no. she wouldn’t wait. she’d go out and get the work.
she’d take a metaphorical fine-toothed comb, like the kind you’d use to find nits in a lice-infested mop of hair, and she’d go through every inch of my head and heart. she would, without reservation and likely with a fair degree of delight, pull off every last regret, sadness, fear and self-pitying barnacle that i’ve allowed to stick for far too long.
ohhh ho ho ho, the conversation she’d have with my father!
she’d also start planning some kick-ass birthday celebration for me. this is the year i turn 40, and she’d want to make sure i feel amazing on my birthday, not depressed and forgotten. “you are worth celebrating!” she would say. but she’d probably swear when saying it.
and, before leaving, she’d step back out of my body and look me square in the eye. she’d remind me that most of the above items – save for the neighbour confrontation and smackdown with dad – are within my reach. then she’d float a veiled threat that she’ll come back to kick my ass if i don’t start reaching for them on my own.
last week, i talked about being honest in the pages i have to write for my creative-recovery workshop. i worried that i wasn't writing about what was really on my mind, and wondered if that might be hindering my progress... as a writer and as a person.
The Artist's Way is divided into chapters, with each chapter representing a week of work. so, at the start of each week, i read that week's chapter and, over the next six days, complete (mostly) that week's assignments.
my wonderings about honesty came during week three. at the end of that week, i opened up the chapter for week four and began reading. and this is the very first sentence of that chapter:
"Working with the morning pages, we begin to sort through the differences between our real feelings, which are often secret, and our official feelings, those on record for public display."
?!
i nearly did a spit take. here i'd been ruminating on exactly the issues on which i was (apparently) meant to ruminate. author julia cameron then went on to explain that, when it comes to feelings, this issue of real vs. "official" is a not uncommon dilemma, and that by continuing to write about real feelings, we are able to better create a sense of self -- who we are, what we feel, and so on. and, she points out, this is important because before one can celebrate self-expression, one needs a self to express. (i'm paraphrasing, but that's the gist.)
basically, as i continued to read chapter four, i was unexpectedly shown the answers to some of the questions i'd been asking myself. "keep being honest, even if it's really scary or uncomfortable or unpleasant or difficult or weird or sad! it's important and you need to do it to grow!" the book was saying to me.
so, there you go.
* it was really, really cold yesterday. nonetheless, i bundled up and went for a walk... and it was gorgeous! as long as one is dressed appropriately for the sub-zero temperatures, one can enjoy oneself immensely outdoors. especially since, given the weather, most people stay inside... which means sidewalks, shopping malls and the like are delightfully deserted. along my route, i made a pit stop at the eaton centre at about 1pm. on a normal weekend afternoon, that place would be a zoo. yesterday? empty! i couldn't believe it.
* on impulse, during said pit stop, i bought two page-a-day calendars. they were 75% off. one is a zen calendar, with inspirational sayings on each day. the other is a learn-origami calendar, with each day being a new pattern that you create with the previous day's page. once on my way, i started to feel like the origami calendar should go back. i have not yet opened it, and may very well return it tomorrow.
* last night, i roasted brussels sprouts in the oven for the first time. i love brussels sprouts, but had never had them roasted before. they were very tasty.
* there's a formidable layer of ice and frost along the interior frames of all my giant windows. this happens when it's super-cold outside, and the moist indoor air condenses and freezes on the panes. it's pretty, but with the wind change expected later today, all that ice and frost will melt and my window ledges will develop large puddles of water. that... is a drag.
* my actual cold, the one caused by cooties, is on its way out. despite angering my lungs on friday, i awoke on saturday morning feeling better. i have been dosing myself with so many vitamins and good things that i think i successfully shortened the length of the cooties' stay in my body.
* today i start my first ever TV-production-related job. it will require me to sit on my couch and watch 12 episodes of a sitcom very, very carefully. it should take a few hours per episode.
* in semi-related news: proving that my reality-TV downfall is complete, kim and khloe kardashian were in my dream last night. they were friends of mine and i was waiting for them to show up at a screening.
* i need fixins for a fruit salad.
i spent some time outdoors today.
it was very cold and very windy and, now, my lungs are very angry.
the irritating dry cough has returned.
with hacking reinforcements.
on the upside, the waterfall of snot has completely dried up so, you know, that's nice.
at some point last friday, i inhaled or ingested or somehow absorbed cooties of some sort.
i developed a dry cough, and that was it. for four days, i had this irritating little hack, but felt completely fine otherwise. no other symptoms. no sore throat. no congestion. nuthin'. just a hairball-esque cough. while i was at YB's, she kept saying, "are you SURE you're not coming down with something?"
"no! i feel great. i don't have a fever. no aches. no stomach upset. i'm not sick."
by yesterday afternoon, the cough was pretty much gone. yay! the second it had arrived, i began fighting it with everything in my arsenal -- vitamins, minerals, supplements, sleep, warmth and gallons and gallons of water, so i figured my efforts had been successful in vanquishing whatever virus had attempted to set up in residence in my body.
and then last night, as i leaned over my spiral notebook doing some homework for The Artist's Way, i noticed my sinuses were getting more and more clogged. i chalked it up to me having my head down as i worked, and thought little of it. after all, i'd kicked the cough to the curb, so the cooties it rode in on had surely also been turfed. nonetheless, i later took a half-dose of nyquil and went to bed.
when i awoke this morning, i recognized the distinct single-nostril blockage that, for me, always indicates the presence of cold germs. ah well. sure enough, i spent the entire day today blowing my nose over and over again. thankfully, i also maintained my cootie-be-gone regimen and have downed enough water to fill a backyard pool, so i'm hoping i've been flushing everything out of my system.
because i have stuff to do, and i don't need cooties at the moment.
part of the “homework” of The Artist’s Way is, as mentioned in a previous blog entry, the daily morning pages. three pages of longhand writing about whatever’s on your mind, done every single day as soon as you get up. a purging of your brain so you can clean your mental slate and then get on with whatever creative magic you’re going to conjure.
the key, and what i’m finding to be the hardest part, is being honest.
the goal is to be totally honest about whatever minutiae or craziness or tedium is bouncing around in your head – just write it all down. as simple as that might sound, i still find myself censoring my own thoughts and writing about all kinds of other things instead. i mean, yes, the stuff i scrawl out – and, believe me, trying to write three pages in longhand when you first wake up does result in scrawl more than actual legible penmanship – is made up of thoughts that cross my mind as i go, but those daydreams and reveries and shopping lists are floating safely above a lot of the meat and potatoes of what’s really up there, gnawing away.
i’ll write about the weird banging noise coming from the apartment next door, but not about what kept me up the night before.
i’ll expound on my to-do list for the day, but never mention the things i know i’ve left undone.
i’ll ramble about the way the couch cushion feels or how my hand is starting to cramp, but carefully bypass any discussion of feelings that are pinching at my side.
in my pages this morning, i actual wrote about the pages and the fact that i fear my reluctance to be completely open and honest and free there, in the spiral notebook meant for no one’s eyes but my own, is a sad but telling reflection of my reluctance to be completely open and honest and free in my writing elsewhere. (on this blog, for example.) i mean, good grief, not being honest in my morning pages is like me editing my own diary. somewhere, i clearly still have this panic that someone is going to snatch my notebook away and read it and pass it around. that my honest thoughts and feelings will be served up and then mocked or laughed at or pitied or condemned.
it’s a scenario not unlike one where people “cook the books.” creating one set of financial ledgers for the world to see, and another, secret set that reveals the truth.
my morning pages are, to some extent, cooked. and, for the purposes of this daily exercise, it’s worrisome. as it is, i suppose, for my life as a writer.
it’s a problem i come up against time and again, that fear. see, it’s one thing to carry something around with you, and another thing to share it with other people (or a spiral notebook). and, for me, the fear of ridicule and judgment usually outweighs that urge to tell some of my story. the insidious little voice in the back of my mind whispers, “are you nuts? no one will like you if you share that! everyone’s going to think you’re a ________!”
fill the blank with your word of choice: loser, nutcase, fool, twit, coward, moron. (if you’re keeping score, “loser” is the one i fill in myself most frequently.)
the same thing happens in life. if you ask me about something, whatever it is, i’ll tell you. but if you’re waiting for me to bring it up on my own, especially if it’s more sensitive in nature, forget it. experience has taught me that sharing is risky, being honest even more so, and honestly sharing sensitive material is a surefire way to get people to distance themselves from you immediately.
as such, i’m not going to mention it if you don’t but, if you do, then i’ll tell you whatever you’d like to know. my default thinking is, “well, he/she didn’t ask, so he/she doesn’t want to know.” in some earlier blog entry way back when, i talked about the fact that it’s easier for me to write about feelings than talk about them, but that’s not actually true. it’s very easy for me to talk about feelings if i know the person to whom i’m talking is actually interested and really cares. more importantly, if he or she opens that proverbial door first, and i trust that what i say won’t promptly become fodder for lots of third-party discussion and dissection. (yes, that’s happened to me before.)
for me, there’s a huge amount of safety in being asked about my life, and an epic amount of risk in offering it up on my own. and yet, deep down, i know that’s precisely the risk i have to take, even if it does mean i wind up standing in a corner alone, twiddling my thumbs. i’m just scared to do it.
as a result of this fear, i wind up carting around a lot of baggage that i can’t seem to shake. stuff i feel like i want to get off my chest or talk about but don’t. things i need to get over or get past or let go of, but can’t. and, over time, carrying that load on my shoulders is like constantly dragging a sleeping elephant by the trunk behind me. (i have, btw, decided to name my elephant-made-of-baggage “lamont.” if i’m going to carry him with me wherever i go, he might as well have a name.) it’s tiring, and the strain begins to manifest physically.
earlier today, i was at my chiropractor’s office for my monthly adjustment. as anyone who’s read this blog over the past month knows, i’ve been having abdominal issues. so, she and i chatted about where my discomfort lies, and what i think it might be... and, most importantly, what i might be holding inside (psychologically and emotionally) that i need to release.
“is there something you can’t let go of?” my chiropractor asked. “something you’re hanging onto that you should get rid of?”
“totally,” i said immediately.
we talked about it a bit further and, as we did, i could actually feel emotions welling up inside. something as simple as being asked if anything’s the matter or why i might be holding onto pain (emotionally) was enough to stir up feelings. more importantly, feelings that i’ve worked hard to move past but ones that, in the end, i realize i haven’t actually fully processed or resolved or put to rest.
why? because that requires being honest. and being honest is, for me, very scary.
what’s my point? i’m not entirely sure. part of the point of this entry was for me to think out loud and maybe gain some understanding by writing about my fear somewhere other than my spiral notebook. getting rid of it or chipping away at it by exposing it somehow. suggestions on overcoming it are welcome, btw.
part of it was a public-service announcement, letting those of you who are actually in my life know that it’s okay to ask about stuff and things... in fact, i’m happy if you do.
and part of it was the meta aspect of confronting my own fear about writing honestly and openly and freely by writing something, however ambiguous and comparatively “safe,” honestly and openly and freely.
* YB's tests went very well. thanks for the good thoughts.
* i'm over at her place for the weekend. we are stocked with snacks, fixins for a portuguese stir fry tomorrow night, a half dozen delicious cupcakes and season two of Sons of Anarchy. we will be parked on the couch through sunday.
* however, i forgot to bring the USB cable for my camera (dammit!), so i will be unable to upload photo-blog pics (or any others, for that matter) until sunday evening. this is a shame because, just moments ago, i photographed the cupcakes. alas.
* i went for a wonderful winter meander along the boardwalk this afternoon. the beach was blanketed in snow, the rocks covered in ice and the lake partially frozen over. it was so peaceful and beautiful.
YB has to go for some tests tomorrow, so please keep a good thought for her if you wouldn't mind. merci!
among my appointments today was my semi-annual haircut. i now have much less hair on my head than i did this morning, and that's fine by me. my massive mane had become exactly that, and it was time to drop some inches.
then, tonight, i went to a screening of The Dilemma and it was über-dull. wow. so not good.
and, right now, it's snowing outside. a lot. i am going to have to tether myself to my couch in the morning so i don't head out for a snow walk that will, no doubt, end in tears.
this morning, i got up and noticed that the pain in my abdomen had lessened somewhat overnight.
reasoning that my “loaf on the couch, stay in pyjamas, use an ice pack and take NSAIDs” plan of attack yesterday might have resulted in this improvement, i decided to repeat it today. so...
i stayed in my pyjamas all day.
i took small, gentle steps when i had to move from point A to point B anywhere in the apartment.
i tried not to have to move from point As to point Bs unless absolutely necessary.
i took regular doses of naproxen.
i iced my lower abs for 20 minutes every few hours.
i watched a lot of daytime TV.
i did not look out the windows because the curtains and blinds are all closed due to the north winds today.
i did not go to get my mail because that would involve: 1. getting dressed, and 2. walking. two things i had no intention of doing today.
i did not go to the grocery store to pick up the fruits, vegetables and bread i need. refer to above point for explanation. instead, it’s been a delightful day of treats from the freezer.
i did not feel bad about any of today’s hermit-like behavior because my abs continue to feel better, bit by bit.
and i need them to continue to heal because, tomorrow, i have no fewer than three appointments – outside the apartment – that will not only require wearing something other than pyjamas, but will involve a fair bit of walking.
today, i'm in a fair bit of pain.
i suspect it's a result, in part or in whole, of the wonderful, 90+ minute snow walk i took yesterday morning.
i'd opened my curtains around 8am yesterday and discovered, much to my surprise, a heavy snowfall underway. there was already a significant amount of fresh, powdery, new snow on the ground, and more was accumulating with each passing minute. i checked the weather network, saw that the snow was set to continue through the morning, and promptly got dressed, put on my big-snow boots and hurried out the door into a magnificent winter wonderland. it was heavenly.
visibility was occasionally reduced dramatically, and the snow just kept on falling. i loved it. the streets were empty and it was early enough in the day that no one was out yet. everything was covered in a dense fondant and it all looked stunningly gorgeous. nothing had yet been plowed, so the sidewalks were still pristine and the snow untouched, which meant i could gleefully shuffle through about six inches of fallen snow with each step. [if you're unsure of what that means, it's shuffling through snow the same way you'd shuffle through leaves in autumn (so you kick them up as you go), or the way you might wade in shallow, low-tide waters (so as to splash water up in front of you).]
"a fantastic walk and extra resistance training!" i thought.
and therein lies the problem, i think.
see, i did that for an hour and a half. non-stop. uphill for several stretches. it was exhausting but exhilarating, and arriving home pooped but satisfied felt good.
but i did so after having gone for a similar, equally tiring, two-hour snow walk two days prior.
and i did that after two hours of walking, up- and downhill, on wednesday.
and perhaps all of that back-to-back excessive exercise, combined with the added pressure i was putting on my muscles with my self-prescribed "resistance work," strained something in my lower abdomen (or popped lefty) because, by yesterday afternoon, just walking from my couch to my desk -- a span of about six feet -- caused me great discomfort. sitting or lying down was fine, but as soon as i had to move my legs it felt as though someone was yanking, hard, on every muscle below my belly button. sleeping last night wasn't an issue, and i hoped everything would resolve itself by morning, but no such luck. it still hurts.
i really have no one to blame but myself. my snow walk on thursday began with that same kind of pain, but i chalked it up to lefty and/or unusually pronounced PMS-y cramping. but the pain lessened as i went, so i figured i'd actually helped it by walking. as such, when i set out yesterday morning and felt that same tightness and cutting pain as i began, i figured i'd be making it better by staying out longer.
evidently, i was mistaken.
massive amounts of googling last night and today led me to a number of possible reasons for this searing pain, but the most likely culprit (i hope) is a muscle strain. even though it sometimes feels like something is torn, i know i didn't do anything overly strenuous (i didn't try to lift a couch or anything) or severe that might actually result in a tear, and strain pain can be acute. unfortunately, these muscles in question are required for just about any activity outside of sleeping, so they're hard to treat/heal. and, not surprisingly, i probably exacerbated the problem i created on wednesday with my subsequent outings on thursday and saturday, meaning it'll take even longer for the pain to subside. ah well.
so, i've spent today in my pyjamas, lying on the couch with heat on my lower abdomen and taking regular doses of naproxen.
and, just to give myself a sense of relative pain, i watched (and winced through) two episodes of Jackass.
relax. not that kind of date.
one of the key assignments in The Artist’s Way is to take yourself on an “artist date” once a week. it must be done alone – no tag-alongs, no plus-ones, no group outings – and it must be something that somehow fuels or tickles or inspires the creative part of your soul. it can be anything – buying crayons and paper and drawing for two hours, visiting an art gallery, browsing at a fabric shop – but it’s preferred that it be a new and different activity for you so as to fill your creative storehouse with fresh material.
so, today was my first artist date with myself.
over the past several days, i’d thought a lot about what i would do. when i saw the weather forecast was for snow today, i decided that i’d take a long walk, along some brand new route (so that i’d also be exploring new territory on the way), and end it at an art supply store where i’d wander the aisles for a while. perfect!
then the forecast changed, and the snowfall was moved to tonight, and i needed a new plan.
fortunately, i live in a neighbourhood with a slew of really old churches. the kind of beautiful, ornate buildings that have been around for a century or more, so that you feel a bit like you’ve stepped back in time when you walk through their enormous wooden doors.
one of the nearby anglican parishes has chamber music recitals every thursday at noon, and they’re free, so attending one became my (new) inaugural artist date. it’s something i’d never done before, involved the arts, was happening nearby AND would cost me nothing. done and done.
i arrived about 10 minutes before showtime, and noticed that almost all of the 25-or-so attendees were area seniors. i didn’t care, took a seat in a pew off to the side of the church and waited.
today’s performers were a trio – a flautist, a guitarist and a clarinet player. they performed four pieces:
* rachmaninoff’s “vocalise, op. 34, #14”
* villa-lobos’ “bachianas brasileiras no. 5”
* kreutzer’s “trio, op. 16”
and
* délibes’ “flower duet” from Lakmé
the only song i recognized, and the one that just about anyone would recognize from its first four notes, was the final tune. i mention the others just in case any of you are classical aficionados. and even though i was unfamiliar with the programme – or, perhaps, because of that – it was simply a meditative hour of lovely music in a pretty setting.
i closed my eyes for a while and just listened, and lost myself in the notes.
a stunning, cloudless, azure sky.
a swirling, twirling flight of a hundred city pigeons overhead.
a cascade of downy, grey feathers in its wake.
a blessedly poop-free moment during a downtown walk.
this morning, those three words arrived in my inbox from a new editor for whom i just completed my first story. she also encouraged me to send her more pitches.
yay!
writing for a new magazine can sometimes be a bit of a learning experience. each one has its own style, nuances and "rules" for the work it publishes. most of the time, those things are obvious if you have half a brain and actually read an issue or two of the magazine before sitting down to write for it. but there are occasions where its specificities might be less clear, and what you think you know turns out to be slightly, or entirely, off.
so, sometimes you submit a piece and get it returned to you with notes for revision.
sometimes you hear nothing at all, but your cheque nonetheless arrives in the mail.
and then, other times, you magically knock one out of the ballpark on your first try.
those are the best times. the times when you feel like you actually know what you're doing, and can do it really well. the times that give your spirit a hearty pat on the back.
and, this morning, the "this is awesome" i received did all those things, and set a pretty fantastic tone for my day.
YB and i decided to do some post-christmas, post-new year's shopping today. we knew that further markdowns would magically be in place today, now that the season for visiting and gift-giving and stocking-stuffing is over.
and we were correct. our first stop was wal-mart, where we scored a ton of 75%-off chocolate. we loaded up on terry's chocolate oranges and after eights. then we wandered the mall and found magnets, and socks, and cleaning products, and assorted small-ticket items.
but my best deal happened at old navy. partly due to the 70%-off sale on men's pyjama bottoms, and partly due to the very young, very sweet but very goofy sales clerk who rang in my purchase.
i've been looking for new pyjamas to keep at YB's place for the past couple of weeks. when she first bought the house and i began staying over, i brought with me a rag-tag collection of clothes i didn't really wear anymore to have (and store) there, so i'd always have some "home clothes" to put on while visiting. but the pyjama bottoms i've been using are almost 10 years old, and have seen better days, and i reasoned that, if we're going to hang out in our pyjamas for a day on occasion, maybe i'd like to have some fun ones to wear.
my search had been somewhat fruitless. i'm very picky about my PJs. i like them to be HUGE. so, i usually buy men's, and usually in XL.
cut to this morning:
we were at old navy and on our way out, empty-handed, when i spotted a small rack of holiday-themed men's pyjama bottoms with a wonderful "70% off" sign above it.
what?!
a few cotton pairs had actual christmas-ish patterns, and the two pairs of flannel ones were simply vibrant plaid colours. perfect! the green-scheme pair was XXL and, really, too big even for me. but the red-scheme pair was L, and looked very roomy, so i pulled them off the rack. there was also a sizable collection of pale-blue, pin-striped summer pyjama bottoms on the same rack. they, too, were 70% off (per the sign), so i opted to get a pair of those, as well.
i waited in line to pay, then walked up to my cashier -- whom i'll call mathias, because his actual name was some kind of fancy nordic thing with a "j" and an "s" where they didn't belong, and he was very blonde and had blue eyes, and he looked like a "mathias." a 16-year-old swedish boy named mathias.
anyway...
mathias rang in the red plaid pair first. they came out to $5 and change. excellent!
then he rang in the pale-blue pair, and they came in at regular price.
wait. what?
i explained that i'd found them on the same 70%-off rack as the other pair, and that there were multiple pairs of the pale-blue pants (so it wasn't just a misplaced item someone else left there by mistake).
quite happily, mathias said he would go double-check, since the rack was right around the corner from the checkout area. at first, he couldn't find the rack, so i shouted and pointed directions to him. he must have walked right past the rack three times until finally i yelled, "okay, STOP. now, just TURN AROUND to your right!"
bingo.
he confirmed the 70% off and then returned to the register... and realized he had no clue how to reduce the price.
"does anybody have a calculator?" mathias called to his fellow cashiers.
someone handed him one.
then he realized he had no idea how to do percentages.
he started punching in numbers, but looked confused. i'd already mentally calculated that, with the reduction, the pale-blue pyjama bottoms would likely be around $4.20. so i decided to share this with mathias.
"they should be around $4.20," i said.
mathias put away the calculator and said, relieved and cheerful...
"okay. i'll just give 'em to you for $4.20 because i'm crap at math."
i laughed, but certainly wasn't going to argue.
"you probably shouldn't tell people that," i cautioned him. "especially when you're working cash."
he smiled.
then i produced the 15% off survey coupon i've been carrying around in my wallet since halloween -- the kind of coupon you get when you complete an online survey and get a "secret word" -- and he (successfully) included it in my total.
the entire purchase came out to just over $9!
then mathias gave me my pants, my receipt... AND gave me back the 15% off coupon! those coupons are supposed to be valid only once, and the cashier is supposed to take it from the customer and keep it afterwards, but he just happily gave mine back. it's good until january 31st, so i can use it again!
and, if all this retail joy wasn't enough, on my way out of the store, i found a dime on the floor.
i spent some time back on december 30th officially getting rid of all the negative baggage i collected in 2010.
a couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine told me about a ritual where you write down every hurt, every sadness, every resentment and every other negative thing you want to release from your life at the end of the year, and then you burn them in a fire, one by one. then, on new pieces of paper, you write each of your wishes for the new year and, one at a time, burn those in the same fire... BUT in a spot away from the one where you just finished burning all the things you were ridding from your spirit. this prevents the two energies from merging in any way.
though i really liked the concept, i don't have a fireplace or a BBQ, and setting stuff on fire in my apartment seemed like an ill-advised idea. so, i improvised.
the crap of 2010 has been relinquished; 2011 hopes and dreams and wishes have been sent out to the universe. as a result, i do feel lighter going into the new year.
which is good, because i've also hit the ground running.
even though my "new year" actually started back in september, and life has been slowly and steadily improving for the most part ever since, i really wanted to kick off 2011 by putting some plans in place and giving myself more of a road map for the months ahead... and i didn't want to wait until january 2nd because i knew it would probably slide into january 3rd. and then melt into the 4th. and then dissolve into the 5th. and then it would suddenly be june and i'd be wondering where the hell six months went.
so, two day ago, i asked my friend j-mo for a new set of deadlines for another new screenplay. this one is very much research driven, since it's set in a specific period in history and involves the military, and it's an idea that's been percolating for almost a year, so i knew how important it would be to get it going and keep it going. since the deadline experiment of this past fall proved successful, i decided to try it again and, thankfully, j-mo had once again provided me with a trio of time buoys. first deadline: mid-march, by which point i'm to have finished my research. and, when i hit my first-draft deadline in june, i'll then have two first drafts to work on, and i can start revising and rewriting the one that calls to me most, knowing i have a second one waiting in the wings if i hit a creative block.
speaking of creative blocks...
today, i also began the "creativity recovery" workshop that julia cameron outlines in The Artist's Way. it's a 12-week program that, as its name suggests, aims to help you reclaim your creativity and thrive as an artist. there are daily and weekly tasks you must complete, assignments you must finish, and my work began first thing this morning.
for every day of these 12 weeks -- and, cameron says, hopefully forever from here on in -- i'm to start each morning by writing (in longhand) three full notebook pages. of what? of whatever. anything and everything that's in my mind, no matter how random, disjointed, confusing, abstract or crazy. totally stream of consciousness. no editing, just writing. the point, she says, is to drain the brain of the "noise" that interferes with otherwise creative work, and to have it be the very first thing you do each day. before breakfast. before you get dressed. before you read the paper, check email or turn on the news.
just: wake up, get pen, get paper and go. unclog the arteries of your creative potential. she swears by it, as do her students. and, she says, hating it is actually a good sign. as is loving it.
so, as YB slept in, i sat in the bed in the guest room, opened the brand new, red, spiral-bound hilroy notebook i'd bought specifically for this workshop and brought along so i could get started on january 1st, and wrote. longhand. for three long, long pages. it took me 40 minutes and my hand was nicely crampy when i was done. but i did it. and i will continue to do it each morning. i'm ready to live an artist's life and use every last ounce of my creativity on a daily basis. and, i have to admit, even just beginning the reading for this workshop got the wheels turning and the lights back on my head and heart. i'm looking forward to what fruit it all might bear.
oh, and i'll also be undertaking one more creative exercise in 2011: a new, photo-a-day blog (link to be posted once it's up and running) inspired by the 365 Project. no narrative, just pictures. 1000 words a day, as it were. every day.
onwards...
[note: for anyone who's interested, YB and i went to NYE mass, and father malaria joe still has malaria.]
