dewinsblog

Making changes...

2011-07-08T18:25:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to post a quick update! After ten weeks of writing book reviews for the Examiner, I realized it was just not my bag. I wasn't finding any joy in it, and I didn't feel like I was learning as much from the experience as I had expected. But, as they say, everything happens for a reason. A gentleman happened across one of my reviews and, after a random sequence of events, he and his wife- an author- named me as Senior Editor of the publishing company they recently started! I had never before considered working in editing and was surprised when I really enjoyed going over their first published novel. So I am really excited to start working with them. Both of them are really great people, as well. The name of the company is Tobias Books. You can check out their website here:

Tobias Books

Activating...

2011-02-11T14:25:00.000-08:00

I am now fully activated! Please check out my page at :

http://www.examiner.com/books-in-jacksonville/dewin-anguas-barnette

Bookmark it, send it to your friends, or post it to your facebook! (Or all of the above!) I will be posting book reviews as often as possible (my goal is once a week- let's see if I can make it!). I am also hoping to start some book discussions in the examiner forums, as well. So, please come and participate!

Examining...

2011-02-10T19:05:00.000-08:00

Well, it is official! I am now an "examiner" with Jacksonville's The Examiner website! I will be posting book reviews for them under their Arts & Entertainment section. This means my former review blog will be no more. And, it means I better get busy reading!!

Please check it out at examiner.com/jacksonville and tell your friends!!!

Finding what's more...

2011-02-06T23:03:00.000-08:00

I heard a great line yesterday- The only monster that you need to worry about in this life is the one that stares at you from the mirror each morning. You tame him, make friends with him, and the rest of life is nothing you can't handle.* And this is what I hope to do by backing off from the cyber world for a while. I have canceled my facebook and my myspace accounts, and I am taking a hiatus from this blog. I will leave it active for anyone who wants to read past posts, and for a future me who may want to come back to it. For now, though, "it's time for [me] to start writing something other than notes."**

I am ready now to work on getting published. I have applied to write for an online magazine, and will shift my focus to submitting articles to smaller magazines, at first, and then hopefully on to larger ones. And, possibly to dabbling in fiction. I am a person who can easily get mired down into a rut, and I fear that this blog may be my comfort rut. So, I am breaking out of it, not because I don't like it, but because I feel that maybe it has led me to the place I am now, the place I need to be- with my writing, my confidence, and my peace of mind. I love writing because it is my way of assessing the world around me, of breaking things down into simplified and digestible pieces. Now I want to try doing that from a different approach. Like yesterday, when I had gotten myself so upset about something that I didn't know what to do, I went into my backyard and played in the dirt and it calmed me. It's time to simplify things, try something new, get dirty, and find out what more is.

*Charles Martin, Chasing Fireflies
**Golly, Harriet the Spy

I will be publishing my own website soon, so I will be sure to post when that is up! Thanks to all my continual readers! Please keep in touch via my email: dewin@dewindesigns.com.

Focusing beyond the horizon...

2011-01-27T19:31:00.000-08:00

"Cowardice asks the question- is it safe; expediency asks the question- is it politic; and, vanity comes along and asks the question- is it popular. But, conscience asks the question- is it right. And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must do it because conscience tells him it is right."

This is my new favorite quote by Martin Luther King. When I first heard it, it immediately reminded me of my own life. I always let cowardice ask 'is it safe' about everything I do. I live my life from a cramped space of fear, only venturing far enough out to peek around and then pull my head quickly back in. I only say what people want to hear because it's not safe to speak my mind. I only stick to what I know. I have dreams, but I tell myself they cannot come true because they are not realistic.

In the amazing State of the Union address Tuesday night, President Obama said something I will never forget: "I'm not sure how we'll reach that better place beyond the horizon, but I know we'll get there." We focus too much on planning every little detail of life. It's hard not to. But Obama's comments showed me the way to focus on what's important, the forest above all the trees. Focus on the end result and you will get there. It's when you focus on the how that cowardice, expediency, and vanity sneak in with their judgment. I don't want to live my life in a place that's safe, logical, or well-liked. The most important place is where I want to be. If I focus on that and that only, the rest will fall into place.

Father Lopez; Mission of Nombre de Dios, St. Augustine, Florida

Reflecting...

2011-01-23T10:21:00.000-08:00

I am currently reading an autobiography of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., pieced together from his own writings. In it, he discusses the reasoning behind his use of nonviolent tactics. Of course there are the obvious reasons, but one floated forward that I had not recognized before: contrast. When we look in the mirror, we think we are seeing reality, but what we really see is the opposite of reality, an image that has been flipped 180 degrees upon itself. When the marches and boycotts were held throughout the South in the mid-1900s, two things led the police and KKK to retaliate with violence. One, of course, was a lack of control, but the other was a lack of what they saw as reaction. King preached that no matter what happened, whether pain or death, not to retaliate in violence, but in love. The effect this had on the aggressors was remarkable. For, what it did was provide a mirror for them showing just what they were capable of by showing them the exact opposite. Violence held up to violence appears justified, but violence held up to nonviolence appears ridiculous. By refusing to involve themselves in this fake drama being played out before them, they made a true contribution by showing the aggressors who they themselves were on the inside. Once it had been reflected for them so clearly, they had no other choice but to back down.

I am also currently reading a novel about a girl who was raised by a schizophrenic and abusive mother. I was reading a particularly painful piece the other day while working out at the gym. I had my book propped up on the stairmaster, and to take a break and digest what I had just read, I looked up for a moment at the tv that was on the wall in front of me. It was tuned to some reality show I couldn't hear because of my headphones. All I could see was an extremely financially-fortunate woman, complete with bleached hair and botox, completely made up to sit around on her couch in the middle of the afternoon and argue with somebody. I don't know who it was, and I doubt it matters anyway. All I could see was a very blessed and miserable woman. Then I looked back down to my book, at the scared and confused young girl within its pages. The contrast in priorities just stunned me.

I think that if we were to use what and who we see around us as a mirror for our true selves instead of seeing it as some outside, unconnected happenstance, we could get a glimpse of who we really are, and thereby, be better able to become who we really want to be. Or maybe we're too afraid of what we will see.

Mirror Lake in the Okefenokee Swamp.

Creating (not following) my path...

2011-01-17T20:01:00.000-08:00

Today I finished the second of two autobiographical accounts of hostage experiences in the Colombian jungle. The first, written by then presidential candidate Ingrid Betancourt, I read for my book review blog. I was so intrigued by her story that I then read the narrative of her companion, lawyer Clara Rojas. Next on my agenda is yet another account co-written by three American soldiers who were held with the women. One thing I like about Betancourt's story is that it truly gives you a glimpse into the human psyche and how it reacts to the lack of freedom and all that comes with it. Clara's story is interesting because it discusses the trials of having a child in middle of the jungle. As I was reading the final chapters of her book this evening, I came across a cool quote that not only sums up her experience of six years of being held captive, but my struggle with how I want to express my life. She pulled it from a song by Joan Manuel Serrat entitled, "Caminante No Hay Camino". The chorus goes like this:

"Traveler, there is no set path;
the path is made while walking it.
Blow by blow, kiss by kiss,
that's how a path is made."

I have a new favorite hobby: searching for real estate online. Do we have any plans to move anytime soon, no. But I like to daydream that one day we could afford a cozy little cottage in St. Augustine hidden amongst the huge oak trees, draped in moss. It's fun to daydream, but the thing is when I close my laptop, instead of pulling inspiration from the act of dreaming, I grow bitter and angry that I am forced to settle for what I have. I did this last night, and my husband pointed it out to me. I had never noticed before that I get that way. So as I lay in bed I asked myself, why do I do that to myself, why do I even look at the houses if I can't afford them? 'Because it's fun' was my mind's quick response. It's fun to dream and pretend. So that's when I realized it's ok to dream but only if you use it to inspire you, not deflate you. The Serrat quote reinforced this thinking for me today. I interpreted it as a reminder to step back, chill out, and enjoy what I've been given. To stop worrying about what comes next.

Fun with trespassing! (At least I don't live here, right?!)

Invoking Chopra...

2011-01-10T09:35:00.000-08:00

I read a wonderful article today by one of my favorite writers- Deepak Chopra. The title, "Why Worry is a Choice", immediately grabbed my attention because it was almost a direct response to my recent post, Self-imposing. What's funny is his answer to my issues of self-created misery is something that I had actually written in my very next post, Demanding. Just like with my example of freaking out about an upcoming meeting, Chopra says, "Life is always uncertain, and until you can embrace this fact, you will imagine risks, dangers, and threats that never materialize. Yet, suffering in your imagination is just as painful—perhaps more painful—since dealing with a crisis is always easier than waiting for one in a state of dread." In fact, he writes that "anxious people dread themselves more than their imaginary dangers."

So, number one: embrace that life is always uncertain. To do this, we must embrace not only that life is not perfect, but that we ourselves are not perfect, which brings to mind something that my writing friend wrote me recently. "Goals and plans to achieve them are great. They are only a problem when so much importance is put on a single plan that you start to think that short term success is required to achieve a long term goal. In other words, you have to build failure into your short term plan." I think this is such a cool concept. Hardly ever do we plan for failure or uncertainty. Chopra furthers my friend's comments by saying, "Negatives [Failures] can be useful if they show you what you are moving away from, but they're not useful if you use them to fuel your self-judgment, since self-judgment is the root of the problem."

One thing I love about Chopra is that he doesn't offer just one point of view, his words come from his extensive background knowledge of several cultures and religions. For instance, he says, "Many spiritual traditions speak of separation as the real cause of human misery. People are divided inside. With anxiety, the strong part of the self is at war with the weak part." I definitely felt this when I was stressing about my meeting. Part of me was thinking- I know this is going to be bad, while another part was thinking- you are overreacting and being stupid. This internal argument, then, caused even more anxiety and anger at myself, because I was doing exactly what I wrote about in Demanding: focusing on the trivial details instead of my true meaning. "Anxious people never settle this inner conflict. They are so divided that when they feel afraid, the weak part is "the real me." When they are not afraid, the strong part is "the real me." In fact, neither is the real self. The real self is beyond conflict; it is whole and at peace. So the long-term approach to anxiety is to rise above the inner war to find a self that is more whole."

So, number two: stay connected to the whole, true self. I have my methods of doing this. One is going to state parks, just being outside period. But I can't really do that at work. Chopra suggests taking 10 minutes to be by yourself and simply breathe. But for some, he says, this can cause its own anxiety. "Anxious people misjudge being alone. They identify it with fear, loneliness, and insecurity. That's perfectly understandable given their history of fear. But being alone is your ground state, the basis of your existence. It's not your enemy."

He pretty much sums up our entire society in his description of the avoidance tactics we use to disregard fear. "For anxious people, fear is actually a kind of solution. It keeps the person vigilant. It gives the feeling of being concerned, engaged, and busy. And since fear is unwelcome, it drives people into all kinds of escapist activities. Every distraction from alcohol and drugs to television and movies is constantly available. It's no surprise that millions of people would rather accommodate their lives to being afraid rather than seeking authentic healing."

So, number three: stop creating distractions. My avoidance strategy is to create busyness where there is none. I can put a stop to this by balancing my work schedule, only checking my work email at specific times of day, letting calls go to voice mail, organizing my time better, and scheduling time to do absolutely nothing.

In the conclusion, Chopra states that, like most things, it is best to work on anxiety one day at a time. "Happiness is built up by having good days, not by reaching for an unattainable ideal in the future."

If you would like to read the article in its entirety, which includes a helpful checklist, you can follow this link:

Why Worry Is A Choice

Blog hopping...

2011-01-08T20:36:00.000-08:00

I've never heard of a Blog Hop before, but one of my blog friends is hosting one, and I couldn't resist! She proposes a theme, and her readers blog about it and post links. You can read her other readers' entries by clicking the link at the bottom of my post. Her theme for this week is inspiration, so here goes...

Inspiration is something that I luckily am able to tap into pretty often, and I have found that the things that inspire me are those that incite wonder. This could be a book about the past that makes me wonder what it must have been like to live back then. It could be in the form of a movie or tv show that makes me wonder what it is like to live that person's life, whether real or fictitious. It could be the feelings I have for my husband that make me wonder about the depths of love. Or it could be a beautiful day that makes me wonder about the interconnectedness of humans and nature. Whatever the source, it is really the act of wondering that inspires me.

I believe this is because wondering opens me up to possibilities. In my daily life, I am very easily bogged down by the details- where I need to be, what needs to be done, or what mistakes I have made. When I feel like this, I can feel my focus narrowing, like a horse wearing blinders. But when I am feeling inspired, my focus widens and I take in more of the world. It broadens my relationship with the world, and thereby life as a whole. So, maybe it is really my relationship with life that inspires me. Whatever it is, when I am feeling inspired, I know that I am living a fulfilled life.

Destination Unknown

Balancing faith and logic...

2011-01-07T21:43:00.000-08:00

Something I have often struggled with is how much of my life to trust to faith, and how much to logically plan. I am a big believer that the universe will provide for you. But at the same time I don't want to be lazy and make poor choices. Having a kid, for instance. I feel like most people do it because they feel it is the right time. And, financially and lifestyle-wise, it seems to always work itself out. Maybe not perfectly, but for the most part. But do I just do it and trust that it will work out okay? Or do I plan and wait until I feel financially and mentally stable, which could mean I end up waiting forever?

This applies to my writing as well. I read a book recently about an unpublished author who quit her day job to stay home and write. Is it wise to put that much faith in life? I would never have the guts to take that big of a jump. But at the same time I don't want to be a planner. I like life to be full of surprises. I don't want to plan down to the second the moment of my child's birth or know exactly what I am going to do with the rest of my life. I don't want to have that much control. Some control is necessary, or at least the illusion of it is. But too much control can be suffocating.

Maybe I don't want to know the answers. Maybe it's more fun to wonder. Maybe my searching for answers is just another way of reaching toward a mirage of control. The truth is I don't know the answers. No one does. I guess for now I'll just try to maintain an even balance of both.

Being happy and knowing it...

2011-01-04T21:30:00.000-08:00

My first completed read of the new year is a book I have been wanting to read for approximately twenty years. Fried Green Tomatoes has been a favorite movie of mine since the first time I saw it. The storyline and the relationships expressed in the film are a constant inspiration for my writing. So, on my trip to California, I read the novel by Fannie Flagg. I was surprised at how completely different it was from the movie, and was again surprised when I found out that Flagg also co-wrote the screenplay.

Although I only rated the literary version 3 out of 5 stars on goodreads.com, there was a handful of brilliant lines within the story. One in particular is just perfect in its description of life. It's in a segment where 87-year-old Ninny Threadgoode is talking to her younger friend Evelyn about life during the Depression. She says,

We were happy and didn't know it.

In all my research into 9/11 last year, I garnered myself a new anxiety of flying. I literally worked myself into a panic attack on each flight on the way home, but there was this moment somewhere 35,000 feet above the ground when I looked out my window onto the clouds and that line echoed in my head. I thought to myself, this is life- right here, right here on this plane, in the middle of the sky. Since I can remember, my life has always been a matter of getting somewhere. I was consistently in transport. When I was young, it was about waiting til I could be a writer, then it was about surviving high school; when I was with my high school boyfriend, it was getting through til I saw him again or until we were married. What I was doing at the moment was only being done simply to get me to someplace else. But yesterday, my life suddenly stopped flat at 500 miles per hour, and I finally realized what Eckhart Tolle means when he says to live in the now. This is my life. Right now. And whether I am washing the dishes or hanging with rock stars, my life is good. And, though I may not always realize it, I am happy.

This is a photo I took when I visited "Whistle Stop, Alabama" (aka Juliette, Georgia) where the movie Fried Green Tomatoes was filmed. The building that posed as the Whistle Stop Cafe now really is a cafe, but if you're looking for some barbeque, save yourself a trip and just drive to your local McDonald's for a McRib sandwich. You'll get the same effect.

Meeting with myself...

2010-12-18T17:55:00.000-08:00

One of the areas I work with my students on is study strategies. I try to help them to organize all of their obligations in a way that breaks down the larger tasks into smaller, more manageable and less stressful ones. I was thinking about some of my students this morning and how I wish there were something I could do to make them follow through with some of these tasks because I know their lives would be so much easier. I just couldn't understand why they wouldn't just do it. Until something clicked and I realized that I do, in fact, understand.

So, this afternoon I set up a very important meeting- with myself. I want to stop wasting time and get focused on my photography, art, and writing. So, me, myself, and I had a little strategizing session and came up with some short-term goals. I realized that I have been frozen because, like my students, I am overwhelmed by the work ahead of me. I look at someone else's photos, for example, and think- there's no way I can learn all those techniques. I read someone else's writing, and think- I wish I could put my thoughts together like that. I see another's artwork and cringe, simultaneously thinking I could do that and I would have never been able to put that together. It's infuriating. So, instead I watch tv. I stress about work. I make up a whole litany of responsibilities to distract myself- I have to go grocery shopping; I have to clean out the garage; I have to buy Christmas presents. Well, true as these may be, there is something else more important to me.

My life coach teaches the importance of spouses meeting a few times a year to discuss where they are and where they want to be in a year, five years, ten years, and come up with goals to get them there. This is exactly what I did, only with myself. I grabbed my laptop, a notebook, and a pen and went outside where I could be out of my usual comfort zone of the house. I began by listing my three focus areas: art, writing, and photography, and listing every single idea of how I could incorporate them into my life more that came to mind without censor. From these, I created a short list of goals that I can start with today and that will break up my long-term goals into manageable morsels. For instance, I have subscribed to a daily prompts email list to encourage me to write something, anything, daily. It will take the pressure off knowing I don't have to come up with the topic myself. And, maybe something more will spring from one of them. As for my photography, I have decided to take one night a week to just google new photography techniques and see what I find. With art, I would like to try sketching some pieces before jumping into working on them, which stresses me out.

After listing everything and writing it all down, I felt as though a weight had been lifted. Now it all seems so easy. In fact, I was so relieved, my excuse barrier shattered, that I came into my office and cleaned off my art table and organized my writing materials and about a half million other things that I've put off for over a year. I also took a risk and emailed a really talented local photographer and asked him to meet me for coffee so I could pick his brain. I really want to reach out for support, and stop feeling like I'm doing this on my own.

I stopped by Ashes' Boutique today at the beach, where I have some of my photos and artwork on consignment. I hadn't been in close to a year. I fully expected her to have my stuff in a box in the storage room out back. Instead, it was lying in different areas throughout the shop. I asked her if she wanted me to take them all, but she said no, that she loved them and thinks they are beautiful. It just gave me the renewed spirit and encouragement I needed to continue. It's very easy to give in to the "what's the point" voice in your head. Lucky for me, mine has been quieted, if only for a day.

Possibilities.

Demanding...

2010-12-11T20:12:00.000-08:00

I watched The Right Stuff tonight, a movie about Chuck Yeager and the Mercury astronauts- the first Americans in space. Alan Shepard- the first human to ride in the Mercury spacecraft- and his wife were greeted by President Kennedy and Jackie O. upon his return. However, for whatever reason, Gus Grissom, who took the second seat, received no such welcome home. His wife became angry, as anyone would. Suddenly, I pulled back for a moment and looked down at Earth myself.

All I saw were millions of tiny people deciding what they deserved and becoming upset when they didn't receive it. But the funny thing is it never existed in the first place, so they are grieving over nothing. In other words, to further my last post, we all live in our own perceptions, which are false about 99% of the time. We constantly intake what is going on around us, comparing our situations to others and assuming that the same or better will- no, should- happen to us. Those who are in situations worse than ours we simply dismiss.

I find it quite narcissistic of us to assume that we deserve anything at all. And, more than narcissism, it's just plain self-harm. The only product of these "demands" is misery for the one who created them in the first place.

Find dewin. I've been noticing times lately when I feel pulled into the details of life and away from the greater meaning. These are generally times when I feel stressed, times when I am not receiving what I "deserve". Usually I am focusing on work or petty circumstances or money, none of which have any relationship with the meaning that I represent here in this world. That's why I love state parks, and why I love this photo of me by the Suwannee. It reminds me of my true place in this world- a significantly insignificant, lucky participant in a wonderland of beauty.

Self-imposing...

2010-12-05T15:09:00.000-08:00

I have been working on an essay with one of my students regarding the idea of life as an illusion, a flexible, self-imposed reality. I was intrigued by the topic immediately, but didn't quite sense its complete truth until the other day. I woke up to a beautiful, sunny day. It was the perfect temperature outside, not too cold as it has been. I had only a few students to see. My husband was coming home in a matter of hours. I was looking forward to lunch at my favorite place. I could go on and on to make my point that, by all outward appearances, it was a wonderful day. But inside of me, it was not so wonderful.

My head was a mess of anxiety, worry, misery, and anger. It was so strong, in fact, that it stretched out to my every limb. My stomach began to hurt, my legs became sore, my entire body exhausted. The culprit was of my very own making. I had a meeting scheduled for later that day, and, though it hadn't even happened yet, I had already played it all out in my head a thousand ways. Of course, every single way ended with either my becoming upset, the other party becoming upset, or both of the above. It was an unquestionable mess waiting to happen, and all I could do was sit and anticipate its arrival.

Well, as one might suspect, the meeting was fine and a very pleasant experience. But it didn't matter. I had worked myself up so much in the waiting for it that the rest of my day was a waste. I was mush. I couldn't think, I couldn't feel, I could hardly move. I came home, laid on the couch with my baby blanket and watched four episodes of Gilmore Girls in a row. I paint this embarrassing picture only to show how true my student's essay really is. Had I not created this false scenario in my mind, my day- my reality- would have been great. Why do I do this to myself? You would think I would want myself to be happy. But it seems lately that that unfortunately is not the case.

My husband recently shared with me a quote from one of his favorite movies, The Shawshank Redemption. He said, you have to either "get busy living or get busy dying." I just wish someone would explain that to my brain.

Dreaming...

2010-11-28T09:41:00.000-08:00

I just read a book about a woman who believed so strongly in the messages of dreams that while other families were discussing the events of their day at the dinner table, her family discussed their dreams. I've tried in the past to write down my dreams, not only in hopes of some mystical message from beyond, but also in an attempt to get story ideas. But most of the time I have not a clue what my dreams mean. The dream I just woke up from, however, was so clear as to be considered cliche.

I was on vacation, walking through a gift shop in some old stone building, when I spotted an older man outside- a friend from the writing conference I attended last May (for real). In this dream, like most of my dreams, the people don't have faces. That sounds creepy, but it's not. They have human forms, but that's not really what I see. In my dreams I sense people more than see them. This person looked nothing like anyone I really know and I associated no name with him. But he gave off the feeling that he was older, male, and a writing friend. So, I go outside the shop to talk to him, and he tells me that this famous author- again an older male with no name or face- is going repelling off the building and then shouts to the guy that I want to go too. Immediately I start to feel nauseated.

The author handed me a carabiner ( I only know this word because I googled it), and as I put it on my belt loop, like I would with the one that holds my All Access credentials at my husband's shows, I was thinking- how is this going to keep me safe? He started walking toward the wall of the building we were going to repel down, and I began my defense, my mind quickly arranging all of the reasons I should not do this. Then I thought of Gilmore Girls, and the episode where Rory jumps off of a seven-story high platform as part of her journalistic investigation into the Life and Death Brigade. At first, she was afraid- until Logan, her source and future boyfriend, tells her this:

"It's your choice. People can live a hundred years without really living for a minute. You climb up here with me it's one less minute you haven't lived."

That's when I decided I have to do it. So, we walk around the side of the building, when suddenly we hear a huge loud bang and see what looks like red and blue fireworks in the sky. Everyone around us starts running and somehow I end up in front of a tv, where a woman named Lucas starts reporting that some fighter jets were getting into formation and hit each other. Then, a discussion I recently had with my friend- in real life- comes flooding back to mind. As she drove me to the airport to go see my husband the other week, I admitted to her that I was scared of flying since watching umpteen 9/11 documentaries, including the very real reenactment of United 93, the plane that nosedived into the ground in Pennsylvania. I remembered thinking, why add to the chances of death? They are already all around you. If I stay on the ground, at least they are diminished somewhat. But my friend told me she doesn't worry when she travels, which is often, because people fly all the time without incident.

From there, I walked back to the gift shop where the dream had begun. Now there was a big lake in front of it that I had to swim through to get there. After walking in, I noticed Search and Rescue workers were swimming all around. It took me a second to realize they were collecting evidence, and calling out to bystanders for help. The vomitous feeling quickly returned and I jumped out of the water, afraid of seeing body parts. Instead, I walked alongside the river, picking up tiny pieces of red plastic and metal. "Pick up everything you see, everything," the workers called. So I did.

To me, the meaning behind this dream is pathetically obvious. I don't think it was just happenstance that the people asking me to jump were my writing friends. I don't find it at all perplexing that I related writing with thoughts of jumping and fear and dying and self-conservation. I never thought I would quote the gospel according to Logan Huntzberger, one of my least favorite GG characters, but insight sometimes comes in surprising packages.

Random cat in a coffee shop in Micanopy. And a link to the scene to which I make reference:

You Jump I Jump, Jack

Standing up...

2010-11-15T12:44:00.000-08:00

I have never reposted someone else's blog post before, but as I was just subjected to one of these backscatter x-ray machines in Jacksonville International Airport against my will, I would like to share this man's struggle with my readers. I saw my experience as having three possible conclusions: 1, be a 30-second porn star, 2, be molested via pat down, or 3, not get to visit my husband. I don't feel that any of those choices is fair. But like all other blind Americans, I shut my mouth and lifted my arms like a common criminal. I just pray I'm not pregnant, or I could have a two-headed child, as I have since found out that the medical consequences have yet to be determined. Please read John Tyner's accounts below. A link to his blog follows the posting.

TSA encounter at SAN

13 November 2010

[These events took place roughly between 5:30 and 6:30 AM, November 13th in Terminal 2 of the San Diego International Airport. I'm writing this approximately 2 1/2 hours after the events transpired, and they are correct to the best of my recollection. I will admit to being particularly fuzzy on the exact order of events when dealing with the agents after getting my ticket refunded; however, all of the events described did occur.

I had my phone recording audio and video of much of these events. It can be viewed below.

Please spread this story as far and wide as possible. I will make no claims to copyright or otherwise.]

This morning, I tried to fly out of San Diego International Airport but was refused by the TSA. I had been somewhat prepared for this eventuality. I have been reading about the millimeter wave and backscatter x-ray machines and the possible harm to health as well as the vivid pictures they create of people's naked bodies. Not wanting to go through them, I had done my research on the TSA's website prior to traveling to see if SAN had them. From all indications, they did not. When I arrived at the security line, I found that the TSA's website was out of date. SAN does in fact utilize backscatter x-ray machines.

I made my way through the line toward the first line of "defense": the TSA ID checker. This agent looked over my boarding pass, looked over my ID, looked at me and then back at my ID. After that, he waved me through. SAN is still operating metal detectors, so I walked over to one of the lines for them. After removing my shoes and making my way toward the metal detector, the person in front of me in line was pulled out to go through the backscatter machine. After asking what it was and being told, he opted out. This left the machine free, and before I could go through the metal detector, I was pulled out of line to go through the backscatter machine. When asked, I half-chuckled and said, "I don't think so." At this point, I was informed that I would be subject to a pat down, and I waited for another agent.

A male agent (it was a female who had directed me to the backscatter machine in the first place), came and waited for me to get my bags and then directed me over to the far corner of the area for screening. After setting my things on a table, he turned to me and began to explain that he was going to do a "standard" pat down. (I thought to myself, "great, not one of those gropings like I've been reading about".) After he described, the pat down, I realized that he intended to touch my groin. After he finished his description but before he started the pat down, I looked him straight in the eye and said, "if you touch my junk, I'll have you arrested." He, a bit taken aback, informed me that he would have to involve his supervisor because of my comment.

We both stood there for no more than probably two minutes before a female TSA agent (apparently, the supervisor) arrived. She described to me that because I had opted out of the backscatter screening, I would now be patted down, and that involved running hands up the inside of my legs until they felt my groin. I stated that I would not allow myself to be subject to a molestation as a condition of getting on my flight. The supervisor informed me that it was a standard administrative security check and that they were authorized to do it. I repeated that I felt what they were doing was a sexual assault, and that if they were anyone but the government, the act would be illegal. I believe that I was then informed that if I did not submit to the inspection, I would not be getting on my flight. I again stated that I thought the search was illegal. I told her that I would be willing to submit to a walk through the metal detector as over 80% of the rest of the people were doing, but I would not be groped. The supervisor, then offered to go get her supervisor.

I took a seat in a tiny metal chair next to the table with my belongings and waited. While waiting, I asked the original agent (who was supposed to do the pat down) if he had many people opt out to which he replied, none (or almost none, I don't remember exactly). He said that I gave up a lot of rights when I bought my ticket. I replied that the government took them away after September 11th. There was silence until the next supervisor arrived. A few minutes later, the female agent/supervisor arrived with a man in a suit (not a uniform). He gave me a business card identifying him as David Silva, Transportation Security Manager, San Diego International Airport. At this point, more TSA agents as well as what I assume was a local police officer arrived on the scene and surrounded the area where I was being detained. The female supervisor explained the situation to Mr. Silva. After some quick back and forth (that I didn't understand/hear), I could overhear Mr. Silva say something to the effect of, "then escort him from the airport." I again offered to submit to the metal detector, and my father-in-law, who was near by also tried to plead for some reasonableness on the TSA's part.

The female supervisor took my ID at this point and began taking some kind of report with which I cooperated. Once she had finished, I asked if I could put my shoes back on. I was allowed to put my shoes back on and gather my belongs. I asked, "are we done here" (it was clear at this point that I was going to be escorted out), and the local police officer said, "follow me". I followed him around the side of the screening area and back out to the ticketing area. I said apologized to him for the hassle, to which he replied that it was not a problem.

I made my way over to the American Airlines counter, explained the situation, and asked if my ticket could be refunded. The woman behind the counter furiously typed away for about 30 seconds before letting me know that she would need a supervisor. She went to the other end of the counter. When she returned, she informed me that the ticket was non-refundable, but that she was still trying to find a supervisor. After a few more minutes, she was able to refund my ticket. I told her that I had previously had a bad experience with American Airlines and had sworn never to fly with them again (I rationalized this trip since my father-in-law had paid for the ticket), but that after her helpfulness, I would once again be willing to use their carrier again.

At this point, I thought it was all over. I began to make my way to the stairs to exit the airport, when I was approached by another man in slacks and a sport coat. He was accompanied by the officer that had escorted me to the ticketing area and Mr. Silva. He informed me that I could not leave the airport. He said that once I start the screening in the secure area, I could not leave until it was completed. Having left the area, he stated, I would be subject to a civil suit and a $10,000 fine. I asked him if he was also going to fine the 6 TSA agents and the local police officer who escorted me from the secure area. After all, I did exactly what I was told. He said that they didn't know the rules, and that he would deal with them later. They would not be subject to civil penalties. I then pointed to Mr. Silva and asked if he would be subject to any penalties. He is the agents' supervisor, and he directed them to escort me out. The man informed me that Mr. Silva was new and he would not be subject to penalties, either. He again asserted the necessity that I return to the screening area. When I asked why, he explained that I may have an incendiary device and whether or not that was true needed to be determined. I told him that I would submit to a walk through the metal detector, but that was it; I would not be groped. He told me that their procedures are on their website, and therefore, I was fully informed before I entered the airport; I had implicitly agreed to whatever screening they deemed appropriate. I told him that San Diego was not listed on the TSA's website as an airport using Advanced Imaging Technology, and I believed that I would only be subject to the metal detector. He replied that he was not a webmaster, and I asked then why he was referring me to the TSA's website if he didn't know anything about it. I again refused to re-enter the screening area.

The man asked me to stay put while he walked off to confer with the officer and Mr. Silva. They went about 20 feet away and began talking amongst themselves while I waited. I couldn't over hear anything, but I got the impression that the police officer was recounting his version of the events that had transpired in the screening area (my initial refusal to be patted down). After a few minutes, I asked loudly across the distance if I was free to leave. The man dismissively held up a finger and said, "hold on". I waited. After another minute or so, he returned and asked for my name. I asked why he needed it, and reminded him that the female supervisor/agent had already taken a report. He said that he was trying to be friendly and help me out. I asked to what end. He reminded me that I could be sued civilly and face a $10,000 fine and that my cooperation could help mitigate the penalties I was facing. I replied that he already had my information in the report that was taken and I asked if I was free to leave. I reminded him that he was now illegally detaining me and that I would not be subject to screening as a condition of leaving the airport. He told me that he was only trying to help (I should note that his demeanor never suggested that he was trying to help. I was clearly being interrogated.), and that no one was forcing me to stay. I asked if tried to leave if he would have the officer arrest me. He again said that no one was forcing me to stay. I looked him in the eye, and said, "then I'm leaving". He replied, "then we'll bring a civil suit against you", to which I said, "you bring that suit" and walked out of the airport.

This video starts with my bag and belongings going through the x-ray machine.They're kind of long, and they don't show much, but the audio is really good.

http://johnnyedge.blogspot.com/2010/11/these-events-took-place-roughly-between.html

Cruising on auto-pilot...

2010-11-01T20:06:00.000-07:00

I am told that I have the answers within me. My direction has been laid out for me. I will follow the path meant for me.

Yesterday I went back in time and worked a shift at the hotel to help out. I was scheduled by myself, so I was worried I wouldn't remember anything. It's been three months since I left, after all. When I got there and had to sign into the computer system, I just stared blankly. I couldn't remember even my password. Had someone asked me- what do you do in this situation, I would've paused and reflected. I might not have known, or at the very least been unsure. But somehow no matter what happened throughout the shift, my body moved, my mouth spoke, and my tone came out with confidence. It was almost like it was programmed within me without my knowledge. As though my brain had no part in it.

I think life's that way. No one tells us how to live. Sure, we learn a few things as we go along, but it seems that the important parts have been pre-programmed. Which is why I am depending on that system to lay down some bread crumbs for me. I've been feeling a bit lost lately, pulled in different directions, yet stuck at the very same time. I sense that there is more for me. I'm feeling claustrophobic in my life. Not in my relationships, those are great. But in me. It's as though there is something inside trying to break free. As cliche as it sounds, sometimes things are cliche for a reason.

Maybe it's the human condition to become overly reliant on the brain. As though it knows all. But I think I'd like to try cruising on auto-pilot for a while. Because I feel like it is my brain that's holding me back. I don't want to think through life. I want to experience it.

This is my friend Jess. She says you can't learn about giving birth from a book. You have to experience it, and somehow your body just knows what to do. Same as your first kiss, falling in love, and creating the baby in the first place. If all of the important things in life happen on auto-pilot, then why can't everything else?

Being surprised...

2010-10-31T21:10:00.000-07:00

Don't you love it when people surprise you? I was feeling like shit the other day about being left out of my husband's exciting life, when I decided I was going to do something for myself to make my life exciting in a way only I would appreciate. So, with a little nudge from the main character of Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, 9-year old Oskar Schell, who, after his father perished in 9/11, wrote letters to his heroes- including Stephen Hawking- asking to be their proteges, I took a little chance. I wrote to one of my heroes.

When I sit and think of what I imagine as the perfect life, it is a life of constant learning. In my blog, it is evident that I go through phases in my interests. One month I might be focused on the Holocaust, the next could be 9/11, then it's the life of Helen Keller, then the paranormal, then decorating, the next could be true crime, inevitably space travel makes an appearance, and life as an experience is pretty much always in the background. This is the Montessori approach to education. A child is given free reign over his own learning, focusing in one chosen direction until it is fulfilled (for the moment), and then moving to another. The student breaks each topic apart step by step. No two students study the same thing. And, they use the world as a resource, not just the internet or the measly book selection in the school library. This is the work of Mary Roach.

Roach has penned four books about science. Only she's not a scientist. She's an eternal learner. She puts her all into what she studies, and I really mean her all. When writing Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex, she actually had intercourse with her husband in front of researchers. She holds nothing back. I love this. I don't usually claim heroes, but if I had to, she would be one of them. So, I wrote her. Just a short email telling her I wish we could share a Freaky Friday experience and swap lives, but that I'd settle for being her assistant. And wouldn't you know, she wrote me back. And not just wrote me back, I mean she actually responded to my comments and made jokes about them. And, not only that, but she responded the very next day. I have no words for this. If I was looking for a little pick-me-up in my day, I certainly got it.

When it comes down to it, at the end of the day, we are all people. We are all on the same level. This is why the idea of heroes seems somehow wrong to me. And, this email reminded me of that. She wasn't too cool to respond to some lame-o wanna-be sitting on her couch crying because her life is not exciting. So, in honor of the work of Mary Roach- and the fact that she is a completely genuine person- I want to begin compiling a list of some things I would like to explore:

1. What is the sound barrier?
2. What areas of the world remain yet to be "discovered"?
3. Are there any civilizations, present or past, who were able to survive without engaging in war?
4. How deep is the deepest ocean?
5. What are the phases of the moon and why do they occur?
6. How are waves formed?
7. How many languages are there that we know of?
8. Why are there hollow tree stumps in the marshes here?
9. How do diving bells work?
10. What is the history of the Castillo de San Marcos?
11. How do you conjugate Spanish verbs?
12. What was it like to live in the 1950s?
13. How many countries are there?
14. Is there a way to keep serial killers from killing?
15. What is the deepest a person has gone underwater?
16. What did Josef Mengele do in his experiments?
17. How many wars has the US been involved in?
18. How many words are there in the English language?
19. What determines the types of clouds in the sky?
20. Once and for all, what is a black hole really?

Wow, this barely even nudges the surface. I could keep this list going for as long as eternity. To put it short and sweet, I will quote the movie, Harriet the Spy. In one scene, Harriet and her friends visit an artist's garden where they find soda bottles hanging from the trees around them. Golly, Harriet's nanny, pulls one down, shakes it up, and asks each of the kids to wish for what they want most in the world and then take a sip. I, like Harriet, "want to see the whole world and I want to write down everything."

Happy Halloween!

Getting angry...

2010-10-17T21:19:00.000-07:00

I blogged not too long ago about anger being stupid. I was wrong. Anger, unlike cockroaches, serves a valuable purpose. This occurred to me yesterday while driving through a bright and beautiful morning. You know how when you were a kid and were in the checkout line with your mom and you asked her for a candybar and she said no? You threw a tantrum. You were angry. The trick of anger is to notice that you are not angry at your mom. You are not even angry that you don't get to eat the candybar. You are angry at the fact that you don't have a choice in the matter.

My husband is about to leave on tour for a very long time. The longest time he's been away in the past four years. To top it off, during this very long time, he will be sharing extremely close living quarters with a girl- a talented, cute one, nonetheless. Neither of these facts makes me happy in the least. In the past when such things have occurred, I have gotten angry- at my husband, at his boss, at life. The anger then turned into sadness. And, finally it became resignment to the fact that there was nothing I could do about it.

However, yesterday when the topic came up in discussion, I realized that yes, I was very angry, but no, my anger had no direction. This time I was angry at no one and no thing. I am not angry at my husband because his job is part of him and I cannot be angry at any one part of him, because then I wouldn't love the real him. I can't be angry at his boss because he is giving my husband work, and I am thankful, not only for the money, but also for the opportunity for my husband to do what he loves. I am not angry at life because life has given me a husband who not only loves me, but loves what he does. There are so few people these days who can say that. So, right there on I-295 I felt clean anger for the first time. There was nothing to blame, no one to stand accused. And it felt good. It felt good because it suddenly brought to light the purpose of anger.

Anger's purpose is to give us a sense of control in a situation where we have none. For most, anger is a type of self-delusion. For instance, you may not be able to do anything about the cost of healthcare, but you can be angry about it and find someone to blame for it. It's interesting because in blaming someone else, it would seem that you are giving them power over you. You are admitting that that one person, whom you've probably never met, has the power to make you do something you don't want to do (in this case, pay high prices for shitty healthcare). But, it is in the act of being angry at that person that you delude yourself into believing that you are actively doing something about it, thereby gaining control over the situation. But the truth is- when you are angry at someone, you are never in control. The anger is.

But yesterday I realized that feeling clean anger that is directed at no one is true power. Not self-delusion. Because I was taking responsibility for my own anger. I wasn't blaming it on someone else. I wasn't taking my lot in life and laying it on some random party whom I had connected to my plight via my mind's desperate attempts at rationalization. I was angry- period. For whatever reason, just being angry was enough. And, it passed just as quickly as it had come. I read in neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor's book, My Stroke of Insight, that the brain only holds on to its anger stimulus for something like 15 seconds. If you remain angry after that, then it is of your own conscious choice.

I worry about the way people live their lives today. It seems they are always looking for someone to blame for anything and everything. The number of lawsuits alone points to this delusion. It seems to me that for most situations there is no one to blame. And besides, we don't look for someone to blame every time something good happens in our lives. If I win the lottery, I'm just gonna be thankful. I'm not going to "blame" the cashier and give him part of my earnings. For all that is good, our tendency is to credit either ourselves or God. For all that is bad, our tendency is to blame another person. Why can't what happens just happen? Good or bad. Being angry at someone does not change the situation. What it does change is you.

Reviewing...

2010-10-06T21:00:00.000-07:00

I recently received a huge gift. A friend of mine gave me a review of a review I had written and pointed out what I feel is one of my major flaws. And, I didn't even know it. In fact, it is something I am constantly telling my students not to do, yet I didn't realize the whole time I was doing that very thing. I expect too much of my reader. Just like a lame girl does to her boyfriend, I expect my reader to read my mind. I coyly tease with vague flowery pictures and deny them the details that lead to understanding.

I say all this not to berate myself and my writing. In fact, it's quite the opposite. I'm pretty damn proud of myself as a writer to be able to take my friend's advice and run with it. And, run I am. In fact, it's got me wondering how many other things I am doing without my own knowledge. Am I assuming too much of the people in my life too? Yes. In fact I can think of several examples, one of which lost me a friend.

Here I go deleting the details again. Long story short: I had a friend; she made me upset; I didn't say anything about it until I flipped, couldn't take anymore, and went off. She is no longer my friend. I hide details from people until they are so lost as to what I am thinking, they don't really ever get to know me. Maybe I'm not aware of doing it, but I am doing it on purpose.

I'll use my wardrobe as an example here. I prefer funky, colorful, retro or punk or Mexican clothing. But you would never see me wear such items to work. Yes, yes I have to maintain a professional appearance, but do I have to wear only solid colors? Do I have to wear only Gap and Old Navy? Who am I dressing for anyways? And there it is- my penchant for blending into, not just the walls, but what people want to see. I am deliberately ambiguous so that what you want to see is what comes through. I say just enough to manage, but not enough to speak. I play the quiet shy person, but is that really who I am? Or am I just doing it to protect myself from judgment?

Sometimes I ask myself what would happen if I were just honest? Would the world end? Would my family hate me? Would my friends all desert me? Then I think of Lorelai Gilmore. Perhaps a lame example, but an appropriate one. She never shuts her mouth. If she disagrees with her mother, she says it. She's not afraid. If someone gets mad at her, she shrugs and moves on. If she's upset with her friends, she fights with them. God, I can't tell you the freedom I would feel to be able to fight with someone other than my husband and be confident that they'd forgive me. Or that I'd forgive myself.

Ok, let's just go there. Could it be I am being ambiguous to hide from myself? I am the one who remembers wrongs I committed when I was 6 years old and still cringes over them. I am the one afraid to open my notebook for fear I might not have anything to say. So maybe that's why I stay quiet. To prove to myself that I am right. I have nothing to say. I am who the nearest person wants to see. I am a reflection.

Chasing truth...

2010-10-02T22:40:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about truth a lot lately. After writing my recent post about 9/11 I just keep going back over the events of that day in my head trying to figure out what goes through one's head when he is just about to die. I want to know. And, what happened to them the next instant after they died? I want to know. Truth is the proverbial carrot we keep trying to reach. We may get close but we will never know the taste of it.

So, why this curiosity? Is it that we as humans are just full enough of ourselves to believe that we could understand, or even fathom, the larger truths of the world? Probably. Is it that we feel completely out of control and if only we knew what we were in for we would feel slightly more powerful? Most likely. Or is it just the human condition?

I read an interesting passage today in an SAT prep book. It said that humans are the only animals who laugh and cry. Why? Because we are the only ones capable of having expectations and then comparing them to reality. We laugh when something "ridiculous" happens. The only reason it is ridiculous is because it is not what we expect. We cry when something sad or happy happens, because again, we didn't expect it. Even if it is the death of someone who has been sick for a long time, we never expect to live our lives without that person. So it seems that we are not so good at recognizing truth. In fact, we spend most of our time creating falsehoods that parade themselves as the truth. We convince ourselves that this shouldn't happen, or that that person shouldn't be that way. But that is not the truth.

Truth has two sides. One, it's terrifying, because it is only revealed in the moment and we don't trust that we can adapt that quickly. Two, it's amazing. Just the fact that it is so elusive makes it mysterious. And, mystery breeds awe. This is why I am drawn to death, the depths of the ocean, and the minds of people. They represent some of the larger unknowns of the world that will always remain in the dark to me. And, because of that simple fact I am in awe of them. I hold a certain respect for them, but something about them also brings about in me an appreciation of life.

I will never know some truths. But the truth is that life would be boring if I knew everything.

No wonder animals can just sleep all day. They are relaxed. They're not constantly stressing themselves out creating false truths that ultimately contradict reality, resulting in the inevitable unhappiness, and then finding someone to blame for it. Whew. That's a lot of work we've cut out for ourselves.

Contrasting views...

2010-09-22T22:20:00.000-07:00

I experienced quite a contrast today. I am currently listening to the audio version of the book, Little Bee by Chris Cleave. I've been listening to it about a week now and just this afternoon heard the story of Little Bee's (the main character's) escape from Nigeria to England. It's one of those parts of a book or scenes in a movie when I feel that, though I am extremely uncomfortable listening or watching, I must in honor of those who have had no choice but to live through them.

Though the story is a fiction piece, it explores the all too real experiences of the many refugees searching the world- as I type- for a safe place. This particular story is of a young girl, her village burned, her family murdered, who escapes only to be chased through the countryside by those who stole her home. She runs away with her sister, but is caught days later. She is forced to listen as her sister is brutally raped by several men and tortured, each bone individually broken, as her sister pleads for death to take her. This is the nice version.

The thing that has struck me most about this story is Little Bee's discussion of horror. She talks about how people go to see horror movies to enjoy the sense of security that encompasses them when they leave the theater. For some people, however, the horror never ends. In this girl's case, she is able to "get away" and hide aboard a ship sailing for England, where the horror follows her across the ocean via her constant fear of "the men".

                               __________________

I step out of my car, having just heard this story, into the light of my reality, into the parking lot of BJ's. I smile at the gentleman working at the door and head in to grab my few necessities, you know, Coke and toilet paper. The essentials. I guess I smiled a little too big because on my way out of the store, the gentleman stops me.

"You didn't get much today, huh?"
"Oh, I'm not much of a shopper so I just pick up a little here, a little there."
"There are some people who come in here- I'm not talking about people like you who pay for their food- but those people who come in here on food stamps, buying $700 dollars worth of groceries, with 3 kids and wearing expensive shoes. Meanwhile, I'm a single guy, 37, no kids, and I can't afford any of it."

As I notice other customers backing up behind us, I start to step away toward the door. Apparently this does not tip him off, because he keeps going. And going. Finally when I think I'm in the clear, he catches me with this clencher: "And then, they can't speak English." (Bitch should know better than to come at a girl whose father came to this country and had to teach himself the language so he could put himself through medical school to save your white ass.)*

If only this man could hear the story of Little Bee, of the millions of refugees, I would like to see his face then. Americans and similar countries amaze me with their blatant conceit. We think hard times include being stuck in traffic, our iPhone malfunctioning, getting a huge bill in the mail, getting yelled at by our boss. We haven't the slightest clue of horror. 9/11 was the worst example of horror we've ever experienced, of man against man. And that was nothing compared to what these people go through, not one day in one year, but every day for decades, even centuries. Unspeakable torture and fear that makes one wish for death. That, to me, is the definition of horror: when death becomes favorable. Yet, people can smugly talk of money and language. Fuck that. As a privileged country, we should not be asking ourselves how to keep more money for ourselves but how we can use what we have to help more people. Shame on anyone who asserts their language and their pain as better than someone else's.

I look at money as a means to an end. It has no inherent value. It is nothing more than the paper I wipe my ass with. It comes. It goes. But look how it changes people. If giving my money for the greater good means aiding a few freeloaders in the process, then that's just the way it is. But I am not taking that for a reason to become subhuman. Money is there for necessity, not for happiness. Happiness is something we can only get from each other. Before Little Bee's sister is murdered, they encounter an English couple on a beach and implore them for help. The murderers come upon them and demand that the English man cut off his own finger to save the girls. The man refuses. His wife instead grabs the knife from her husband and immediately slashes her finger to save the girls. Five years later, the man kills himself. He had plenty of money. But what he lacked was the knowledge that he had helped someone in spite of his own discomfort.

*No, I'm not a racist, I am white too. But I happen to be thankful for the contributions that those from other countries provide us, whether they are in English or any other language.

Little bee.

Choosing between one option...

2010-09-12T21:34:00.000-07:00

***This is a continuation of my previous post.***

In thinking more about the meaning behind The Falling Man, I have come to believe that it lies much deeper than the simple fear of our own mortality.

I often think about pregnancy and am fearful about the process of giving birth. Well, not so much the process as the pain it brings. It seems unfair. You get pregnant for the first time having no idea of what you're getting yourself into, yet once you are pregnant, there is no way out. You can't change your mind. You have to give birth. This terrifies me. Somehow reminding myself that millions upon billions of women have done this before me for centuries does not make the task any less daunting. Life is the same. Without even being asked (at least not that I can remember), we are thrown into this world with not a single clue as to what's in store. And once we are here, we are dying. There is no other option.

We live in such a transient world. Things are constantly changing. We go to school, we graduate. We get together, we break up. We get jobs, we lose jobs. There is a way out of almost everything. If we're not happy with some aspect of our lives, we change it. If we're not happy with the direction we're traveling, we turn the car around. If we're not happy with our surroundings, we move. If we're not happy with our spouse, we get a divorce.

But, the one thing we cannot escape is death. Each of us faces it everyday, just as The Falling Man faced it before our eyes. The only difference is he knew his options. Die of suffocation or of impact. He was given a clear-cut choice. In our day-to-day life, we are not so lucky. We are left in the dark as to how we will pass. Of course, we all hope to be the warm old elderly person who passes in his sleep. But we can't all go so peacefully. There are an infinite number of ways we might leave this earth. But regardless, we are stuck with the exact same decision as The Falling Man- to allow circumstance to take us or to assume control and choose our own means. Either way we're going.

I often blog about man's lack of control and the resulting fear. I think this example is the ultimate feeling of helplessness. No matter how hard we've worked, no matter how many people need us, no matter how much we want to stay, one day we will be gone. Death stares over our shoulders as a constant reminder that we cannot attach ourselves too tightly to anything, for one day it will disappear. We have no say. This is the meaning of The Falling Man. He represents the choice we hold. He begs us to ask ourselves which is better- to take control of our final destiny or to passively wait for its eventual arrival, and he reminds us that either way, we have no real choice.

Catching ourselves...

2010-09-12T08:34:00.000-07:00

Last night I came across a documentary on youtube called The Falling Man. It is the story of a photograph taken by an AP photographer the day the World Trade Center fell. The photo is of a man plummeting 106 floors to his death. It was printed the following day in several newspapers and became one of the most controversial pictures in history. Soon after, it disappeared. The film follows journalist Tom Junod on his mission to identify the man.

This documentary is fascinating to me for three reasons. The first is that the image was controversial at all. There were other shots of people crying, people screaming, people covered in blood, people covered in ash, yet, this photo, which amazingly had a sense of calm about it, was the one people didn't want to see. Some who had written letters to the editor purporting their anger read them on screen. They were incensed upon opening their newspapers to the back page, where they had been faced with the man, yet they gave no reason for their anger, stating only that the photo was "in poor judgment".

The second reason is that many were indignant about the fact that people had jumped. One family of a man suspected to be The Falling Man heartily refused to believe it due to their Catholic faith. They stated that their husband/father would never betray them like that, as, in their religion, committing suicide is the fast route to Hell. They denied that it was him so strongly that when faced with the photo, the oldest daughter stated, "That piece of shit is not my father." Once it was discovered that they were not the family of the man, they asked that his name be "cleared". From this and the controversy, a stigma was created around those who did fall, as though they had done something bad or wrong. This is what disturbs me, not the picture.

The final reason is encompassed in the conclusion of the film. After making an almost certain identification of the man, Junod comes to the realization that who it is doesn't matter after all. As the narrator so aptly clues us in in the final scene: "The power of the image came not because the falling man could be identified, but because he couldn't."

The dichotomy that is raised here is voyeurism vs. self-examination. It is my belief that the people who were so deeply offended by this photograph felt that, like rubberneckers on a highway, anyone who looked at it was acting as a voyeur- using another's pain for their own entertainment. But that is only scratching the surface. Those of us who are able to get past our anger- I myself was appalled when I first saw the sculpture, Tumbling Woman by Eric Fischl, are able to then ask ourselves, why such curiosity? Perhaps it is not so perverse after all.

We as a species hold onto life so stringently that we can't imagine anyone giving it up, giving into that fear, that unknown. We ourselves are so overcome by fear of pain and death that it almost disgusts us to see someone giving into it. The intriguing part is that we are faced with scenes and stories of murder all the time, of one person taking another person's life. But when one chooses to take his own we are astonished, confused. Not only that, but the people who perished inside the towers were faceless; we were not a direct part of their suffering. In the book The Upside of Irrationality, Dan Ariely explains through his research that people are more apt to be charitable when they know the story and see the picture of the person that they are helping. In this particular case, we are almost a part of this person's life. Simply by witnessing his final seconds on Earth, we are drawn into his plight, and we don't want to face that. We don't want to face it because it forces us to face our own mortality.

Tom Junod's article for Esquire magazine- undoubtedly one of the finest pieces of writing I have ever encountered:

http://www.esquire.com/features/ESQ0903-SEP_FALLINGMAN

The Falling Man documentary, Part 1 of 8 (you can access the successive parts from the menu on the right):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eo6bIb_yiKs

To commemorate the fear that leads to censorship, I have chosen not to post a photo, but instead blankness.

Integrating...

2010-08-29T22:24:00.000-07:00

I just completed the book Sybil, which is 450 pages of intense. This is not a book; it is a relationship. It's content is of such a highly personal nature that I had to plan appropriate times to read it. I don't mean that I blubbered through it, just that it gets inside you and makes you think and feel differently. At least it did for me, which is why I plowed right through it.

Driving around today, enjoying the Rhode Island-esque air, I couldn't get the book out of my mind. In it, a woman with 16 different personalities works with a psychoanalyst to "integrate" all of her selves into one whole person. She has personalities who are afraid, who are confident, who are angry, who play piano, who excel in math, who are social, and who are religious fanatics. In the end, she recognizes that each one offers a specific strength that separate allowed for her survival as a child, but that now, if rallied together, could help Sybil function as a complete and content person. In my mind, I applied all of this to the world as a whole. Anytime I read a newspaper article, a forward, or watch the news, I am sickened at how dissociative our society is. Each person has a different fear, a different passion, all working at odds against the others. When Sybil's personalities were at odds, they went out of their ways to impede her goals, to create obstacles for her, thereby making Sybil- and the rest of them- miserable. And, not only miserable, but ill. Seriously ill. That is our society. We all have fears; we all have strengths. If pulled together, those fears would be allayed. The strengths together would function for each other and not against each other. Until then, our world will be stricken with the psychosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder, also known as Multiple Personality Disorder.

Different colors of the same.

Fearing life...

2010-08-21T15:48:00.000-07:00

I believe that our brains have the magnificent capacity to hold everything- every little detail we have ever encountered. The only problem is finding our way to each hidden piece. That is the idea, at least, behind the book I started today- Sybil. It is the story of a woman with 16 personalities, one of whom is responsible for Sybil's memories because they are too painful for Sybil herself to remember. And, so it is with all of us. Our memories are hidden back in some corner, some dark and dusty attic that every once in a while we are lucky enough to reach into, but that most of the time remains elusive, locked to our present consciousness. What brings this to mind is an experience I had yesterday.

I was at a meeting for work. My boss was showing us a presentation on her computer concerning a program that provides audio versions of books for students. As I looked at the screen, I quickly glanced over all of the books she has downloaded over the years. I'm always on the lookout for new material, but really I was looking for anything I might find familiar. My eyes stopped on Tuck Everlasting. I vaguely remembered the story. I must've read it in school or something. And, immediately a picture of the movie version's poster jumped into my brain, and I thought, Alexis Bledel is in that movie!

The movie came out in 2002, which must've been when I saw that poster. I, however, lame as I am, came into the Gilmore Girls late in life, circa last year. So, back in '02, I had no clue who Alexis Bledel was, nor did I have any intention on watching the movie. But somewhere back in a corner of my mental attic that image was waiting for me, waiting for the day that the name Alexis Bledel would mean something to me, waiting for yesterday. As quickly as that image appeared, I decided I wanted to see the movie. Anything with Alexis in it is prize-winning material, in my opinion.

Luckily, it was on Netflix Instant Play, so I watched it. Wow. Not only is Alexis Bledel the main character, but she has my name! Winnie. Well, my nickname. The one my family has called me since birth. It made me realize how much I love that name. The scenery in the movie is just gorgeous, and the storyline is amazing. It's stories like these that make me want to be a writer. The author, Natalie Babbitt, takes a common human fear and turns it into beautiful empowerment. I will not give away the plot here, but I will include the most powerful line in the story. As I heard Tuck speak it, I felt as though he were speaking directly to me. It helped that he was using my name.

"Don't fear death, Winnie. Fear the unlived life."

Speaking of death, this dead banana spider was dropped on my hammock's doorstep this afternoon by a much smaller flying insect. I tried to snap a shot of the tiny bug carrying it around. It was pretty amazing. But anytime I got near them, he became defensive and guarded his kill by staring me down. He won.

Acting a fool...

2010-08-18T20:54:00.000-07:00

I learned an important lesson today: Anger is stupid. You get yourself all worked up over some thing that you have convinced yourself you are right about- which you never are- and then you just end up making a fool of yourself. I was angry today that a student cancelled a session after I'd already driven all the way to the office. All I could think about was how this inconvenienced me and my little life. Later I find out it was because a classmate of hers died and she went to the funeral instead.

Recently I got angry at my husband for something lame. I was so mad I called him bad names to my friends. I normally would never disrespect him like that. Turns out the horrible scheme I had concocted him doing in my head hadn't even occurred to him. Instead of realizing my worst fear- that he didn't love me and had hurt me intentionally, I realized my unrecognized hope- that he is so crazy about me he doesn't even notice random stupid things that I somehow turn into huge ridiculously out of proportion freak-outs.

Although I swear I don't usually fall prey to anger in this way, I have lately. And, it's done. Today I mentally stepped out of that shell, and into the world. The world I want to be a part of. Instead of expecting the worst of people, I will raise my expectations. Instead of focusing on my tiny life, I will expand my view. Instead of making myself look like a total turd bomber, I will accept that maybe everyone is not out to get me.

B&W Study: Phase 4- The Living Room

Celebrating...

2010-08-16T19:46:00.000-07:00

Wow, so thanks to a comment left by Nicole- my fave fellow blogger- the other day, I was prepared to post the ugliest, meanest, darkest blog tonight. To release all of my negativity in one shot, complete with GDs and JCs. In fact, I began writing it in my head during my jog tonight. It got me so pumped full of fury, I finished in record time. But then I sign on here to write it, and lo and behold, she has given me an award. And not just any award, a "fabulous" one, apparently. Never in my life have I been called a Sugar Doll before; I'm speechless. And, all the anger seeps out of my veins. Oh well, I guess there's always another day to be angry. Today is for celebrating! I won an award!! (I may have no clue what it means, but hey, it's nice to be appreciated!) Thanks Nicole!!! (Check out her rad blog Destination Unknown to the right ---->)

In honor of the South- at least I assume a Sugar Doll is a Southern thing, my favorite photo of my trip to Georgia last weekend. I'd say it's postcard worthy material. Man, I love the South.

Learning a new language...

2010-08-14T09:59:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot since my posting last night, and I think that I have had some thoughts that maybe I want to write about but am afraid to. I have been, for whatever reason, feeling extremely cynical lately, which leads me to the urge to lock myself up into a hole somewhere and declare myself a hermit. But such things are usually frowned upon, even looked at by some as insane. I'm always blogging about my life-affirming moments, so I guess I felt these angry rantings wouldn't fit in here, much like I myself feel like I don't fit in anywhere. Don't worry, I'm not about to pull the old adolescent "no-one-understands-me" bit. It's more that I'm back where I was when I started this blog. And the many times when I have switched jobs. And when I graduated college. And when I decided to change my major. The old "how can I not know what I myself want out of life" phase. If my father is reading this, now is the point where his eyes will be rolling.

The difference this time is I still want all the things I did before. I still want a creative life, in photography and writing. I still want to travel quite a bit, which I am. I still want to hike and explore Florida, which thanks to quitting my hotel job, I am again. But still something is missing. I thought now that I am old I would be settled and this feeling would die right along with my "I can eat anything" figure. I was wrong.

This feeling- and I'll warn you ahead of time, Dad- makes me want to run out and get a huge tattoo. Or sell everything I own and live in a shack. Or quit my job and go live in Liberia or something. So I guess stuck is what you would call it. But nothing is wrong. It's like John Mayer said: "Friends- check. Money- check. A well slept opposite sex- check." Yet still, "It doesn't help the hunger pains and a thirst I'd have to drown first to ever satiate."

A thirst for life. Last night as I lie in bed, a familiar anger consumed me. The anger that of all the people in the world, shouldn't I know what I want to do? Then something new occurred to me. Maybe it's not what I want that I'm looking for. Hell, if it were up to me, I'd want a bunch of stupid shit that money could buy. What I am looking for is what the world wants of me. Not the world in a popular sense but in a universal sense. I guess what was I put here for, to put it in cliched language. But the challenge here is that the world does not speak English. It speaks through Being. And, after too many years on this planet, I feel like a native whose land was overtaken by white people. I have had English forced down my throat for so long that I no longer understand my native tongue. At this point, I am probably no longer making any sense, another reason why I have ceased to blog about this stuff til now. But I am getting somewhere- I hope.

So this brings me to my current challenge: to learn how to speak the language of the cosmos. No I'm not going to go out and pick up a copy of A Brief History of Time, although that is on my other list of challenges, along with War and Peace and Crime and Punishment. I think my first step is one I have mentioned before and since accomplished- that of accepting silence. Usually, when my husband is on tour, I have a habit of leaving the tv on whether I am watching it or not just for the lame company of noise. But these past few trips and since I have gotten rather accustomed to sitting with my thoughts or a book as my only companions. It's not so bad. Just wish I had a front porch to do it on still.

How else am I going to hear what I am supposed to do unless I sit still and listen? This is where my cynical side rears it angry head. American life is all about jumping in your car, grabbing something quick to eat, rushing to do this for that person and that for this person, and trying to sneak in some sleep in between. This is the absolute definition of "speaking English". And I want no part of it. But how to exist in a sphere that you are not a part of? Again, this makes me want to apply for my Visa and try Australia or even England. Sure they speak English there, but they don't speak our dialect of rush, hurry, and worry. Again, my motivation behind all of this is to be closer to life. I have a habit of trying too hard for things like this, and making my challenges more difficult than need be. In fact, my husband said something extremely eye-opening to me the other day. He said, "you find more ways to make yourself miserable than anyone else I know." He's so right. Hopefully that stops some day in the near future. I am going to see the new movie, Eat, Pray, Love today and I am hoping it will be of some inspiration. The book sure was, and adding Julia Roberts into the mix can only bring about positive results!

There's always more to see below the surface.

Getting lost...

2010-08-13T22:08:00.000-07:00

I am sad to say that the word bug has not yet returned. I'm beginning to wonder if I have outgrown this blog. Writing just seems to be too much of a struggle. I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be this hard. And if it is, I'm pretty sure I want no part of it. As another option to pounding my head against the wall any further (I rather like my head), I fear it may be best to step away for a while. This is very sad for me. Maybe it's just a phase that will pass. But I'm feeling pretty lost tonight. However, in honor of my B&W Study- no matter how tempting it can be to hang up my camera when I am faced with someone more talented than I, I will NEVER outgrow photography- here is Phase 3.

B&W Study: Phase 3- The Dining Room/Kitchen

Finding my motivation...

2010-08-08T20:06:00.000-07:00

Tonight I got into a discussion with my husband about volunteerism and general good will. Ever since reading The Upside of Rationality, I question the motivation behind all human action. Dan Ariely would be so proud. I wondered aloud: what drives people to generate good will, from a simple smile to moving across the world to care for others in a foreign nation? And, does the reason matter, or only the action that results?

I have written before about how I feel religion regards the call to treat others as you wish to be treated as a rule, a guideline for entering heaven. If this is the reason for performing any one action, isn't the action selfish, and even worse, contrived? And, yet if we do something for the reason of making ourselves look better- to others or to ourselves, isn't that equally as contrived and selfish? And, if we do it simply because we want to, then isn't that the definition of selfish? So, are there any pure motives?

I started to think about what people can truly trust. Often we regret our own decisions, and fault others for theirs. So we cannot be trusted to follow our own motivation. Even following black and white rules, such as those laid out by different religions, can lead to poor outcomes. We all know life is nothing if not a tumble of grays and blues.

So life itself is the only thing that can truly be trusted. In other words, if something happens that is out of our control, we are forced to accept it as the way the world should be, because it is, and there could be no other option. So then life itself, or God, or the Universe, whatever you may call it, is the one pure driving force behind all action. So how do we tap into that? How do we know our decisions are governed by life and not our own nearsighted vision?

In order to find the answer I went to the only thing I know, and that is my own experience. All decisions I have made, big and small, that have resulted in a successful outcome (at least as would seem by my own flawed intelligence) were made with the simple goal of coming closer to life. What does this mean? It is similar to that feeling when you're driving down an empty road listening to a super rockin' song with the windows down and the sun setting on the horizon. That feeling when you know that you are experiencing the magic known as life. All of my time here consists of the journey to find that feeling. And the closer I come to it, the more at peace I feel, which is my personal sign of a well-lived life.

So, I have concluded that for me the sole goal must be to unite with life. And anything that brings me closer to life is something to be trusted. And that, to my mind, is the only pure motivation there can be.

Taking a quick sidestep from the B&W Study. I visited Okefenokee Swamp this weekend, and hung out with the alligators. This dude was definitely eyeing us like a velociraptor on the hunt. Now that I have my weekends to myself, it is much easier for me to chill with life. This weekend being out in the middle of the swamp, listening to rad old country tunes, hanging with my best friend after 6 months of not seeing her, listening to the thunder, taking photos, I definitely accomplished my goal. Now, I just need to work on accomplishing it when I am at work and engaged in the seeming drudgery of the day to day.

Yogging...

2010-08-01T18:58:00.000-07:00

People say that the thirties are the best time of your life, and I am inclined to agree. The one negative thing I had found about it has now become a positive. Since turning thirty, weight has been an issue. So I have recently started back jogging again (or is it yogging? It might be a soft J). I noticed during my jaunt this evening that my jogging time is my time to appreciate all of the things around me and in my life. Almost every jog lately I have found myself spontaneously smiling several different times. If anyone happens to look out their window, they probably think I'm a loon, panting and puffing and smiling from ear to ear.

Before, when I was working every day, I was too busy to notice much of anything. But now, as I jog, I notice the smells of the newly mown lawns, of people's laundry being cleaned, of the ocean air, and of dinner cooking on the grills in my neighbors' backyards. And I notice the sounds of the birds, planes, and insects intermixed among Travis Tritt and Brooks n Dunn playing on my iPod. It's funny because for so long I have wanted to set aside some meditation time to help me to be more relaxed throughout the day. But getting myself to sit still seemed to cause more stress than good. But now I realize that, though outward appearance may seem to contradict, jogging is my relaxation, my meditation. It makes sense, as it is the one time I focus on my breathing.

My mom sent me a cheesy forward the other day. One about a man on a deserted island who cried over his hut catching on fire, a fire that later brought him rescue. Well, getting fat was my hut catching on fire. It pointed me to a new outlet that helps me truly experience life. What are your burning huts?

"It's a great day to be alive."- Travis Tritt

B&W Study: Phase 2- The Bedroom

Fine-tuning the everyday...

2010-07-31T14:01:00.000-07:00

When I first started this blog what seems like four score ago, the purpose behind it was to encourage my photography- more specifically, to challenge myself to try things I had previously claimed to hate, which was my way of avoiding them out of fear. Of course, my quest for pictures somehow transformed itself along the way into a odyssey of words. Yet, here I stand wordless.

So, I will take advantage of this emotional dichotomy I am so lucky to have. Whilst my words deny me, I can hang on with my photos. I've blogged before about how my two passions have, through no effort of mine, interacted with each other to bring about a better and more fulfilled me. So, now I will lean on my photographer side and give my writing side a short rest.

My first challenge came to me whilst dining at the Sun Dizzle this week on the single greatest burger ever to have been in existence. The Sun Dog is a little diner at the beach that displays and sells local artists' work with zero percentages taken. I have had some photos hung there myself in the past. Normally the pieces tend toward hokey beach art, but today they had some black and white photography on display. I immediately liked them. This surprised me. Normally I hate black and white photography. It seems to me that you could have your cat take a picture of its butt in black and white, and it would look striking. But as soon as the word hate entered my brain, I stopped. Ahhh, I must hate B&W because I'm afraid of it!

Strangely enough- and predictably, as I have found the universe to deliver things you need at the precise moment you need them, my father-in-law sent me a link to some primo examples of black and white photography at its best the very night I had decided upon my latest venture. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. Looking at amazing art can sometimes discourage me, when the demons of low self-esteem are lurking. But this time, these images inspired me. I can do this, I thought. I've always believed B&W can be moving when used at the appropriate times. A lot of photographers just apply it at random. And so, today I embarked on my first jaunt into the world of B&W. I will be traveling the wide and expansive regions of my house, searching for the everyday and mundane, playing with the light and shadows, and basically creating a bunch of bullshit photos in an attempt to discern the shit from the art. It will be a beautiful journey, and I encourage you to join me by letting me know which, if any, bring forth the biggest reactions. Yes, I realize we're looking at toilet paper rolls here, but I believe true photography can make even the lame look amazing.

B&W Study: Phase 1- The Bathroom

Walking through the world...

2010-07-24T21:00:00.000-07:00

Today I took part in the Worldwide Photo Walk of 2010. All around the world today photographers met in droves to explore local sites and shoot. I've been wanting to branch out and meet more people with similar interests lately, so I decided to take the risk and go. My local walk took place in St. Augustine- my favorite place in the world. We walked through the Lightner Museum, Flagler College, the Cathedral Basilica gardens, Castillo de San Marcos, and several of the old city streets. It was fun because as many times as I've been there, I have never been inside the college (which felt like walking inside the Titanic) or the gardens. I can't imagine having dinner in my college dining hall in the ballroom of an elite hotel built in the 1880's complete with gilded ceilings and cherubim dripping from every nook. It was amazing. The garden, right on Matanzas Bay, with its green grass and wonderfully relaxing breeze was so serene. I didn't get a ton of photos but I had a great time. I will definitely go again next year.

This dude was my favorite find of the day. He is entitled, Ex Nihilo (Out of Nothing), and represents what I am trying to do with this blog, and my life.

"Ex Nihilo stands as an eloquent metaphor for humankind always 'becoming'- ever in a state of rebirth and reaffirmation of all the possibilities in being human, of the process of evolving into one's own future." Frederick Hart, Sculptor

Adapting to happiness...

2010-07-17T19:51:00.000-07:00

Lately I have been having random little psychic moments. I will think of something, and then soon after I will either read or hear about the very same thing. It's very odd. It happened after my last blog post. I wrote about seeing my husband for his forest and his trees, because we spend blocks of time apart amongst our time together. Then, I picked up my book, The Upside of Irrationality, and the very next segment was on precisely that. I found it so fascinating, I thought I would share.

So, according to the author, Dan Ariely, humans have the amazing ability of adaptation. His simple example of this is when you walk out of a movie theater on a sunny afternoon, and your eyes automatically adjust to the light. Likewise, we are able to adjust to emotional changes in our lives relatively quickly, such as the loss of a job or the death of someone close. In fact, he says, research shows that we adapt to these traumatic events faster and more easily than we expect. He writes that when we foresee an event, say a divorce, we automatically assume we won't be able to handle it, or that it will be hugely painful. But in these predictions, we are not apt to take into consideration this super power of adaptation. The same is true with happier events. We assume that if we win the lottery we will be overjoyed. This is true, but only for a limited amount of time. After about the same time it takes to adapt to a negative event, the power of the positive event wears off, and we are back to our baseline of happiness. This opened my eyes to what drives us to want more all the time. Because nothing ever makes us as happy as we imagine it will, so we keep looking for it, that thing that will bring us eternal happiness. Of course, it doesn't exist.

So, back to how this relates to my previous post. Ariely put together a study to determine how quickly people adapt to stimuli. He took two groups of people, and he exposed one to an ongoing negative stimulus. The other he exposed to two short negative stimuli, but with a break in between. Although those who had the break received the stimulus for a shorter period of time, they reported a higher negative reaction than the first group. Why? Because those who were exposed to the continuous negative stimuli adapted, and it didn't bother them any more. To test the other side of the coin, Ariely chose another two groups. He gave the first an uninterrupted period in a massage chair. The other group received a short massage, followed by a break, and another short massage. So, who reported a higher level of enjoyment? The people who received a break. This is because they didn't have the continuity that leads to adaptation, thereby increasing their enjoyment.

Therefore, the lesson from his work is that if you are engaged in some unappealing activity, like doing taxes, it is best not to take breaks, but to plow through. This will allow you to adapt and to experience a lower rate of unhappiness. On the flip side, if you are doing something enjoyable- being with your husband, for example- take breaks. Although it's hard because you don't want the fun to end, it will keep you from adapting, thereby, keeping your happiness level raised for a longer period of time. Hence, when my husband and I have these breaks from each other, research proves what I feel- that it makes our relationship happier and more enjoyable. Bill Nye was right. Science is cool.

Today was my first Saturday free of the confines of employment in over three years. It was wonderful. I visited Big Talbot Island State Park to grab some shots of my family wearing glasses to use as advertisement in my father's office. We had a lot of fun, complete with getting dirty, climbing trees, and picnicking.

Seeing the forest and the trees...

2010-07-13T20:58:00.000-07:00

I am working through a summer reading book with an eleven-year-old student of mine right now. It's a science fiction novel about time travel, and it's fascinating. In it, men from the future come back and tell all these kids about how time travel works and how they can move outside of time. It's entirely mind-boggling and great. And, it reminds me in some off-hand way of my favorite book of all time, The Lovely Bones.

One of my favorite parts of this novel, one that got brushed under the rug in the movie version in favor of keeping it to two hours, was the relationship between the parents of Susie, the main character. In order to deal with their daughter's murder, Susie's mother leaves town and travels across the country, leaving her husband with their two younger children. No communication is maintained between the couple during her lengthy absence. But despite (or perhaps, because of) the distance and silence, their love grows. Once ready, she returns home into the welcoming arms of her husband who carried not a shred of anger over her departure. Their love for each other, no matter the expanse of time and space, grew stronger than it had ever been.

Sometimes I think we are capable of such sci-fi fantasies as time travel and teleportation. Just maybe not in the physical realm. But love can move outside time and space. When my husband is gone for long periods of time, I can feel us getting closer, just in a different way from when he is here. Sometimes I think we are the luckiest people because we get the best of both worlds. Most people get to see their spouses every day. They get that closeness that comes when you depend on someone so much that you don't even realize how much you need them. And, others might live far away from the people they love and come to know well the way they see the other person- as perfectly sweet or beautiful or magical. I get both. I get to know my husband's quirks and routines, but I am never far from that magical version of him either. It's like when you first like someone. You don't get to see them often, so when you're not with them your thoughts are filled with their beauty and wonder. You see them as this perfect being that takes you to this magical space. Then once you start dating and you spend more time together, you get a more up-close view, and you become more familiar with the detailed them. Maybe you get lost in the trees of their idiosyncrasies, and forget the forest that is their magic. I am lucky. I get to see the forest and the trees.

Maybe we do have some super powers.

(One of mine is making time stop- through pictures. Check out my newly posted pics at donavonf.com and flickr.com/dewindesigns!)

Finding magic...

2010-07-07T19:55:00.000-07:00

Tiny little decisions shape our lives. Small slivers of a moment act as a secret doorway through which entire lives unfold. Days that lead to months, and eventually years. That first day of school, that one Halloween, that amazing Valentine's Day. Days that shift perspectives within seconds. Those mundane one-liners that stick in our minds as the words that form who we are to become: "you wanna see my trapper keeper?", "somebody likes you", "get out". They act like some magical spell that once uttered blows you into a new sphere of reality, the steering wheel that turns you down a new route, complete with new scenery and new characters.

Today I have been thinking about all of the amazing people in my life. The ones who together have sculpted my outlook on life and all that is carried within it. Sometimes I wish I could speak to the me that I was before and tell her about all the wonderful people she has waiting to be a part of her life. I get so excited for her. And then I wonder what will the future me wish she could say to the me that I am now? What other magical words and days and people are just around the corner?

This is what I feel like lately. With my two best friends missing in action, sometimes I feel like I am too.

Surviving Day One...

2010-07-06T20:00:00.000-07:00

I'm not planning on recounting my daily crying spells here or anything what with my husband being on the road, just so you know. But, here I am, working through day one- it's always the hardest, of course- and hoping that blogging will cheer me up. Or at least make me feel more human. Right now I'm feeling more like a blob.

I had an excellent time the last couple of days while the band was in town, shooting photos and watching my husband play- two of the top items on my list of favorite things to do. One of the other highlights, though, was getting to hear a really talented songwriter, Mishka, who opened for them. He came out during Donavon's set both nights and they all played one of his songs- My Love Goes With You. In fact, it was playing over the stereo when I first walked onto the bus, so I got to really listen to the lyrics and I was immediately in love. His words were directly relevant to several of my recent posts, including my last one. And, as I read over them in their entirety today, I realized they are directly relevant to the situation I am currently in with my husband. So, I post them here for you to read in hopes that they are somehow relevant to your current situation as well. And, maybe we both can glean some comfort from words.

(The words in bold are my absolute favorite, and best encompass my efforts in this blog.)

If there was one song that I could sing
to help you through each and every day
I would sing a song to remind you
that we're only ever living for today

My love goes with you in all that you do
My love goes with you in all decisions that you make

Well sometimes we get so tired of the struggle
when it seems as if there’s no way out
So caught up in desire, it's so hot there in the fire,
and you're lost in doubt

My love goes with you in all that you do
My love goes with you in all decisions that you make

In every book you're reading and in every glass of water you're drinking
In every breath you're breathing and in every little thought that you're thinking
I hope that you can find a little free time for yourself
Yeah, I hope that you can find a little music after your own heart.

I hope that you can find your balance
between the mystic and mundane
I hope that you can navigate your way
between the sacred and profane
Yes I hope that you can find your vision
between the sunshine and the rain
That you find your truth within and when you do
it doesn’t cause you too much pain

You know I get so concerned and I wonder how you're gonna make it
If I can't be there for you all the time how you gonna take it
Well then I don’t worry no cause my love is strong
Then I don’t worry no no no my love for you lives on and on and on

And my love goes with you in all that you do
My loves goes with you in all decisions that you make
My love goes with you everywhere you go
My love goes with you, my love goes with you

Watching the breeze...

2010-07-03T20:27:00.000-07:00

A friend sent me this quote today:

You are holding onto the need for a proof, a testimony, an authority. You still imagine that truth needs to be pointing at you telling you: 'Look, here is the truth'. It is not so. Truth is not the result of an effort, the end of a road. It is the here and now. - Sri Nissargadata Maharaj

I have been trippin' on it for the past hour. I suppose all my writing here is my vain search for the truth. And, in searching for truth, one is really searching for meaning. Why are we here? What am I supposed to be doing with my life? How do I do it "right"?

Normally I get very depressed when my husband is on tour. Being alone for me is worse than lonely, it makes me feel useless. I have no one to take care of, no one to look forward to seeing. I therefore often suffer from a bought of wondering what the point of life is, which is never fun. My goal this tour has been to spend more time in silence, a la Tolle. In the past I have kept the tv on at all times when alone, just to ease the silence. I either filled my hours with work or an oversaturated schedule in order to avoid what I felt was the recognition of my pointlessness. However, I was thinking about it the past month or so, and realized I have all these high hopes for my future children in my head, yet I don't meet any of them. Why would I want something for my child that I wouldn't want for myself? I want them to be active, spend most of their time outdoors, be able to be surrounded by silence, not need to be entertained every second. The final two have been knocking me about lately. If I can't do these things myself, how will I teach my children? So I set my goal for this tour to spend more time doing "nothing", in other words reading, writing, sitting, pondering, being outside, tv off. Man, I thought it'd be hard, but it has fit like a glove. Like it was exactly what I needed. It's sad to realize that I truly considered reading and writing nothing. But I'm so used to doing things I have to do, doing things I want to is unheard of.

Today I spent three and a half hours in my hammock outside watching the wind. And reading a bit. Instead of reading one of my current books, which are mostly academic, I pulled a new novel off the shelf. Lately I've been reading books for a purpose- summer reading, writing instruction, or for my review blog. It was fun to read a book just 'cause. The point is I was able to sit with myself and not go crazy riding my thoughts into oblivion. I hung out with Florida for the afternoon and we had an amazing time together. That sounds like I'm trying to be cutesy, but I'm not. That's really what it felt like. Hanging out with an old friend I had been neglecting. So maybe the truth is in silence as opposed to words. Shit. Does this mean I have to stop blogging?

I <3 Florida.

Restructuring...

2010-06-30T20:28:00.000-07:00

We live in a backwards reality. We eat crap that makes us sick. In order to feel better, we take medicine. We eat crap that makes us fat. In order to lose weight, we take weight loss pills. We eat crap that makes us tired. In order to stay awake, we drink Red Bull.

We live in a cyclical reality. We get a job we don't like so we can have more stuff. The more stuff makes more bills. In order to pay the bills, we get stuck working the job we hate.

We live in a censored reality. A stomach ache appears, we take a pill. We are bored, we watch tv. We feel sad, we buy something. The moment we have a problem, we rush to find a solution. We are completely detached from our own internal cues.

This is why I love President Obama. He doesn't try to solve problems by piling on band-aids that only serve to create new problems. He goes to the absolute base of the issue and attacks it from there. If eating crap causes us to feel sick, get fat, and be tired, maybe instead of adding more chemicals, we should stop eating crap. Instead of working a miserable job to afford stuff that can't even come close to providing us with the sense of fulfillment we are truly looking for, why not quit and give up some of the stuff? Instead of rushing to solve a problem, perhaps we could listen to our internal voice and what it is trying to tell us.

At least this is what I am currently battling with in my life- cutting it down to the core and rebuilding from there. But I think it's going to be really hard living where I do with all of the temptation that surrounds me. It's so easy to take the quick fix, to revolve your life around the title that comes after your name rather than the name before it, to patch up problems and just hope that the dam won't break. But it takes much more character to be still and listen to what you are telling yourself you really need. And, in the long run, it provides much more peace.

Sometimes this is what my decisions make me feel like.

Taking the good with the pee...

2010-06-29T15:07:00.000-07:00

What do you do when you hate somebody? Byron Katie says, ask yourself whose business you're in. Pretty much every time, it's not yours. My checkpoint says, does this hate, this thought, own you or you it? Most definitely I am the one being possessed here. Eckhart Tolle might say, let go of your ego. For it is exactly the part that is telling me my hatred is justified. But what do you do when these realizations are not enough to quell the anger?

Well, I turn to another one of the greats. Though lesser-known and unpublished (in words at least), his sage advice calms my spirit every time. "It's like with Bellamy (my dog)", he says. "There is no point in yelling at him for peeing on the floor. It's what he does. He's a dog. So, you just take him as he is, good parts and bad." Ahh... I didn't realize it at the time, but I married quite a guru.

Establishing checkpoints...

2010-06-28T21:29:00.000-07:00

Well, it's official. I put in my two weeks notice at my hotel job. Although it is only a second job and I took it under the assumption that I would only keep it for a few months, here I am more than two years later finally leaving, and terrified. I've wanted to for so long, not just so I could have an actual weekend like everybody else, but so that I would have more time to focus on my writing and photography. The scary thing is we are not exactly in a financially secure place right now. But, that aside, I have to trust my gut. And my gut says it's time to go. I went back and forth about whether to take the plunge- what about money, what about my mental health, what will this do to my team, what will my parents say, etc. etc. The deciding factor came down to fear. Why, with all positives considered, did I not want to leave? Plain old fear of change.

I am reading a great story right now called Same Kind of Different As Me, and there is a line in it that adopted me the moment I heard it. A homeless man and his wealthy friend are having coffee, when the homeless man looks down at the other's keyring and asks if his friend owns something that each of the eleven or so keys open. The man replies that he does, though he'd never thought about it before. Then, the homeless man asks, "Are you sure you own them, or do they own you?" And, scene. That was it for me. This line has now become my checkpoint. When I asked myself, do I own this job or does this job own me, the latter most definitely lit up like neon. It was clear what I needed to do.

I can apply this line to everything in my life- relationships, jobs, possessions, thoughts. It's my new shortcut to weeding out the negatives in my life. And, I will ask myself this question several times a day, if necessary, just to be sure that my answer is clear on the one question that is most important of all- do I own my life, or does my life own me?

Chris in motion. Talking about owning your life would not feel complete until I mention my heroes- my friends (one pictured above) who do what they love, putting their all into every moment. They just had a baby, which they have not posed as an excuse to stop doing what they love or to stay in one place. They travel the world spreading passion for the arts and for life. What better environment could a baby be raised in?

Insighting myself...

2010-06-15T21:42:00.000-07:00

So today marks my actual one year blogging anniversary. This is a big deal to me. I began with the goal of posting once a day for the entire year. But falling short this time did not feel like failure as much as it did triumph. I have learned a lot this past year. Though I began the blog as a way to encourage my photography, it quickly shifted to a focus on writing, and then to life management. I think the most important lesson I came to through this year of blogging was that I am the only expert on dewin's life. My childhood years were spent lost somewhere between wonder and reality. My adolescent years were spent trying to get a grip on reality by looking to others to show me the way. This year has marked a new era of looking inside myself for direction, for a balance between wonder and reality. I have become a keen observer of my own inner workings, specifically the signals that I emit as an SOS when I am off balance. And, I am slowly learning the different methods of triage that seem to work best. I am sure this will be a life-long process. I sometimes feel like every day now I am seeing the world from a new space. It's so exciting it makes me wonder where I will see the world in five years from now, ten, or even twenty, if I am so lucky as to still inhabit it. I want the world to change me as much as I want to change the world. If those two things occur, then it's a good life.

The other night my husband and I watched one of my favorite movies, Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. I think it is a great metaphor for life, including its tagline- You have to believe it to see it.

Throwing in the cape...

2010-06-12T20:28:00.000-07:00

Today marks the first day I took off my Super Woman cape and chucked it. I've always hated that vision of the American woman doing it all, being everyone's rock, and tackling a man's world. It's enough to make me gag. But I realized today that I have been living it. Not in that I'm this wonderful, tough, hard-working, ladder-climbing person. I'm not. I resembled the super hero in a more minute, detailed kind of way. In other words, I am always trying to make everyone else happy. And, today, working alone at a front desk with chaos zooming around me at 100 miles a minute, I lost it. I lost my focus, my cool, and I lost my cape. I suddenly understood how everyone else deals with this garbage.

Out of everyone who works the desk, I am the wussiest. When things get hectic or guests gets rude, I am the one who freaks out. Not in front of the guest, but inside. I get angry. I get flustered. I want to be able to help everyone, while, at the same time, I hate everyone for intruding on my time and stress level. I want to yell at them, "don't you see I am busy here?" I guess sometimes things have to be at their worst before the lesson finally sinks in. It was the moment when I had about 8 people at the desk waiting for 10 minutes to be helped, a guy I was currently helping who had a billing error which takes forever to figure out, one guy on the phone holding for an early check-in when we had no rooms available and he'd already called 5 times, and another lady on the phone playing 20 questions. It was similar to one of those moments in the movies when the character is so overwhelmed that time stops, she looks around, realizes she is completely out of control, and says to herself, "fuck it". I can only do what I can do, and if someone has a problem with waiting for 30 minutes at the desk, well that's just too bad. Perhaps this is a new pattern for me, as this last line reminds me of my Billy Ray comment from the other night.

Anyway, I think I made someone mad at me today. Normally that would eat me up inside, but today, I just thought, "Oh well". I was stressing out running late for my niece's dance recital after work, but I just thought, "I'll make it when I make it". I was worried about spending money on a fancy dinner afterward, but I just thought, "Money comes, money goes". And the world did not end. I can only be what I can be, above that, I have no consolation.

The ballerina. I can't believe it's been a year almost since I began this blog. I remember blogging about her recital last year. That was my first week of blogging. It's cool to look back and see how the act of this near-daily writing has affected me. It's really been a friend and an enemy, a way to break myself down and pick apart the pieces. The greatest part, though, is that it has truly thrown my own talent in my face.

Putting my mind in time out...

2010-06-10T22:50:00.000-07:00

In the beginning, you only needed
your head, a moon swimming in space,
and four bare branches;
and when your body was added,
it was light and thin at first,
not yet the dark chapel
from which, later, you tried to escape.
You lived in a non-Newtonian world,
your arms grew up from your shoulders,
your feet did not touch the ground,
your hair was streaming,
you were still flying.

Lisel Mueller

Tonight I watched The Banger Sisters. It was supposed to be background noise to my many chores but instead it reached in and twisted my insides. It's your typical predictable, good-hearted comedy that pairs one free-spirit with one, actually 5, uptight suburbanites and an OCD writer, culminating with everyone being a better person. But myself being a person who can derive meaning from a pickle, it said something to me, specifically Geoffrey Rush's character of the writer. It brought me back to a space within myself that has been compressed to the point of near invisibility. I revisited it in my car yesterday when I was blasting No One Else on Earth and belting it all down the road. Usually I'm at one with it as the wind rushes past me on my bike. Other than that, that particular sense of freedom eludes me. I am almost never without my sidekick, Mr. Should. Should I be blasting my music? 9 times out of 9 the answer is no. The people around me might get mad, or a baby might be sleeping in the car next to me. Should I be riding my bike? No, I should be reading, or writing, or cleaning, or doing emails. I never noticed until tonight the extreme extent to which this word is infused into my every thought and tied to my every action. It's disgusting.

I had planned to come home and write all night. But for whatever reason I decided to start inputting all my old cds into my itunes. That is what I wanted to do. And, for a moment there I flashed back to what it felt like to be a second-grade teacher of a class full of unruly children. You're trying to work on something, as one kid is yelling, "Teacher, she's doing something she's not supposed to" and another is screaming, "Teacher, she's not following the rules". Meanwhile, two others are over there arguing and calling each other names. "Stupid!" "Lazy!" I finally had to pipe up and scream, "Enough already!" If I want to input music, that's what I'm damn well gonna do! And then I put all the voices in my head in time out.

So now my goal is to do whatever it is I want to do. If that's write, then I'll write. If it's not, I am no longer allowed to beat myself up about it. If I want to clean, I'll clean. But if not, I will learn to live with the mess. If I want to blast old country songs while sitting in traffic, then that is what I'm going to do and the people around me will just have to learn to love Billy Ray Cyrus too.

Longing for today...

2010-06-07T21:24:00.000-07:00

I was cruising today while jamming to Jessie's Girl, and I noted that while simple drum beats are one of my favorite things in the world, the best beat is the one that holds a note or two. It's the anticipation of the drop beat that gets me charged up. It reminded me of all the things in my life I am waiting for the drop beat on. When I will be able to quit my second job. When we will have more money. When I will have kids. When we will move to the country. When I will get published. Continually waiting for the drop on these aspects of my life feels a bit less exciting.

When I was in Pompano last weekend, I felt at home in a way though I'd never been to those parts before, because everywhere I looked I saw 1950s architecture and signage. It was great. The wonderful thing about it is that each building was its own piece of art back then. I love the colors and the designs. Driving down the road felt as though I were walking through a museum admiring the paintings along each side of me. I also fell in love with the radio stations there as there was one that was having an 80s flashback weekend and played songs I hadn't heard since I was 8. Ones I had totally forgotten about. I started to wish that things were the same as back then, that time when architecture was about art not lavishness, when music was about the feeling, not sex.

It suddenly hit me that people in the 80s must've wished it was still like the 50s, and people in the 50s probably wished it was still like the 30s. And, it is a likely possibility that people in the 2030s will look back with fondness on the 2010s. They will long for the purity of Lady Gaga and strip malls. That sentence was painful to type. But, it's true.

There's this country song by Trace Atkins that I heard randomly one day a few years back and it struck me immediately and broke me apart until I was crying as I rode down Atlantic wondering why.

Before she knows it she's a brand new bride
In a one-bedroom apartment, and her daddy stops by
He tells her it's a nice place
She says it'll do for now
Starts talking about babies and buying a house
Daddy shakes his head and says, Baby, just slow down

You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast

Five years later there's a plumber workin' on the water heater
Dog's barkin', phone's ringin'
One kid's cryin', one kid's screamin'
She keeps apologizin'
He says, They don't bother me.
I've got 2 babies of my own.
One's 36, one's 23.
It's hard to believe, but ...

You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast
These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this

What am I losing by longing for the past? Soon I'll be longing for today. May as well be now.

50s architecture. See what I mean? It just gives me chills.

Being bored...

2010-06-03T20:12:00.000-07:00

Now that I have completed my photography submission and partied with Hall n Oates, it is time to put the writing hat back on. So far, so awesome. I sat down tonight to work on a guest blog entry for a writer friend I met at the retreat in Colorado, and thanks to Debbie Gibson I came up with some great stuff. I usually don't like to listen to music when I write; I need complete silence in order for my neurons to locate each other in the darkness of my mind. But tonight I just felt like listening to cheesy old school pop, so I put on an old Debbie album. The cool thing I found is that maybe sometimes it's a good thing not to have your synapses firing. With the music playing, I couldn't sit and contemplate any one thought too deeply, so instead I just started writing random things that popped into my head, no matter how unrelated they seemed. And, lo and behold, I found once more that I am my greatest mentor.

When I decided I wanted to start writing again a couple of years ago, I had in mind a book on creating a creative foundation for your children. My favorite, and the central, point of the book is my belief that boredom is the father of creation. As I was writing this evening, this line kept echoing in my head for some reason. Boredom is the father of creation. I had had this in mind as related to childrearing. I believe children today are offered too many "interactive" toys that require little to no imagination because they do everything for themselves- dolls that wet themselves, trucks that make their own noises, building toys that can only be connected to make one sole outcome. Tonight I realized that this principle applies as much to adults as to children. Of course I am not getting writing done. I am not bored. I am constantly finding things to occupy myself- work, emails, cleaning, worrying. Things that would not make the world stop on its axis if they were to be completed a day-or a week- later.

As adults we are rarely bored. We are too busy. That's an endless expanse of creativity that is not being honored. I have learned in the last year of doing this blog (it will be a year next week!) how to integrate thought into my busy lifestyle. Now my challenge is to integrate writing. I need boredom. I need to sit around the house and do nothing. This, though seemingly lazy and unproductive, is where ideas are born. When my mind and heart are not consumed with busy work, they will focus on the necessary. They will focus on creating. I think we could all benefit from a little boredom now and then. This is why I miss front porches; this is why I love the scene in The Man in the Moon where she stares into her empty glass; this is why I miss the "old days". We were less distracted by the trivial, and so more focused on the essential. Ironic how my writing reemerged from my desire to get off the couch and has now led me right back to the couch. (That qualifies as irony, right Chris?!)

Some more of our friends from Butterfly World!

Turning thirty-one...

2010-05-31T20:33:00.000-07:00

In honor of my thirty-first birthday on the thirty-first, thirty-one things that I indulged in this weekend that make me happy to be alive:

1. Friends.
2. Shish kabobs.
3. The Midnight Special.
4. Fleetwood Mac.
5. Salsa.
6. Cream cheese.
7. Sleeping in.
8. Fresh-squeezed orange juice.
9. Florida.
10. Naps in the car.
11. Creme Brulee.
12. Midnight swims under the stars.
13. Afternoon swims under the palm trees.
14. Air conditioning.
15. Coca-cola.
16. Baby shoes.
17. Old records.
18. 80s music.
19. 70s music.
20. Outdoor nighttime concerts.
21. The scent of the ocean.
22. 50s architecture.
23. Birds and butterflies.
24. Presents.
25. Cheeto puffs.
26. Husbands.
27. Family.
28. Courtyards.
29. Fountains.
30. Jurassic Park.
31. Doughnuts.

Today we visited the birds and butterflies of Butterfly World. It's like paradise. It is filled with the most beautiful trees and flowers, and has fountains and waterfalls throughout. This is a lorakeet we met there. One of his friends landed on my arm and chilled with us for a bit. It was great!

Forgiving myself...

2010-05-28T21:13:00.000-07:00

I would like to lay out a bit of a trilogy. Last week my husband told me a story. He had been driving near our house slowing down to turn into the parking lot of a store when he almost t-boned a truck that pulled across on-coming traffic and in front of him. My husband was so shocked at the sheer closeness of the truck, he followed it to ensure that the driver was ok. He pulled up near the the truck as it parked next to a gas pump, rolled down his window, and said, "man, you're lucky I have good brakes!" The gentleman immediately fired back, "you're lucky you didn't hit me". "Excuse me?" my husband said. The man repeated himself, to which my husband decided not to back down. "Well, I actually came over here to see if you were alright, but if you're going to be rude about it, how about we get back in our cars, drive back over there, I hit you this time, and we'll see what the police have to say about it." The point is my husband was not attacking this person, yet he already had his guard up defending his mistake.

Last weekend at my hotel job, I noticed a package deal incoming that needed to be prepared. As I rolled my eyes- this meant more work for me and the housekeepers- I went about getting the package ready. This encompasses about a 10-step process. I remembered 9 of them. Because of that final step left incomplete, the smallest step of them all, the guest did not receive the correct room, resulting in their unhappiness, which was taken out on my friend who worked the night shift, and my boss having to comp the room. When I found out about it later, there was no denying I had made a mistake. However, my immediate reaction was that of- well it was this person's fault too and that person's and that person's! Luckily, I only freaked out to my friend, and by the time I talked to my manager about it the next day, I was ready to own up that it was only my fault, that I was sorry, and that it wouldn't happen again.

All of the stress I had experienced the night before, including trying to share blame with others, was lifted just with those simple words- I fucked up and I'm sorry. Last week I had a meeting with my life coach. We did some work using Byron Katie's methods. Byron Katie uses this thing called the turnaround. It's based on the idea that whatever we disdain about others is something we do ourselves. So far, I have found this to be of ultimate truth. In our work I dealt with some anger I have felt toward someone whom I believe has been manipulating my husband. Because my statement was 'So-and-so manipulates my husband', the turnaround was 'I manipulate my husband'. At first I literally couldn't get the words out. What a horrible statement. But once I made a conscious effort to just say them, the reality behind them came forth. The actual admittance to myself of my own actions was so much more freeing than holding onto the denial of the fact. I immediately accepted that this is something I have done as well, and that's ok. Later, I pointed it out to my husband, who hadn't seen it that way either.

The thing is with all the lawsuits, wrongful this and that, policies, paperwork, and fine print floating around today, we have become so quick to jump on the defensive when someone, including ourselves, accuses us of not being 100% perfect. But I've found this past week that coming out straight-off and admitting yes I messed up, now what can I do to fix it brings so much more freedom. Whatever you loath about someone else, chances are you are doing it right now in some shape or form. Realizing this not only brought me peace with myself, but peace through understanding the other person's actions.

Last night when I checked my work email, there was one in my box from the general manager of the hotel. In it, he thanked me for my work last weekend. He recognized that we were short-staffed and told me he appreciated those 9 steps that I did remember. After a whole week of mentally berating myself over the whole thing, I realized the second most important step to dealing with the fact that we as humans will never be perfect- forgiving yourself for it.

A flower. Sometimes I feel like this is the view of life we're given, and we have to just squint and turn our head to the side to see it for what it truly is.

New Blog!

2010-05-25T17:26:00.000-07:00

I have started a brand new blog to help me practice my review-writing skills! I am very excited about it and hope you will visit it. I will be reading one newly-released book each month and posting my review, complete with a link to purchase the book on Amazon. My first selection is a definite recommend. It's a small work you could easily read in an afternoon, but it will keep you laughing for weeks! Check it out! The link is below and is also listed under "My Sites" to the right!

dewinsreviews

Riding the tide...

2010-05-24T21:47:00.000-07:00

The funk is back. I'm beginning to think it exists in a cycle that returns with the movement of the tides or something. But the past few days have been rough. Luckily, I had my photo contest to focus on. (I finally submitted my selections this evening, so it's pretty tough to type right now with all my fingers crossed!) I wonder if it is somehow related to the fact that I have been doing this "Work" of Byron Katie. I am told whenever you make big lifestyle changes, rough patches are bound to occur. Or I wonder if it's just the push and pull of the world.

The other day I turned on the tv in the middle of the day to keep me company while I folded some long overdue laundry. I don't usually watch tv in the middle of the day, and I immediately remembered why. First I passed by Oprah, and we all know I love and respect Oprah, but she was talking about how she lives her life this way and she has this special chair she spends her special meditation time in. Must be nice, I thought. Then I kept flipping until I hit Tyra, who was telling me I need to pair this top with that skirt and this color with that. Then finally, I passed some talk show where people were discussing how my relationship should be. It was just like bam, bam, bam- all these shows telling people how they should live their lives. Sounds nice and helpful on the surface, but for some reason that day it hit me that these people telling me how I should live are insinuating that there is something wrong with my life the way it is. It's just like commercial advertising. You need this product to make you happy- and you're worth it! I knew commercials were manipulative; everyone knows that. But does anyone realize how all this self-help is really self-harm? At least it seems that way to me. Maybe if people stopped worrying about how to best live their life and just lived it, they would be more peaceful. All this goal-orientedness, which I have bashed before, is so exhausting. Dude, can't I just be happy as I am? Do I have to constantly be bettering myself? Because my guess is that without trying I will probably improve more than if I am forcing it.

My husband found this amazing spiderweb on our mailbox the other day. It was so beautiful I had to snap a quick shot, even though it made me late for work!

Finding symmetry...

2010-05-20T21:19:00.000-07:00

I've written recently about the surprise I often feel when certain aspects of my life seem to coincide in such a way as to complement each other. It's the greatest, most intriguing thing when this happens with books I am reading. I am in the process of finishing up both my Byron Katie book and My Stroke of Insight. In MSOI, Taylor talks about the sad fact that we spend all our time teaching our children how to use their left brain- how to speak, read, and calculate. How to make logical decisions, how to organize, how to make decisions. But we don't spend any time teaching and learning how to control our left hemisphere. By this she means how to stop our mental stories from replaying and replaying until they wear an electrical path in our brains so that we continue to feel the same pains over and over again. This tendency to create stories, such as I should have a clean house or I should be beautiful, is dangerous because it makes us susceptible to worrying about what others think of us, to advertising, and to self-criticism. Once the story is repeated as few as two times a pattern is created in our electrical wiring to repeat it.

The coolest part of this for me is that it is the scientific equivalent of what I read in Byron Katie's book just last night. Byron Katie comes at it from a more experiential point of view. She claims that she never makes a decision. All her decisions are made for her at the moment the answer is required. And she's right. I have tried to do this lately without knowing what I was doing. When I start to stress over a decision, anything from what I am going to wear for the day to how the hell I'm gonna pay bills next month, I stop myself. Am I getting dressed right now? Do I have 0 bucks in the bank right now? No. So why am I torturing myself? The cool part is all it takes is that one moment of stopping to make the thoughts disintegrate. And I have never once ended up going to work naked or not being able to pay a bill.

Katie's method is to turn around all the underlying thoughts that cause mental and emotional stress. Because it is the thought, or story, that causes the stress, not the situation. This is precisely what Dr. Taylor found in her own experience of living in her right hemisphere for 8 years. And, she was a neuroanatomist, so she knows a bit about the subject. I just find it so cool that although they seemingly come from completely different areas of expertise- one may be viewed as a feel-good self-help guru, another a strict regimented scientist, they both came to the exact same conclusion. And that conclusion is we don't have to live our lives in misery. All we have to do is recognize that all misery is self-inflicted. Katy calls it focusing on the projector instead of the projection. We are the projector, our thoughts the projection. Once we recognize that our thoughts are not real, only a representation of what is real, we are that much closer to living a life of freedom.

Turning down the noise...

2010-05-18T21:08:00.000-07:00

Recently, with all my reading of Eckhart Tolle, Alan Watts, and Deepak Chopra, I decided to cut down on tv, radio, and thought. I couldn't describe why but I felt the excessive noise was adding to my stress level. I still engage in all three, but now I don't leave the tv on unless I'm actively watching it, sometimes I drive or shower in silence, and when I find my thoughts backing up until they're running each other over, I make it a point to stop and hit pause. I think it's been helpful, but I never really knew for sure until I started reading Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor's memoir and Neurology 101 handbook, My Stroke of Insight, after hearing her interviewed on NPR.

In the book, Taylor, a neuroanatomist, details- literally- her stroke experience, describing each resulting loss of function, and then relates her recovery from her recognition of color to her reading comprehension. But that's not the most intriguing part. The greatest facet of this book to me is the experience she had sans her left hemisphere. Taylor was left with essentially only her right-hemisphere function and therefore experienced our world with no concept of past or present. Her thoughts came in pictures, not words. In her interactions with others, she felt energies instead of seeing the superficial. She felt one with the universe literally, as she lacked the ability to recognize boundaries. In other words, she had no idea where she ended and the world began. Likewise with sounds, she was unable to differentiate one sound from the veritable flood of noise around her at all times.

In learning to cope with the world under such circumstances, Taylor taught herself how to limit her exposure to negative energies from others and to sound pollution. She even taught herself to steer away from creating negative mental loops of pain and suffering. She could simply decide not to feel badly about certain things. So this got me thinking- if we all have this going on in our right hemispheres at all times, we are probably having the same negative reactions to stimuli that she did in her recovery. We just don't notice it because we have our right hemisphere operating in tandem to overrule it.

These days we are in almost constant communication via cell phones, email, and Facebook. We collide with sounds at every turn. Not just conversation, tv, and radio, but thoughts. We worry about overstimulating our children, but as adults, we don't give it a second thought. Yet, we frequently read about the importance of "me time" and the danger of "energy vampires", people who sap you of positive energy with their constant negative chatter.

I really believe that all of this excess noise is cause to such daily torments as road rage, stress, emotional breakdowns, and misdirected anger. I truly feel that being preemptive and cutting some of the unnecessary pollution out of my brain has helped chill me out. And, hearing Dr. Taylor's words just fortified my suspicions. I think her book is a huge step forward for our species.

Getting by with a little help from the universe...

2010-05-17T21:18:00.000-07:00

About five years ago I met one of the greatest people on Earth, and a friend of my husband's became one of my own. Since we first met, she has always told me: the universe will provide for you; you just have to put your dreams out there. Of course I believed her, but I never knew how true her words were until yesterday.

Rewind back to this past December when I was flipping through O Magazine during a slow spell at the hotel. An ad caught my eye. It was a full page with a black backdrop and red and white text (Rock Steady colors). It was advertising a photo contest for unknown talent. Upon researching a bit more, I found that the agency sponsoring the contest not only publishes O Magazine, but several other well-known periodicals, including Cosmo. I was elated. As suddenly as I had stumbled upon the ad, ideas were flowing through my head and I tried to catch each one on a scrap of paper here, a napkin there. Soon, I had so many I had to narrow them down. Once that task was accomplished, it was time to find some models, which was a feat in its own right.

My first model was an interesting case, in that she was a minor, so I had to go through serious hoops to get permission to shoot her. My second model was a friend who was easy enough to rope in. But the location was not so easy. Luckily he had a friend with an in at a local theater. We were allowed to shoot afterhours on stage and she even stayed to work the lights. My final, and main, model I hadn't seen in over two years and had to hunt down. Luckily, she agreed to let me drag her all around North Florida, dress her in funny clothes, and get up in her grill with a camera. It was on.

As I was calculating how much this was going to cost me in clothes, shoes, make-up, hair, a friend of mine texted me. She had another friend who just opened a clothing store and thought maybe her friend would be willing to hang some of my landscape photography in her shop. She had no idea about the contest. (Cue the universe.) I stopped in to meet with her friend and instead asked about borrowing some clothes for the shoot in exchange for some prints for her to hang up in her store. Not only did this then complete stranger agree, she offered to design the clothes herself specifically for and according to my vision for each shot. I could've cried! This was all coming together. Add another of my friends who agreed to take the day off work (she never takes a day off) to handle hair and make-up, and it was go time.

After months of planning, we met up here Saturday night to get ready to leave first thing in the morning. We traveled to all ends of Jacksonville the next day, from Jax Beach to St. Augustine to Green Cove Springs to Middleburg and back. Add the near 90 degree weather and it made for a long day. But what an amazing experience! I had my own entourage- me on camera duty, a model, an assistant, and a hair and makeup artist. And, everyone did such an amazing job. I couldn't have done it without any one of the people mentioned above, as well as those who allowed us to shoot on their property.

I am usually horrible at delegating. When I used to go on job interviews after graduating college, this is what I would offer up when they inevitably asked for my weaknesses. I hate to ask for help. Not because I am proud, much the opposite. I just assume, who would want to help me? Well, it turns out a lot of people. My friend was right. Once I put it out there that this was my goal- to submit a respectable and meaningful submission to this contest- everything just feel into place. It made me realize that the world is not such a scary place, and that people would love to help if you just ask. Not only did several people, even strangers, agree to help, some even thanked me for allowing them to be a part of it!

Overall, it was an unbelievable experience. I truly do not even care whether I win or not. I took some amazing photos and made some even more amazing realizations about the world I live in and the people in it. An overwhelming fear of what lies outside my doorstep has been replaced with a feeling of support from the outside world. Thanks to everyone!

The before and after. So tough to pick a favorite shot from the day, but this would have to be it. I knew I loved this one the moment I took it. Check out more at:
flickr.com/dewindesigns or
dewindesigns facebook

Wiping the grime off...

2010-05-14T21:07:00.000-07:00

As I have written before, I went to a college prep school where everyone was smarter, more athletic, prettier, cooler (the list goes on) than me. To this day, whenever I receive one of the school's quarterly magazines with all the updates from everyone, I literally get sick to my stomach. Reading about how everyone is a lawyer, went backpacking through Europe last summer, and has four beautiful kids and a mansion makes me want to puke. I hated the competition then, and I hate it even more now. So I challenge myself to throw the damn thing in the trash before I even open it.

I don't want to compare myself anymore. The only people I feel are useful as comparison are the previous me's. I like to see how much I've grown. Not that I was bad before, just different. This is one of the things that amazed me about my circle of writing friends at the retreat. Not once did it feel like a beauty contest of whose writing was better than another's. It was quite possibly the first time I have been in a situation where each individual's unique strengths were honored and appreciated. It encourages me to strive for that in all areas of my life.

In my work with Byron Katie, I have learned that much of the time the actions we project on others are actions that we ourselves are undertaking. Therefore, if I feel that others are judging me, I have to look inside myself and admit that I am judging others (and myself). If I can make a conscious effort to change, I believe I can wipe the grime off the view hole, as No Doubt says.

Here's proof of something else cool. There are times when you feel no one understands you- until you open your eyes and see that they always have. The weekend before my trip, I was at an art festival with my dad. He picked out the most beautiful, most me bracelet I have ever received. When I saw it, I was so comforted. Though it may sound superficial, it was proof that my dad got me. On my trip, the resident agent was the one who asked me to come and photograph the foxes because she knew I'd love to. And, once there, she is the one who showed me this amazingly beautiful antique hinge. She said she thought I'd like it. I did. She'd known me three days. This is proof of why people need people to reflect themselves back to them. I think this is a major piece in how we get to know ourselves.

Growing my characters and myself...

2010-05-13T19:21:00.000-07:00

My husband used to play with a singer who had a pretty limited vocal range. People would suggest he take singing lessons to help him expand upon his talents. However, he refused out of fear that training his voice would take away its natural honesty. He did not want to come off as contrived. I thought about this as I was riding to the cabin in Colorado last week. I was talking with an author about different writing techniques. I asked him, did he not feel that using these techniques made his writing feel forced? His answer was, no, they help me to get my point across more effectively.

Today I was reading more of my new book on writing, and I fell in love. The author explains so many seemingly obvious methods of writing that I had never thought of myself. And, suddenly, I understood what my author friend had meant. Utilizing some of these ideas could make my characters come alive and jump right off the page. I was so excited I wanted to read more.

In addition to all of the surprising revelations I experienced last week, I found that I can handle criticism. How freeing a realization! As I have written, I had previously never shown my work to anyone, excepting one boyfriend and my husband. When I received criticism from these two readers, I was upset, because from them, I was expecting simply a show of support. But, having these as my only prior experiences with criticism, I feared this week's encounters with my readers. I fully expected myself to end up a sniveling little five-year-old throwing a tantrum on the floor. I was wrong. (Thank God.)

When I took in the comments from each of the experts- the author, the agent, the editors, my friend- I actually craved more. I felt distanced just enough from my work to see it as this thing that I wanted to grow. I did not see it as an attached limb- something to become defensive about, the way I had imagined I would. Talking with my friend was the most enlightening, because he gave me some great ways to grow my character, again obvious things that would have never occurred to me. And, that's when I knew I was a writer. I felt about my work the way I would feel about a child. I realized I want my story to have the best. I want my characters to be understood. But without this outside input, that would be nearly impossible.

This evening, as I was reading my book on my back porch, I thought about this in relation to ordinary defensiveness. When people discuss religion and politics, opinions and feelings fly, yet not much gets accomplished. I think this is because of what Byron Katie refers to as our being attached to our thoughts. What I think about governmental issues and how I feel about God are thoughts in my mind. My attachment to them can be harmful if I allow it to make me defensive, distancing myself from others. But if I can severe that appendage just enough to distance myself slightly, I would be more accepting of others' opinions about life. And, I might even learn something.

I think people are so afraid of feeling forced that instead of openly listening to the thoughts and ideas of others, they push them away out of fear. Just because I listened to my friend's ideas for my character does not mean I have to take them. Similarly, just because I listen to someone else's view on religion does not mean I have to assume it. But I can respect it and be thankful for their willingness to share it, and possibly take something from it that makes me grow.

This is one of my favorite shots from the week. The field where the foxes lived was filled with old sheds, an old house, and old rusted farming equipment. I couldn't stop playing the 10,000 Maniacs song, Gold Rush Brides, in my head the whole time we were there.

Turning myself inside out...

2010-05-11T20:42:00.000-07:00

I was riding my bike this evening, spending time with my first love, my Florida. I miss writing camp. I miss my house in Colorado. I miss my new friends. I miss the freedom of it. But, God, it's good to be back with my Florida. As I was riding, hands stretched out, Herbie Hancock on my iPod, jasmine in the air, I thought about something my friend said. One word actually that kept echoing in my mind- courage. He was using it in reference to me. I thought back to a year or so ago when I would've never placed that word in any sentence- or even paragraph- that had dewin in it. But somewhere along the road, I took that word and became it. I took what I envied in others, and instead of resenting them, turned myself into them.

I was talking to my friend during our hike about how I, if not all of us, tend to paint people into these mythical beings sometimes. It's like when I obsessed over Gwen Stefani for years (ok, so I still do), then I met her and marveled at the fact that she was so tiny. It's like with writers. Somehow I imagined they were these sparkly people who had some magic way of spinning webs out of words that was hidden from daylight. Turns out they just sit at their laptops, just as I'm doing now. I wondered why I make up these characters in my head. Is it to keep myself distanced from them, so that I don't dare try to be like them, lest I fail? Or is it my way of assigning such height to have something to long for, a type of goal to strive for? Or is it because what these people do to me is an inexplicable, unimaginable miracle? They move me in ways I can't see, and can, therefore, not explain.

I don't know, but one thing I learned this past week is that not only are editors and agents not scary, writers are not magical floating beings who inspire literary excellence by simply tinkling their noses. They are me, and I am them.

Here is the momma fox.

Belonging...

2010-05-09T21:38:00.000-07:00

Writing Retreat Day Five:

Well, since I spent the first three days overcoming challenges, it only makes sense that I spend my last day here facing more. Only today's were a different sort. After surviving the horror that is sharing your work with others for the first time, I decided today would be a fun day. And, that is definitely what it was.

My first challenge was waking up early, a tough one for me. The agent on-staff had seen some baby foxes with their mother on her walk yesterday and asked if I wanted to come again with her today to see if I could get some shots. Unfortunately, after waiting patiently for over an hour, the foxes didn't show. But we still had fun talking and wandering around the town center.

After coming back to the house to grab a quick snack, I was off again with a fellow writer in search of nearby trails for hiking. We drove 20 minutes out of the city, about 10,000 miles up to a 4-mile trail only to find it covered in snow and impassable. But we had a beautiful drive and I got to get some shots of the snow-covered fields. It was the first time I truly appreciated Colorado. After that minor detour, we decided to head back to the house and check out the trail that snakes up the mountain in the backyard. Now, in the past, I have always felt a bit guilty about referring to myself as a hiker, because in Florida, you're really just walking through the forest. But today I became official when I hiked all the way up to the top of a mountain on a foot-wide path that wound back and forth right along the edge with no rails to save you if the icy snow or pebbly sand betrayed your boots. It was great. We had a perfect view of the mountains and came across some interesting trees. After our close to two-hour hike (and amazing two-hour dialogue), we dragged our tired selves into the house for an amazing lunch of home-made fried chicken and gravy. It was perfect.

But that wasn't all. After helping clean up the kitchen and taking a few minutes to check emails, we were off to try again to catch a glimpse of the foxes. We pulled up next to the field and as I was walking toward it, someone whispered, "there they are!" I grabbed my camera and immediately started shooting. I had never seen a fox before. The mother was pacing back and forth, while her babies were wrestling and pouncing on each other. We eventually snuck up surprisingly close to them without them becoming alarmed. Apparently they are used to people because the mother stood right next to the road and later took off through town, perhaps in search of food for her kits.

After going through all 600+ of the photos I'd taken today, I was beat. I went upstairs to write my blog and go to sleep, but was summoned by another of my new friends to play a game of pool. I've only played once in my life, and I was awful. So I thought, I'll just watch. Well I'll just watch turned into ok, just one hit, which turned into me learning how to play pool! And, I am good! I can even jump balls! I had no clue I had such a talent. So, we decided that I should ditch the whole writing thing, and take up a career as a pool shark.

And so went my day. Now I am to write an entry in a journal describing my experience here. How can I put into words an experience that has been the most powerful that I've ever had? It may sound like junior high sleep away camp, but it was more than that. I feel like I have been inducted into a whole new world, filled with amazing, talented, and caring people- people who think like I do. It's such a wonderful thing to be surrounded with people with the same thoughts and passions as you. I've never had that. I have had interests. But when the co-teachers would talk of their passion for teaching, when my fellow students would discuss their love of marine biology, when the designers I worked with got excited over what I saw as a boring project, I felt I didn't belong. Here, I belong. And, that feeling is something you can't put into words.

Living my life...

2010-05-08T23:08:00.000-07:00

Writing Retreat Day Four:

If yesterday was my day of being molded, today I received the polish. Last night as I was lying in bed desperately trying to fall asleep despite my level of giddiness from the day's challenges overcome, I was taken aback by the giant smile that usurped my face and refused to leave. How often in my life have I stopped, smiled, and thought, wow, this is my life. Very few.

Last night was one of the most powerful moments I've ever experienced. It kind of makes tonight seem redundant as I faced another, though completely different, overwhelming fear of mine. Though my brain told me to run, I opened my computer and read my work in front of a room full of people. I did. I was certain everyone could hear my teeth chattering, see my palms sweating, and feel my absolute terror. But after I paused briefly mid-way to find my place, I suddenly felt calm, as though this were something I do everyday. And, before I knew it, it was over. My entire thirty years of life completely changed in a matter of five minutes (not to be too over-dramatic). But that is what this retreat has meant to me. It represents a turning point. The point where I stand up and claim my life as my own. And, do you know what someone told me afterward? That I have a confident voice.

That confidence and fear are not related in our culture is unclear to me. Everyone I have ever talked to, confident or not, admits they feel fear. There were some amazing writers tonight who were just as nervous to read as I. Confidence is doing it anyway. Confidence is believing in yourself enough to grab what you want no matter what fears you have to cross. Confidence is having enough faith in life to know it will provide for you. And, tonight, confidence was me.

This is Ruh (pronounced Roo), the service dog for one of the writers here at the retreat. He weighs more than I do. Significantly more. But he is the sweetest cuddliest dog I have ever met.

Taking it step by step...

2010-05-07T23:55:00.000-07:00

Writing Retreat Day Three:

One of the most, if not the most, typically played out stories is the coming-of-age tale that follows an individual on his journey through growth to maturity. Well, my coming-of-age story played out in the span of the past 24 hours. As those of you who follow this blog may know, my early life was framed by a rigid unwillingness to take risk. I didn't walk with my head up until I was 6. I didn't learn to ride a bike until 12. I never learned to raise my hand in class. Risk equals ridicule. Until today. Today, risk equaled amazing interaction with life at all levels- interaction with others, with my work, with myself.

I am lucky enough to have somehow picked up a sponsor here at the retreat. Whether he sensed something in me immediately that needed to be pushed or he just enjoys watching me make a fool of myself, my new friend doesn't make suggestions, he tells me- you are going to do this. I love it. I crave it. And it's not that I need permission, but that I need to be reminded that I can. I am capable. So today I met with four different experts- an author, an agent, and two editors (one from Penguin, one from Random House)- and discussed my writing. It still amazes me to even say it. It brings back visions of dewin, the quiet one, trying out for the cheerleading team in junior high. All were shocked, most of all me. In addition to this, I actually raised my hand in our Q & A session tonight. (Because my friend told me I was going to.) Surprisingly and not-so-surprisingly, it didn't hurt and no one laughed. His next challenge for me is tomorrow when I will read a selection of fiction to the entire group of 20+ people and have it critiqued. After today, though, I am excited about it!

One of the things that each of these experts expressed to me was the importance of taking things step by step. To build up skill. To build a foundation. A couple of them asked, "What brought you here?" And, I think it is precisely that, literally and figuratively. It has taken many tiny steps for me to get to this point in my life. I remember being afraid of doing my first art show. Now it's nothing. I remember being afraid of first publishing this blog for all to see. Well, truthfully, I'm still pretty scared about that, but not as much! I remember being afraid of my first photo shoot, my first tutoring student. I remember being afraid of the publishing process- this morning. But now that I see that agents have a face- a kind one, that editors are just people- who go for runs, that other authors experience rejection too- a lot, the fears slip away on their own. And, beneath it all, everyone out there just wants to help you. Thank you, by the way, to all my newest blog followers! ;)

Icicles outside my bedroom window! I could probably make some metaphor here about fear melting away, but I'll spare you.

Adjusting the focus...

2010-05-06T22:29:00.000-07:00

Writing Retreat Day Two:

I started a book last night that I found here at the retreat about the many ways we can sabotage our own writing. The one I read about today was distraction. I believe that certain things hit you at certain times because you need them. This chapter was an example of that belief. The author creates a fable by retelling the story of when her office was invaded by flies and she took after them with a copy of The Globe instead of writing.

"I wanted to get everything in that room just right before my writing began. I was afraid that just as a good idea was about to come to me, a fly would appear and jar me, and the idea would be lost forever. It was my very commitment to writing that kept me from it."

Again, I am taken back to my post about the girl on the track team. Just as she was focused on looking perfect instead of the actual running, just as many of us are fixated on living a perfect life instead of the actual living of it, I have been concentrating all of my energy on having the perfect writing process or the perfect manuscript instead of the actual act of writing. I know I have posted about this before, but I just keep repeating it to myself until it clicks. When things are hard, my husband has this thing he says to pull me back in- it's just you and me. I will apply this to my writing, and when I get distracted by the little details, such as what will this agent or that editor think about my work- and worse, me as a person, I will remind myself- it's just me and my writing. There is nothing else.

My favorite model- the sun. I love playing with the rays of light and experimenting with the rad lens flares they create. I took this this morning in the backyard before the clouds covered overhead and it poured snow all day!

Making space...

2010-05-05T21:47:00.000-07:00

Writing Retreat Day One:

Today was pretty significant in the writing life of dewin. The reason is that I was filling my notebook with ideas and inspirations before I even arrived here. Every five or so minutes on the plane rides I would think of something else to jot down. So I asked myself- dewin, you haven't written but maybe two notes in the past month, and in just a five hour span you've filled pages, why? And it came to me. I made space for them. All this time I have been focusing on the outward details- where to write, when to write, how often to write, what to write. But the most important thing I now know is simply making the space. In my mind foremost, and also in my time. I had it set in my mind that this is my week to go and write and think about nothing but books and writing. And immediately I was there in that thoughtful space. I also recognized that my notes and thoughts seem to keep floating back to the same area. This aspect of humanity that continues to boggle me. One that I want to dig into it and find out more about. So, I thought, maybe this is what I am to write about. It is exciting to me. For once I was sitting there in the moment of having all these thoughts and I felt this is where I love to be. Right in this place of thought. It's weird. I don't know that I would call it fun exactly. But I love it nonetheless.

And so my struggle is to bring that back into my day. Not sure how I will do it exactly but where there's a will there's a way. I think the most important ingredient will be intention. I'm also thinking I may start timing myself. Like only allowing myself 30 minutes to work on work-related stuff. Or 15 minutes to search the internet. Or an hour to clean the house. But when the time's up, I am no longer allowed to worry or even think about it anymore. Because these are the things that make a void out of my day. I start folding laundry with the best of intentions to sit down and write afterward, yet I get pulled from chore to chore and suddenly it's time for bed. So, time's up for this post. I'm going to read!!!!

Here is a shot of the space I will be writing in this week. It is a three-story cabin in the mountains of Breckenridge. Complete with my own private balcony, a 90 degree hiking trail in the backyard, and a hot tub. I think it'll do.

Breaking the fast...

2010-05-04T22:33:00.000-07:00

Been a long time. This is definitely my longest stretch of bloglessness yet. I won't even try to make excuses or give reasons. I'm finding out that there is no one way to channel creativity, at least for me. I've tried a bunch hoping to find that one magical sitting position or pencil or time of day. No such thing exists. I even thought that this blog was my answer. Turns out not so much. I guess it's like with religion. You can't reach God in just one way or see him in just one thing. He is everywhere. Creativity is everywhere. It is in everything. I just hope it's in Colorado. For that is where I am headed tomorrow for the long-awaited writing retreat.

I go into this retreat with little more in the way of expectations than the obvious. I am going to be on my own for five days in the mountains with new people. That is all. Well, I'd be lying if I didn't admit I hope to get some reading done. I've packed 8 books for crying out loud. And three notebooks. Two pencils. Three pens. A highlighter pen with post-it flags. And a pencil sharpener. I'm prepared. I may not be wearing the expensive matching outfit from Sports Authority, but creativity can't be found in the superficial. I am ready to get dirty.

A preponderance of pondering would be my highest hope for this retreat. I love this shot.

Remodeling my spirit...

2010-04-25T06:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went on a home tour in Historic Riverside. I had the opportunity to get a feel for what Jacksonville was like in the early 1900's. It was amazing seeing all the old windows, bathtubs, doorknobs, and sinks. Some houses had been remodeled and some not so much. One home in particular that was situated on the river had been significantly redone. It had four bedrooms, not including the one they had turned into a walk-in closet. It was ridiculously huge. They had a fully stocked kitchen with a double oven, and a big back patio facing the river. Man, there were even ladies walking around dressed in french maid outfits passing out hors d'oeuvres. All I could think about as I stood looking out their balcony onto the river was how do you live here and still have problems? You wake up in the morning to this beautiful view of the river; you come home from work where you can sit outside and read next to a beautiful view of the river. How could you ever complain about anything ever again?

Then I reversed the thought. There are probably several people who would walk through my house and think something along similar lines. Compared to some, my house might seem more than enough. So, in line with my own thinking, how can I ever complain about anything again? I wish it were that easy. It's like when you are feeling low and playing the "why me" card, and someone tells you to suck it up cause other people have it much worse than you. Has that ever made anyone feel better about their own situation? Not me. We're too self-absorbed for that. Not in a bad way, but in a necessary way. If we were to take on all of the plights of those less fortunate than ourselves, we'd be buried in grief. And, what good would that do?

So back to the house. It was a very nice house, but regardless of the view, my favorite was the first one I visited. It was built in the early 1900's. It had been fixed up but still had some of the old features, like the old rope-and-pulley system for opening the windows. It had all tin roofs. It had a huge porch/balcony on the second floor overlooking the neighborhood which was filled with huge old oak trees. It was peaceful. It was beautiful. But one thing it was not was perfect, the kind of perfect the house on the river was. And I liked that. It had spirit. And nothing that is perfect has spirit.

Unfortunately, the home tour was a spontaneous adventure, so I was without camera. < Insert photo of cute little kid here. >

Trashing the goals...

2010-04-23T22:21:00.000-07:00

Not to use an overused metaphor, but I stopped in front of the elevator tonight after helping a couple get their DVD player working, and realized that I'm always running. Running after something. Running and waiting. Waiting for something. Happiness, perhaps. Like, waiting til I can quit my job. Or waiting to pay off my credit card debt. Or waiting til Craig makes more money. Or waiting til I write a book. Everything in my life is completely goal-oriented. I've written about this before concerning the little things, like the fact that I am always doing something productive and can't relax. But, now I'm seeing it in the whole. My whole life is one big goal and I am beginning to realize I will never get there, wherever it is I am going.

When running long distance, one technique that some use to get them through is to focus on an object in the distance. You tell yourself you can make it there. Then once you get there, you pick a new object in the distance and tell yourself you can make it there. Thus is my life. I pick one goal, which is just replaced with another and another, resulting in my never feeling any sense of accomplishment or peace. So I started to question goals in general. Are goals bad? Do they insinuate that something is wrong with life and needs to be changed? Yet, if we think about it, nothing is actually wrong with our lives, because they are as they should be. And we know they are as they should be because that is how they are. At least, this is what I'm learning from Byron Katie. But my goal today of drinking 60 ounces of water was not bad. It gave me something to strive for, and even though I came up short I was proud of what I did manage to ingest.

I don't know if goals are bad, but I do know that I don't need to know. All I know is I want to stop living my life focused on some point in the distance. It's such a waste. I want to focus on what's in front of me. And, right this moment, that is a cute little Chihuahua with his head resting on my stomach.

Another goal my husband and I have is to eat more vegetables. I am probably the only Mexican who doesn't like corn, but this corn was actually very good, to eat and photograph.

Getting dirty...

2010-04-22T20:58:00.000-07:00

When I was on the track team in junior high, there was this girl on the team who would always show up to practice- 10 minutes late, of course- dressed in the nicest, cleanest, newest- matching, of course- running outfits purchased by her mother at The Sports Authority. I remember the first time I saw her through my legs as I was leaned over stretching, thinking that she wouldn't last the season. I was right.

I was trippin' on the quote I posted yesterday more this evening when I thought of that girl. When you show up for some gut-busting, sweaty, hardcore training, you don't come in looking perfect. If you do, then your focus is most assuredly in the wrong place. This is how I see the people whom Martha Beck was referring to in her quote. The ones who focus on having the perfect house, the perfect spouse, the perfect kids, the perfect job. If you're that focused on how things look, there is no energy left over for the important things- the living, the loving, the raising, the working. Life is uphill and all-terrain. You gotta show up on time and focused on what's important. And ready to get dirty.

This then reminded me of my favorite story in the book, The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. He told of how he stopped by to pick up his niece and nephew in his new sports car one afternoon. His sister, their mom, told them sternly as he waited that they were not to mess up their uncle's new car. As she was instructing them on the importance of treating things with respect, the kids tried not to laugh as they watched Randy pouring a full can of soda onto the backseat, smiling the whole time. His point was obviously to make a very clear argument that things are not what is important. He said that later in the day his nephew did not feel guilty when he got sick and threw up in the backseat.

Next time you go to polish your showpiece, whether it's your sports car or your life, remember that life is a hands-on sport and if you don't get dirty, you're not doing it right.

Life isn't perfect; get dirty.

Finding peace with Hall & Oates...

2010-04-21T21:01:00.000-07:00

It is now officially Thursday. Thank God. While I don't feel I gained much from my reading deprivation, I will say I enjoyed jamming to tunes while driving. It was a rather nice change from my continuous rotation of audio books. My current obsession is Hall & Oates. My husband, being a musician, gets to meet famous people somewhat regularly, but it rarely impresses me much. Unless it's No Doubt or Ben Folds, I don't really care. However, a month or so ago while working at the hotel, I received a text from him saying he was hanging backstage with John Oates of Hall & Oates. Well, all of my couth flew out the window and was replaced with a spark of jealousy. I was so excited I proceeded to tell my coworker and the man he was checking in, which I would normally consider quite unprofessional. Though, this led to a beautiful duet of Sara Smile between my coworker and me, which would be much funnier if you knew him and how straight-laced he is. Anyhow, the good- no, amazing- news is that soon I will be texting people telling them that I am hanging out backstage with Hall AND Oates! They will be playing a show in my husband's hometown on his mom's birthday, the day before my birthday, and we are going! I can't wait! After a lame 30th by myself last year, this year's celebration will more than make up for it. I can still remember listening to them on my old black cassette tape, asking for their new tape for Christmas, and being scared of Maneater when I was little. So great.

In fact, they inspired me to create my own rockin' 80's mix yesterday. I'm talkin' about a good mix, not the ones you buy in Wal-Mart that only include songs from Molly Ringwald movies. I have some Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam in there, some Jets, and some Tubes, and The Human League. The good stuff, in other words. Listening to that stuff lifts me up. It's like oldies. You can't be in a horrible mood and listen to this music. It's too happy. I wish music were still like that. It's amazing the effect so many tiny little things can have on your mood. When you surround yourself with positive people, with things you love, colors you love, music that is uplifting and fun, books that make you think, sounds and smells that relax you, you are filled with peace. Unfortunately, our culture is not filled with a lot of these things. So it becomes dangerous to partake in certain simple behaviors. I got a particularly cool quote in my inbox today from Martha Beck, life coach extraordinaire. It said:

"Begin making choices based on what makes you feel freer and happier, rather than how you think an ideal life should look. It’s the process of feeling our way toward happiness, not the realizing of some Platonic ideal, that creates our best lives."

I think this is a huge statement. So many of us in this country are blinded by the pictures in the magazines and the families in the movies. We want this; we want that. We want other people to see us as this or that. But what looks good is often not what feels good. The good news is that what feels good is often way simpler to achieve. Sitting outside and feeling the breeze on your face. Going to Dave and Buster's out of the blue and playing video games with your husband for no reason at all. Weeding your garden just to feel the dirt between your fingers. Listening to Hall & Oates. Surrounding yourself with peace brings that peace within.

So, as The Human League so simply put it:
Keep feeling fascination. Looking, learning, moving on.

Stepping on others' stones...

2010-04-20T19:09:00.000-07:00

Finally on Day 6 of the Reading Deprivation, some light breaks through...

I recently cut back on my Coke intake to help me lose a couple pounds. Once you only allow yourself one Coke a day, that one Coke tastes like the best damn Coke you've ever had. Likewise with reading. Giving it up for a week has definitely shown me, though I already had an inkling, just how much I value it. This past week I have noticed a decrease in my thought, which made me realize how many of my thoughts are born of others' thoughts. It reminds me of Gwen Stefani. Whenever people praise her music or fashion, she responds by saying that she stole it. She always claims that she steals ideas from the greats and just tweaks them in her own way. This I have found is what I do with reading. It's not so much stealing, but almost as if one thought begets another which begets another which begets another. So I build my thoughts off of other people's, which allows thought to grow and multiply.

I am lucky enough to have people in my life who question me. Like my friend Cara. She commented on my post yesterday and forced me to call into question the reason I was undertaking this deprivation project in the first place. After reading her thoughts, my own thoughts began to flow. And the answer that resulted was this: I am pursuing this deprivation project because I am putting my faith in the experience of the author who recommended it. I trust her because of the power of her previous insights. Therefore, I am willing to embark on this uncomfortable, sometimes unbearable, undertaking. Even when I was tempted to quit, my faith was so strong, that I kept it up. This does not mean that my journey will necessarily end with success. I am quite aware of the fact that this particular exercise may not be for me. Perhaps not now, or ever. But I am willing to take that risk for the possible benefit, which is also unclear. Maybe I will become a better writer somehow or a better person. I don't know. But I am willing to take different routes cut out by those before me, if just for the scenery.

I caught the tail end of Mona Lisa Smile today, the girl version of Dead Poet's Society. In it, a female teacher calls into question many of the cultural beliefs and attitudes that defined the 1950's woman. The credits are accompanied by video of the Mrs. America contest, in which married women compete in such categories as vacuuming and making beds. Today these scenes come across as nauseating. We all- the majority at least- would now say that independence is an obvious right for women, just as it is for men. But back then, only 50 or so years ago, this view was ludicrous. How many times have new thoughts wreaked havoc, only to be accepted by later generations as obvious? Need I reiterate the old world is flat parable? How many times must this chain of events play out before people stop being so afraid of new ideas?

If this particular author has had success with this particular exercise, I'm gonna give it a try. Not berate the person because I think her idea will cause me temporary discomfort. Not call her the anti-Christ because her view might challenge one I have held for years. Not laugh at her when it doesn't work out the way she or I expected. We teach our children to respect their elders all the time due to their experience. We teach our children if at first they don't succeed, try, try again. Why shouldn't we as adults be a living example? I for one chose to put my faith in people, not ideas. So if I try an idea and it doesn't work, you'll find me plowing my way through a new one, questioning myself with every step.

Yoda says, “Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”

Looking for inspiration...

2010-04-19T21:44:00.000-07:00

Day 5 of the Reading Deprivation Project and I can tell you it sucks. I have not felt an increase in my flow of thoughts. I have not felt a release from the deluge of words. I have felt frustrated and alone. Do you realize how horribly awful it is to have an hour to yourself on a weekend afternoon with the sun shining outside and a cool breeze blowing and no book with which to share it? It sucks, I tell you. In fact, I almost gave up today. But I thought, no I only have two days left, I'm doing this. Though I must admit I cheated a little yesterday. I was at the hotel and absolutely nothing was going on. So I read an article on Oprah.com. Ok, so I'm not proud of it, but I purge myself of it now. And, yes I read an article on Asperger's for work, but not the whole thing, only 96%. But that is all. I have already two books in my possession that I plan to pick up the moment Thursday comes, and one on the way in the mail. I cannot wait.

However, I will say I picked a good week to give up reading, as I spent two days out of the weekend baking R2D2 cakes for my nephew's birthday party. And, I mean I spent all day. Hence the lack of recent posts. So, with my valuable time not spent reading I have cleaned the house and baked small cakes in the shape of robots. Not quite the high expectations the book gave me. The scary thing is I started back to daily blogging to try to help my thought process, and that doesn't seemed to have helped much either. So now the question is how do I get my mojo back?

I still observe to a point, and I am still inspired by people, music, and events, but not to the degree I once was. I am pretty fully satisfied in my life as of now. In doing my exercises as outlined by The Artist's Way today I had to complete the sentence, The thing I am lacking most in my life right now is... It took me several minutes to come up with an answer. That is a good sign. But now that I think of it, my answer should have been easy. The thing I am lacking most in my life right now is thought.

In my off time I play a cake decorator. These are not my best work, but they were definitely the hardest work thus far.

Escaping from words (just for a moment)...

2010-04-14T21:52:00.000-07:00

I am about to embark on a frightening journey. The author of The Artist's Way calls it "Reading Deprivation". I call it scary. Usually deprivation is used in terms of sleep deprivation or sensory deprivation and other mind-altering situations where one ends up seeing spiders that aren't there or floating through unfamiliar dream lands. I have been following the program outlined by The Artist's Way for 5 weeks now. Each week there is a reading provided, along with writing activities and thought exercises to help open up your well of creativity. So far, so amazing. Everything the author has claimed would happen along these five weeks has. What's more, everything she has claimed most artists struggle with has been a perfect reflection of me. I could open up the book to any one spot and start reading and feel as though she were writing it specifically for me. It's like The Neverending Story.

But last week one of the exercises was this reading deprivation craziness. For one week, you are not allowed to read ANYTHING, other than the workbook. Not even a newspaper! (Good thing I don't read the paper.) I decided- however scary- that I would embark on this assignment in faith, because all of the other exercises have led to significant gains in my artist path. However, I had to put it off for a week because I was in the process of completing all of Dave Pelzer's books before I saw him speak. Now, having accomplished that, and having completed his brother's book, I am almost ready. I am on the final cd of Committed, and as soon as it is finished I will be sans book for a week. Today getting ready for work actually, I went to grab my book as I always bring one in case one of my students stands me up, when I realized I didn't have one. So, however sad this sounds, I grabbed one just to have close by, even though I'm not allowed to read it for a week!

So the point? The point of the exercise is to use that time usually spent reading engaging yourself in other tasks, as well as to free yourself from the continuous onslaught of words for a breather. Tonight when I might have been reading, I instead cleaned the kitchen and organized the bathroom shelves a bit. Hopefully tomorrow my new-found time will be spend a bit more interestingly. But we shall see. I am eager to see how I spend the time. I think it will say a lot. But already, even before it has begun, I am eagerly awaiting the day it is over. I already have two books I want to read on the horizon! Actually three. Ok, make that four...

This is a photo of the drum playing rooster that guards our home that I took before our walk this evening. Maybe with all my free time this week I will take more pictures, or maybe even play the drums some!

Stepping out of the trap...

2010-04-13T20:04:00.000-07:00

After having blogged so highly about the book Committed, today it turned me off. I have entered the section on motherhood in relation to marriage, and let me say Gilbert's thoughts on this area are highly negative and entirely limited. Perhaps I'm only hearing my deepest fears and missing the boat, but to me, her words were literally and figuratively in black and white. Although I could stomach her frequent reference to marriage as the loss of identity for both parties- which in my experience has been quite the opposite- hearing her define motherhood as a woman giving up her soul made me want to hurl. Now, in her defense, she herself does not want things this way and pleads for our country to find a way so that this is not be the case. However, I don't think it is in the first place.

Never having been a mother, I can only speak from a place of expectancy and hope, but I for one do not plan on giving up my entire self when I give birth to a child. In fact, in my mind that can hurt a child as much as it can help. In my reading of The Artist's Way today, I learned about what the author refers to as "The Virtue Trap". This is the ugly, dark place we squeeze ourselves into when we trade our importance for another's. She gives the example of a husband spending all his free time with his wife, though what he really needs is some alone time. She tells of a mother whose pottery classes, which she loves, interfere with her child's baseball practice, so she quits. And, the father who, though his love for photography leads him to yearn for his own dark room, spends the money instead on a couch that will benefit the whole family.

I myself have lived my entire life in this trap. I am familiar with its wicked ways. But as I listened to the words of both authors today, I pulled away from the immediate and looked out upon the overall. Will my children benefit more from my giving up everything I love for them? Or will they benefit more from seeing me balance my needs with theirs and those of their father? If we are having such a hard time making sacrifice after sacrifice, why would we want to model that for, thereby passing that on to, our kids? It is precisely this reason that I will never ask my husband to quit his job when we have children, though it causes him to travel around the world quite frequently. I would rather my children have a happy example of a person who follows his heart than a man "making a living" devoid of passion, yet filled with regret. How does that benefit a child or a marriage?

So, to me, Gilbert's words ring absolutely false. I am by no means championing the idea of the woman who does it all. No, no, no. I hate that mentality. I am championing the idea of a family who is there for each other. Not just a mother who is there for everyone else. There is no better time for a child to learn that he must at times forfeit his own happiness for others than the present. So if little Billy Ray has to step back on baseball practice so that his mom can go to pottery class every once in a while, I believe he will be a better man for it.

One lesson that my friends taught at the thespian conference last weekend that I absolutely loved was don't be nice. They were leading a partner task in physical acting, and they pointed out that if you are "nice" to your partner, thereby doing the work for them, they will not learn, they will not grow. Enough of this being nice stuff! We are making life too easy for each other, and definitely for our kids. Maybe it's time we stopped being so nice and instead started supporting each other's growth.

Easing up...

2010-04-11T20:39:00.000-07:00

I am listening to the greatest audio book right now. In fact it saved me on my drive to Tampa this past weekend by keeping me awake. It was written by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, an amazing book whose movie version starring my fave, Julia Roberts as Elizabeth, is coming out on August 13th! I can't wait! This book, her follow up to EPL, is titled Committed, and is about her coming to terms with the idea of marriage. I actually didn't want to read it initially since I knew Gilbert had a negative view of marriage, so far off from my own. I didn't think I could relate. But I changed my mind because I love her style of writing so much, and I'm glad I did. The book takes an analytical look at marriage over history and is the perfect blend of research, religion, and personal anecdotes.

One facet she examines within the pages- or CDs in my case- is that of choice. She discusses a trip she once took to a Hmong village in Vietnam, during which she visited with several women to discuss their views on marriage. The Hmong are an ancient tribe who refuse to bend themselves to the rules of any society but their own. They live in small huts sleeping 12 or more members of extended family on the dirt floors within. In her time with these women, Elizabeth actually got very few of her questions answered. This, she states, was due to their two different languages- literally and figuratively. At one point, she asked the eldest woman of the family if she has a good husband. After several moments of silence and looks of confusion, the woman answered, he is not a good husband or a bad husband, he is just a husband.

From here, Elizabeth goes on to discuss the idea of choice in Western culture. These Hmong women each got married around age 13 and proceeded to meld into their role as mother and wife, as dictated by their culture. They had only that choice. In Western culture, however, we have innumerable choices on how to live our lives, bringing with it the necessity to judge what we deem as good and what we deem as bad. The Hmong never have to worry that they made the wrong decision. They never have to feel guilty or uncertain. Everything in their culture is simple; everything just is. There is no need for judgment.

So I guess the judgment I am always blogging against is the price that we pay for our ability to make choices. Some things about the Hmong culture are attractive to me- the simplicity, the clear definition of roles, the closeness of family. But a few important factors are terrifying to me- lack of privacy, lack of individuality, possibly even a lack of love. Is it possible to love truly when you are doing something because it is what is expected? I know my husband didn't have to marry. He certainly didn't have to marry me. This is what makes it all the more miraculous to me. I guess I have to go easy on our tendency to judge. I now know that is a worthwhile sacrifice for the ability to know that my husband is a good husband.

The ability to bend life according to your own choices is a priceless privilege of our culture. The kids I encountered at the thespian festival have chosen to focus their energies on the world of drama, thereby creating their own tribe. Seeing them work off of each other was powerful. You could just tell that it was their shared passion that allowed them to move free from judgment- of themselves or of others.

***I have posted 2 new sets to my flickr page- one of the little guy and one of the thespian conference. Please check 'em out!

flickr.com/dewindesigns

Just knowing...

2010-04-10T20:54:00.000-07:00

There's a saying that I sometimes refer to because I love it- Follow Your Bliss. It was uttered by Joseph Campbell as a surefire way of finding your purpose in life. But it's not always that easy. You know how when you were young, you asked some trusted adult, how do you know when you're in love? Their answer was most likely- you just know. Well, the mind can play tricks on you in matters of love and happiness. You can have an entire comprehensive list prepared of all the reasons you are in love, and be completely convinced that you are, but if you have to ask the question, you probably aren't. Likewise with following your bliss. I have known several people, myself included, who have lived their lives sleeping in late, watching tv on the couch, spending countless hours with their partner, believing themselves to be happy. Who wouldn't be happy doing all those things? The answer is everyone. At least not only these things.

This weekend I got no sleep. I worked hard, having the sore muscles (in places I didn't even know I had muscles) to prove it. I woke up early and was go go go all day. I barely watched a shred of tv. I didn't see my husband. Yet, it was the best weekend I've had in a long time. I was walking through my friend's hotel this morning at the ungodly hour of 7:30am smelling the breakfast and being so glad I was up to smell it. Not for any particular reason. I wasn't even going to eat the breakfast. So, for a notorious sleeper-inner, this was surprising to me and took me off guard.

Many people may think that following your bliss means being lazy, doing whatever you want, not contributing. But they are wrong. Following your bliss is hard. This weekend I tried something new. I drove more hours than I slept. I made a new friend. I left a new friend. I lived. You can't do that on the living room couch. Everyday I am learning more and more of what it means to be happy, as well as the fact that I have complete control over whether I choose that happiness or whether I forsake it. I could have stayed in my safe bubble and not ventured out. But I would have lost out. And though I may have had fun being with my husband and sleeping in and loafing, I wouldn't have experienced life. Life is out there. And so many people are sitting on the couch in the same place, it breaks my heart. This weekend I was surrounded by strange and interesting people. I took walks with the breeze and ate lunch in a beautiful park. I played with the cutest baby in the world. I took amazing photographs and made myself proud. I smelled breakfast. I followed my bliss. And, I just knew.

My new friend.

Achieving confirmation...

2010-04-09T20:17:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have a moment in time when suddenly you know you have made the right choices in life? Today was precisely that moment for me. Most of us go through our lives day to day in quite a similar way, believing all we need to unwind and feel complete is a dinner out or a movie in. Those of us who weren't so lucky as others to have found our true calling at age ten go on in our current method of "making a living", afraid to steer into the unknown of our dreams. A couple of years ago, however, I did steer through the fear toward a dream I wasn't even sure had fully materialized yet. And, I am now discovering that it never will, which is great for me because it means a life of constant change and exploration, something I never even knew I wanted. Until it happened.

Today, because I had the balls to stand up and declare myself a photographer two years ago, regardless of the lack of certain letters behind my name or pieces of paper proclaiming me as such, I spent the day in beautiful Tampa shooting the state thespian conference in all its glory. It's not even the fact that I had the opportunity to shoot it, but the chance of being surrounded by creative minds and wonderful friends that brought about this moment of clarity. Two of my closest friends are acting (among other varied mediums) teachers, and they taught several classes today that I was fortunate to behold. First and foremost, I got to spend time with my universe son, er, godson, and get some amazing shots of him. But in addition I got to bear witness to the knowledge of these amazingly inspiring people. I found myself engrossed in their words and reasoning though I know not the first thing about acting. This is because I felt their application to all areas of life. To lend energy to your character is to live your life as truly yourself. To be unexpected is to take risks in life. To expand upon your character is to expound upon yourself. To be comfortable working and relating to perfect strangers is to communicate and collaborate in all areas of your life. Each of their lessons led me on a new thought wave to powerful places.

The energy of the attending high school students was equally as beautiful. I have never in my life seen high school students as respectful and thankful as these. Several thanked them for the class, apologized for being late, and get this, they followed direction- not just followed, but absorbed. They were all so excited to learn, to better themselves. They showed no fear of identifying their weaknesses and incorporating new ideas into their work. It was just amazing. I was totally in awe.

All this in the setting of beautiful downtown Tampa made for an absolutely perfect day. I took some of the best photos of my life, and I owe the overwhelmingly positive energy of the place all the due. This was a day that filled me with a sense that pointing my life in the direction of a creative career is most definitely the right path for me.

Thespians. I love the focus in this girl's eyes. That is the look I wish to achieve in my daily pursuits.

Stilling my mind...

2010-04-07T22:40:00.000-07:00

Today I finished the book Still the Mind by Alan Watts. In my listening this afternoon, he discussed how the human grows just as the oak tree does- perfectly. All the acorns, whether dark or light, withered or hard, are perfect. From them, the oak tree grows, never questioning its condition. Humans, likewise, are an assortment of perfect nuts put here to grow in a certain way. Questioning the process, then, becomes silly.

The thing about humans is that we have emotions that get triggered along the way. Perhaps emotions are simply our passing judgment on the process of life. They are most definitely caused by a divergence between the expected and the what is. Watts also says that the past is just a memory, the future an expectation. Therefore, all we have is the present- one long neverending present. Along a somewhat similar thread, Dave Pelzer says, "Don't worry about tomorrow, today has enough problems of its own". It's finally starting to dawn on me this act of living in the present. My issue is now, how to stop the worrying about the future? I'm practicing just stopping it the second I notice it, from the big things, like my worrying a parent is going to cause me to get fired to the little things like wondering what route I should take to Tampa tomorrow.

After I stop myself, or still my mind, I always remind myself to trust myself. I will be able to work it out when the time comes. For now, though, my job is to just be happy dammit.

Here's part two of my niece photos. She just started modeling in front of my camera. I love to watch my niece and nephews because they're the true definition of kids. They are so excited about life. They don't stop to question it. I swear if kids can do it, so can we.

Adjusting...

2010-04-06T20:57:00.000-07:00

It is common custom in America to gain a few pounds during the holidays. A little turkey at Thanksgiving here, a little chocolate at Christmas there, a huge New Year's feast on your thighs, and your celebrating is complete. This is normal for me, as is the disappearance of the resulting weight by the time I celebrate Valentine's Day with some sushi. However, though I was wisely warned of the Freshman 15, no one alerted me of the Turning Thirty 10, or the fact that after 30, it is completely impossible to get the weight off. Apparently after 30, former rules don't apply.

Ok, I thought, no big deal, I'll just start up my regimen of sit-ups before bed and sit-sit-sit those extra pounds right off. But after a month of my usually successful repertoire, nothing. In fact, I was gaining more weight. Alright, no worries, I'll borrow some exercise videos from a friend and start Taeboing it with Billy Blanks. But after a month of side kicks, no such luck. Then, I concluded, this being 30 calls for the big guns, and so I took up running which I have not done seriously since college. Add a day of profuse vomiting due to food poisoning and two days of not wanting to go near food, and hey, I'm halfway there! (That last part was a compete joke by the way. Well, kind of.)

The point being that regardless of how long system A may have worked just fine, we have to constantly make adjustments. Today I got an angry call from someone unhappy with my job performance based on her student's grades. At first I was angry, becoming immediately defensive. But then I asked myself- why is she so upset? Because the is didn't match the should. In other words, life did not meet her expectations. I can't fault anyone for that, because it's human nature to be disappointed when things don't go the way you had hoped. But what do we do when our expectations aren't met? We adjust.

Today I had the extreme privilege of hearing Dave Pelzer speak. He presents himself completely differently than in his books. I know several years have passed since their publication, but either I read him quite wrong or he has changed. He was overwhelmingly confident in his words, and I loved it! So much in fact that I took down several pages of possible blog thoughts from his two hour speech. It was a blog writer's paradise! Plus, I knew I was in the right place at the right time, listening to a very wise man, when he made reference to Gwen Stefani's song Whatcha Waitin' For?!! I have definitely been so inspired by that song, and apparently so has Dave!

The thing about Dave is he is all about his saying- no abuse excuse, and instead of spending his time filling our heads and hearts with the tragedies that befell him, he summed up his message in two words- Be Happy. He then lengthened it to 3 words- Be Happy Now. And then to 4- Be Happy Now Dammit. Listening to him, you don't feel sorrow, though I lost it the second I walked out the doors. You don't feel hatred or disgust. I don't even know that I would classify what I felt as inspiration per se. You just feel closure, like everything makes sense. Like everything really comes together for a reason, and it's all gonna be alright. If I can shake the hand of a man who is "not supposed to be here", as he puts it, then it's all gonna be alright.

I will admit I did cringe the first time he made a joke about his deranged mother, and felt odd when he breezed on about the details of his abuse as though he were outlining the latest Jennifer Aniston movie. But something about it calms you inside. He's not faking. He is the walking definition of forgiveness and acceptance. Funny then, I suppose, that my husband and I ended up watching Dead Man Walking this evening. It just brings me back to that place in my mind that tries to figure out how and why despicable things happen, as though this will somehow make it all make sense. Well, there are dark, dark blacknesses lurking all around every goodness, within it really. But even though it doesn't match the picture I have created in my mind, though it doesn't meet my expectations, like Dave and like everyone else, I adjust. And, it just so happens I really enjoy my runs now!

My niece being happy now!

Shifting the "what if"...

2010-04-05T21:14:00.000-07:00

In case I didn't make it clear in my previous post, I am not a fan of motivational contrivances. To me they're just a clump of cotton candy that dissolves as quickly as it's consumed, doing no one any good. But, luckily, in my opinion at least, Dave Pelzer's Help Yourself gets a little better as it ages. In one part he writes about the dangers of taking things, and people, for granted, including your spouse. After reading it, I became worried, and when I got home I shared my fears with my husband. What if one day we stop being excited to see each other? What if one day we get sick of each other? What if one day after we have kids that's all we think about and we neglect each other? That's when he stopped me. "What if's" are a waste of time.

But then as I continued my reading, Dave brought to light the upside of the "what if". In the process of encouraging us to believe in ourselves and replace the I can'ts with I cans, he brings up the ever present examples of how Columbus sailed the ocean blue though everyone told him the Earth was flat, and how man landed on the moon, when many said it couldn't be done. Trite but true- it was the "what if" that got us there. So here is my attempt to turn my "what if" frown upside down.

What if I write a super blog?
What if I win the photo contest I am entering?
What if I complete my state park project?
What if I keep up with my new found hobby of running?
What if I read every book in the Reading List section of the library?
What if I totally update my wardrobe?
What if I love and take care of my husband every second of every day of my life?
What if I am in love every day until I die?

Some may say it can't be so, but I say "what if"!

What if I embarrass my friend? Well, that's what she gets. This is my best stateparking buddy who is now on her way to California. Leaving me for the redwoods. Damien.

Turning vomit into triumph...

2010-04-04T18:36:00.000-07:00

Today I started another book by Dave Pelzer. Having finished his four autobiographies, I decided to take a stab at one of his motivational books as well before hearing him speak on Tuesday. He breaks his advice into a three step plan to help others turn adversity into triumph, as promised by the cover. Although it's definitely not the page turner I had hoped for, I found it quite interesting that Step One's message and my life collided today.

This year I celebrated a joyous Easter Sunday on my knees praying over a toilet. In addition to the irony of taking on Step One's message of purging negativity in a quite literal way, one might find it curious that what gave me the food poisoning that ruined my Easter was eggs. But, in an attempt to turn adversity into triumph, I will learn from my mistakes and never eat at Waffle House again. Big mistake, huge.

As basic and repetitive as Dave's writing is in this book, I do agree with the main outline. Step One- Get Rid of the Garbage in Your Life; Step Two- Know What You Want Out of Life; and Step Three- Celebrate Who You Are and What You Have. Step One I liken to a recent post I wrote about being conscious of the people we allow into our lives. Dave discusses this too by making an analogy to someone who is trying to quit smoking. It's an awful hard thing to do when all of your friends smoke. Likewise, if you surround yourself with people who take a victim stance, ones who constantly ask "why me?", you are likely to fall into it right along with them. Step Two may be the hardest step. Determining what I want is a day to day, sometimes moment to moment, struggle for me, as shown in my dropping and picking back up on this blog. But that's ok, because it makes me stay attuned to my own personal cues for happiness. And, Step Three I'm just now learning how to do. I think quite often people make excuses for themselves to others. They apologize for themselves, which is something Dave does A LOT in this book. But I don't think we need to. We are who we are at that moment in time, and there is no need to explain any of it away. As long as we are doing our best to get by, that's all we can do. Instead of apologizing for what we see as our flaws, I say we accept them right along with all the things about ourselves that make us proud.

At the risk of sounding too motivational, I am going to stop at that. So just remember the importance behind my message- DON'T eat at Waffle House! That alone is the best advice I can give.

Here's a blah photo for a blah day. I can't wait til I feel better and can hit the neighborhood again and take random photos of random things. I love Spring. I love spending more of my day outdoors than in, unlike today. I hope you all had a much better Easter than I did!

Powering up...

2010-04-03T21:08:00.000-07:00

Today I started reading A Brother's Journey. It was written by Dave Pelzer's brother, Pelzer being the man whom I have blogged about a few times who endured a childhood of severe torture and abuse at the hands of his mother. Dave was pulled from his home when authorities became aware of what was going on behind closed doors. However, Dave's four brothers remained, Richard becoming the new "it" for his mother's sick games. This book is written from Richard's point of view.

Richard was Dave's little brother, and because his birth came after Dave had become the outcast of the family, this was all he knew. Before Dave left home to be placed into foster care, his mother had brainwashed Richard into being her little spy. His job was to tell on Dave for any petty crimes he might have, or might not have in this case, committed. In the book, Richard talks of how he gained love from his mother any time he would tell on Dave. Soon, he began to plant evidence and create scenarios placing imaginary blame on Dave just to 1, gain the approval of his mother, 2, keep her from abusing him instead, and 3, feel powerful. He talks about how it gave him a feeling of control when he watched his mother beat Dave because of his tattling. Of course, laced in with these feelings were those of guilt and fear. He was a child at this time, only 5 or so years of age, unaware of anything resembling normalcy in a family.

I started this story imagining it to be just another story of abuse. But I was wrong. This story is unique and special in that it gives us a glimpse behind the eyes of the abuser. You don't see many books written by abusers. Their actions are usually not something they want remembered and publicized in print. Not to mention that few probably have enough self insight to do so in the first place. So how brave for this man to admit that, though he knew it to be wrong, he gained power by essentially beating down someone else, just as an actual abuser would. Though he didn't raise the hand, he manipulated it.

The thing I found most interesting was that he made the connection between what he was doing and the teasing and torment he received from his classmates at school. He writes that he was constantly picked on and beaten up by his age mates because of his clothing and his tendency to stutter. He hated the feeling of smallness and inferiority it placed on him. So, he looked to his power over Dave to make up for it. If he couldn't get it from one place, he'd get it in another, even if it meant he had to deal with the resulting guilt.

This was a huge eye opener for me. We all need a certain amount of power and control over our own lives. It begins with the simple progression from sitting to standing to the "I can do it myself" phase. We learn to manipulate our environment to earn our desired outcome. But once we enter that realm of social progression, it becomes a little more difficult when we realize we can't control others the way we can a cup or our shoe laces. We still have needs- acceptance, closeness, love- but the methods of achieving them are sometimes out of our mental grasp. If we can't get that connection via positive means, we will get it via negative ones.

So we have to ask if someone is being a powermonger in one area, in what other area is this power lacking? It is completely healthy for us to experience some power in our lives, so long as it is not taking power from another. Maybe this is the explanation behind the fact that people are so tied to being "right", as I have posted about in the past. Maybe it's a feeling of power that they yearn for. For example, if I am a certain religion, and I say it is right, using God as my backup, then that gives me power over those who are not the same religion. Or if I am straight, claiming gay people are wrong, I then gain power over them. This kind of power is harmful, because it is taking away power from another. And that kind of power is not power at all, but a shrouded cry for control over own our life.

Power can either draw lines or circles.

Living just 'cause...

2010-04-02T20:43:00.000-07:00

I have 14 students right now at my tutoring job. Compared to the 4 or 5 I had for the first year or so, this is a hell of a lot. Due to this increase, my paychecks have gained a few pounds in recent months. However, my savings has not gone up, nor my credit card debt down. And, I'm still broke. How this calculates, I've no clue, which is why I teach reading and not math. It's like my friend says, when you have money, you spend it. So what's the point of wanting more?

I feel that time offers a similar conundrum- the more you have, the more things you have to fill it with. I thought about this today while listening to The Story of My Life by Helen Keller. Her words are more poetry than prose. In the story she speaks a great deal about her education as a young child, only it's not the way you would expect to hear someone describe their schooling. Helen and her teacher, Anne Sullivan, conducted their lessons on gazebos, in trees, and at horse farms. She reveals that her teacher did not repeat lessons or quiz her on past subjects, because everything was taught in such a hands-on way that Helen always remembered it. In fact, she regards her education as the happiest time of her life. Listening to the flow of her words, as she describes the flowers she spent her days amongst, the trees and clouds her teacher used as metaphors to explain to Helen the meaning of abstract ideas, I thought, this is what I want my children's education to be like. I plan to home school, and immediately I saw a picture of myself lying on the grass listening to Helen's words with my child, as we look up to the sky. I want my child to be that excited about learning, to appreciate knowledge and thought for its beauty, rather than having facts pounded into their heads as typical schooling does.

I then asked myself, is this realistic? Would I really take the time to just lie in the grass with my child and listen to a story? I pictured myself as one of the moms I see on a day to day basis, rushing from here to there, spending my quality time with my child in a mini-van. Life will get in the way, I thought. There will be too much to do. That's when I started to think of time as money. You always want more, but when you get it, you just find more stuff to fill it with until it's overflowing. There is no time to do things just 'cause. I never do things for no good reason. Even when I'm taking time to myself, it's for a reason.

Today, I had a most glorious day off. I went to an Easter party at work, laid out at the pool, went for a run with my dog, and finished a book. But if I looked below the surface, each of those things was for a very logical reason. Very rarely do I something just 'cause. When I think of "just 'cause", I picture my second grade class when I used to teach in Duval County. It always astounded me the random things they would do when walking in line. No matter how many times I asked them walk quietly and still, it didn't happen. It just wasn't their nature. One boy would wave his arms, another would be jumping; one would make weird faces, another would dance to some unheard rhythm. It always struck me as funny, because I thought, what if adults did these random things?! That's the just 'cause I'm talking about.

Well, I have been invited to be an assistant at a writer's retreat next month in Colorado. I will be rubbing elbows with real players in the literary game- two actual published authors, two actual editors from Penguin and Random House, and an actual literary agent. On top of this, I have been allowed the amazing and completely terrifying privilege of submitting some of my work to be critiqued by them. I have spent the last couple of months playing with several different formats- essays, novels, short stories, even screenplays, but none of them fit. They all felt as though I were trying on someone else's clothes, someone much smaller than me. I didn't like it. So, instead I sent them a sampling of some of these blog entries. Though I felt unprofessional and green doing so, I knew that these were the only pieces that could represent as truly me.

In order to pull an adequate sample, I had to go back through and reread every single post I have made in the past nine months, a daunting task I was not looking forward to. But I put aside one full day, took my laptop outside, and sat in the sun and began to read. The hours that followed through til 2am were unexpected, to say the least. I not only really enjoyed reading them, but I was inspired by them. I had forgotten many, and reading them again, I learned so many things. It was as though I were coaching myself. The funny thing was that some of the conclusions I have come to in my newer posts, I had posted about in my previous posts! I suppose they were rerunning in my head for emphasis. But the greatest thing reading my own work did for me was remind me of the purpose of my writing.

The other evening I had dinner with my parents, when my dad brought up my writing. He asked me, "so why do you write?" I think this has been my problem. My father had no understanding of the purpose of doing something with no goal, no outcome. As have I. I put a hold on this blog so that I could focus on other writing projects. I wanted to write a book. I didn't care what format or what content. I just wanted that completed thing to touch. But as Helen Keller learned when her teacher explained to her the definition of love, not everything can be touched, seen, or heard. I don't need to have a physical book with my name on it to be a writer. I don't have to earn dollar one to enjoy writing. I don't have to be working toward a goal in order to be happy. Writing makes me happy. And, at this very point in time, writing this blog makes me happy, whether it's useful or practical or goal-oriented or not.

I have realized that since cutting back on this blog my thought process has gone from overflowing to barren. My mind has become enmeshed in my day to day. But I don't want to think because it has a purpose. I want to think just 'cause. I don't want to write because it has a purpose. I want to write just 'cause. I don't want to live because it has a purpose. I want to live just 'cause.

Helen Keller puts it so beautifully when she said, "I lived myself into all things". This is my definition for education, thought, writing, life. Interesting that someone who couldn't see saw things so clearly. Here's to daily blog posts! God, it feels good to be back!

Before my parents and I had dinner, we all got Mendhi tattoos at a booth at the Jax Jams for Haiti benefit show. I chose the symbol representing "Clarity" as that is something I am constantly craving, and wouldn't you know I found it through my own writing only days later. Unfortunately, the image is starting to fade with time, but I have a feeling now that the meaning will only sharpen as the days go by.

Keeping it simple...

2010-03-29T20:13:00.000-07:00

I remember few things from my young life, but one I do remember was something my father once said. He was speaking of a guy my sister had been dating. He told me that the guy was never to blame for anything in his life. He lost this job because of that person, and couldn't get that job because of this person. He simply wasn't happy in his life, and he could tell you exactly who was to blame for it. But never once did his own name pass his lips. It was in the recent recollection of this moment that I realized that we each create our own worlds. In this particular person's world, life was out to get him. And so, everyone else was out to get him too. He was so attached to this world he'd inhabited for so long that when someone, my sister in this case, tried to bring love into it, he pushed her away. She just didn't fit into his world of negativity. Conversely, Dave Pelzer, whose books I am currently re-reading in preparation for seeing him speak next week, grew up in a world of hateful abuse and neglect. Despite this, he forgave his parents, right then and there, and chose to live in a place of love and hope. He blamed no one, but instead moved forward and allowed himself happiness.

Happiness, I've decided, is a decision. I can choose whether to look at my fellow man as a threat or a help. I can choose to be honest, which always ends up being the easiest way in the long run, as I've learned from my husband, or to tell lies and make excuses that only serve to complicate my life. I can choose to be patient by enjoying watching others as I wait in line, or taking a moment to breath in traffic, instead of tapping my foot, rolling my eyes, and constantly existing in the next ten minutes in my mind. I can choose to see the good things about our country, instead of feeding into the end-of-the-world scenarios that whirl around me. I can choose to have faith that it is all going to be okay. And as long as I choose it, it is. I've found that life is that simple.

Last night, my husband and his friends put on a fundraiser for Haiti. If you ever start to think that people are any less than helpful and supportive, just stop. Soooo many people jumped on board with the project, donating several thousands of dollars of their merchandise and time. It was really an amazing thing to see.

The clown pictured above is singer/songwriter Matt Farr, an amazingly talented guy with an amazingly talented drummer. Check him out at mattfarr.com!

Putting a stop to Stockholm Syndrome...

2010-03-21T21:19:00.000-07:00

Lately there have been a number of kidnapping cases in which the victims were held captive for years. Perhaps the most intriguing question these cases bring to light is why didn't they just leave? I couldn't help but think the same naive question as I read A Child Called "It" today, the tale of a severely abused boy who suffered at the hands of his own mother. But it's such a stupid question, I thought, as I realized how strong a hold people have over each other in small, day-to-day situations. It's such a common, yet subtle, thing that we don't even notice that we are under similar conditions of Stockholm Syndrome everyday.

I thought about the movie The Devil Wears Prada, that I watched the other night. Although slightly overexaggerated, how many of us remain in jobs where we know we are being used and manipulated? I know I have- several times. Why don't we just leave? Why don't we stand up for ourselves? We have our friends backing us, our husbands or wives, but still we stay. I thought about the movie Erin Brockovich, that I watched last night. Even though the residents knew they had been purposely misled about being poisoned by the local electric company, some remained afraid to take legal action. They were scared to stand up and accuse their offenders. The audio book I am currently listening to, Lucky, is a story about a young girl's rape. In it, she talks of two separate chances she had to get away from her attacker, but she didn't. Instead, she stayed and told him what he wanted to hear, in hopes that he would allow her to leave. In A Child Called "It", though he has several chances to tell someone or to run away, he doesn't. He stays. He keeps his mother's secret. Why? Is it the theory of learned helplessness- the idea that a dog who is given a lever that stops an electric shock from occurring is more likely to recover quickly than a dog whose lever has no effect on the shock's duration? When we have no control over the source of negativity, we give up, we become depressed. Even when our lever begins to work, we don't even try. We continue to say what others want to hear in order to gain favor. We don't leave; we don't run away. We voluntarily remain under the grip of negativity.

I think it's an important thing to check in periodically and make sure that all of the relationships in our lives are positive. Relationships with people, with work, with ourselves. Because what you may think of as a strong relationship may just be one tied by the binds of learned helplessness.

So, one thing I am trying to work on lately is architecture photography. I had never tried it before but have seen some really rad photos that bring boring buildings to life with light, angles, and pattern. So, here is one of my early attempts. I shot this in Orlando before the Ben Folds concert last week!

Connecting the dots...

2010-03-15T20:06:00.000-07:00

I was working with a student today, discussing the fighter jets pictured in the library book he was reading. As the book was a little over his head in level, he chose instead to make up stories about them, pointing out the aircraft that belonged to the "bad guys" and those that belonged to the "good guys"- the Americans, he called them. This brought to mind a conversation I recently had with a friend about marriage and how no one teaches you all of the multitudes of facets of levels that are affected by such an institution. Suddenly, one day you just realize that there is no right and wrong.

We are so polarized in our thinking as children. If one thing is good, then the opposite of it must be bad. And that is all. There are no other options than those two, end of story. But that's the type of thing that has gotten us into trouble as adults. Last week I read an amazing story, Lay That Trumpet in Our Hands, set in the center of my home state of Florida in the 1950s (the one time period I would have been better served to have been born in). The book is a fictionalized account of actual KKK events, and, reading it, I kept thinking that it didn't feel much different from present day. Because it is the polarized thinking that the KKK fed on that runs through much of the world we now live in. Luckily, we have civil rights legislation in place now that helps prevent many of the same tragedies from taking place; but law, unfortunately, does not hold jurisdiction over level of thinking.

I asked myself why this thinking continues after a history of such blatantly heinous acts lays our ignorance bare. We may not discuss it out loud, but we can't deny it. Blacks, Jews, Arabs, gays- I'm sure most can attest to the dangers of polarized thought. So, why this thinking? Is our desire to be right so strong that it gives us reason to break the very covenants that we defend? Apparently so. So, I asked myself, why this need to be right? If fear and love are truly the only two emotions, it must surely be fear. Fear of something bad, or a fear that we ourselves are bad? Ever notice how the thing people think is bad is always what they themselves are not? No black person is against blacks. No Jew hates Jews. Perhaps determining that something "opposite" of you is innately "bad" is the guaranteed way to assure that you are right, that you are worthy. Of what, it doesn't matter.

I took this good/bad thinking one step further by examining the polarization of political parties. We have essentially organized a country of 308 million people into two clean, mutually-exclusive groups. How tidy. But only one of these parties is allowed the most powerful chair in the country at a time. Are we therefore setting ourselves up to hate? To conflict? With politics it is clear cut. With sexual orientation, it is pretty distinct. But with race? How did a world of hundreds of ethnicities get boiled down to white and non-white?

Looking too closely at a Seurat painting (you know the one from Ferris Bueller), all you'd see is a mess of individual dots of color. But when you look at it from afar, all those individual dots come together to make a beautiful picture. It may be a cheesy analogy, but I think it's a great reminder for us not to look too closely at life. We may not be able to see it, but we are all connected in a bigger, more beautiful way.

This past weekend I went parkin' in Cental Florida, the very region I had just read about. Visiting Payne's Prairie and Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings State Parks reminded me of the power of Florida. The overwhelming smell of flowers, the warmth of the March sun on your skin, the sound of the heavy wind in the tops of the trees overhead, and the Spanish moss that hangs over the water are just part of her allure that makes me proud to have grown up among her branches.

Finding my element...

2010-03-08T21:37:00.000-08:00

I finally finished my last audio book and whilst I wait for my next one to arrive I decided to listen to an old favorite as I drove to my parent's house today. Some people more musically sophisticated than I may make fun, but I find true art in pop culture. And, I think that Come on Over by Shania Twain is a really musically rounded album. The thing I like most about it is that, unlike the recent work of almost all other country artists, it incorporates rock music alongside traditional country elements, instead of allowing them to take over. She blends the electric guitar riffs right in with the fiddle. It's awesome. The important thing is that country is a feeling more than anything else. And, when all of the signature elements of country music are taken away, that feeling is what is missing.

So it goes with life. Lately I have been more than busy. Busy is just a cute term for someone who works a lot. Truly busy is when you don't have a single moment to yourself. Lately, that is how my life has been, hence the lack of posts lately. I have my two jobs that maintain, and my two that sustain. My tutoring work and hotel job maintain me by paying the bills. But it is my art work- photography and writing- that sustain me. But I am learning that when I schedule every possible waking moment with one of these four things, I throw myself way off kilter. I lose that feeling that is the signature element of me. It's good to bring in new things every once in a while, but you gotta keep that one underlying element in place or it all falls apart.

So now the trick is finding out what the underlying element is. At first I thought working on my art was my way of holding onto myself. But even though I'm steadily increasing the time I devote to my art, I still was feeling something missing. Now I'm thinking it might be quiet alone time. One of the six books I am currently reading, The Artist's Way, is a 12 week course on finding your creativity. One of the assignments is to find one chunk of time each week to spend with yourself, doing something you enjoy. Last week I didn't have time for it. The result was breakdown. So my goal is to be more like Shania, add the electric guitar but keep the fiddle.

Lifting myself up...

2010-03-03T21:45:00.000-08:00

Today I made a conscious effort to recognize every single time I thought someone was mad at me. Turns out it's pretty often, and for pretty stupid things, ie not returning my texts quickly, not looking up at me, sometimes for no reason at all. All this time I thought I had been on my way to getting over caring what other people thought. Not even close.

My husband has started watching The West Wing from Season One onward, and I caught an episode with him the other night. I found it extremely cool when President Sheen said in an address that he had trouble backing legislation that assumes criminality. I can't remember what this was in reference to, but he was basically saying that it is not wise to expect people to act negatively, and thus, to prepare for it preemptively. Unfortunately we do this everyday. But today, after realizing that maybe, just maybe, not everyone is against me and hates me, I felt better. It's quite a change to live in a world that supports you instead of one that is constantly trying to tear you down. For instance, I took a day off this week to celebrate my anniversary. In my head, all my students' parents hated me for rescheduling their children so that I could go on vacation. But when I thought back on it today, they all wished me a happy trip. Likewise, I am currently putting together some submissions for a photography contest, and you wouldn't believe how many people have chipped in and offered to help. With no benefit to themselves, no less. What an idea that people innately want to help you. I started to picture myself like a kid in a baseball uniform on top of the world's shoulders. Maybe people really do want to lift people up. It's easy to get mired down in the poopooheads of the world and assume that everyone is out to get you. But what a better world to live in where people actually want to help people, even total strangers, and in ever more meaningful ways than donating money.

It reminded me of the third time I went to see The Lovely Bones this past week with a friend. Afterward, we were discussing the movie, and he mentioned how he had gathered from the imagery that Heaven, or bliss, was depicted as the afterlife, and Hell, or misery, our current life. But, to me, it seemed that both can be both. It's truly a matter of what you make of it. What you dwell on is where you dwell. So if you dwell on the poopooheads of the world, you will live in a world of shit. If you dwell on the openness and giving of the world, you will live in a higher world, lifted up on the shoulders of humanity.

There is one line in The Lovely Bones that just gets me every time. It is actually the basis for the opening scene in the movie version. It is spoken by the main character's father in response to her crying for the plastic penguin who lives inside her snow globe. She is five at the time, and worries that he is all alone in there. But, her father reassures her that he is fine. "He's trapped in a perfect world," he says. This line kept echoing in my head during my brief jaunt in the snowy mountains of North Carolina this week. Being surrounded by snow and peace, I definitely felt like the penguin.

Wanting more AND less...

2010-02-24T20:13:00.000-08:00

Lately I have been working myself into a hole in the ground. I'm exhausted. In fact I work so much that when I'm not working, I feel guilty, like I'm being selfish. I was driving home from one such long day of work this week and- big surprise here- I was listening to Ben Folds. It was one of those songs that gets stuck inside you and has to get out. Plus the fact that I never get to listen to music in my car anymore because I'm always listening to a book on cd. Don't get me wrong, I love my books, they just make the time spent jamming out that much sweeter. So I was pounding my hands on the steering wheel and bobbing my head like Vince Neil when the words came out of my mouth, "Because I want to". It's a simple line in answer to a simple question, yet I loved the way it made me feel. Imagine making your decisions as easily as that- just because it's what you want. The thought blew my mind, so I decided to try it on for a few days. Whenever I was trying to make a decision, while my brain was untangling how this person would react and what was intrinsically the right thing and how much money it would take and which people it would piss off, I stopped and asked myself- what do you want? Nothing dramatic, but it felt like I'd found this shortcut to figuring out the secret of the universe. For whatever reason, what I want had transformed in my brain into the definition of selfishness. I think it's always been that way for me for some reason. I can do something for no other reason than I want to; it doesn't have to be any more complex than that. I don't even need to explain it any more than that. Maybe this sounds mundane and obvious to some, but to me it is the greatest new found freedom in the world.

Last night, again after a ridiculously long day of working all three jobs in one 12+ hour period, I was driving home and- you'll be glad to hear this- listening to something other than Ben. It was They Might Be Giants. Same scenario, only completely opposite. I was singing along to a song I've sung a thousand times before, only this time, for some reason, it hit me as absurd. The song, silly as most TMBG songs are, went- "I don't want anything; I don't want anything, now that I have everything." And I kinda laughed to myself thinking, what a thought to not want anything. To have everything. Impossible. It reminded me of my last post about how we're always praying to change our circumstances. I realized that praying or even wishing for things, no matter how deserving we are, is focusing our energies on the negative- what we don't have. Instead, our prayerful, thoughtful time would be better spent being thankful for the things we do have. Duh, right? But it got me thinking about how much of our conversations, and, thereby, thoughts are based on want. The other day my coworker told me how she got Botox; another coworker complained about not getting a raise; I discussed losing weight with someone else. Want is flowing beneath our consciousness at almost every moment. What if when we look at a beautiful dress we think what a piece of art! instead of thinking how we wish we could afford it. What if when we see someone who exhibits some talent we don't possess, we think how wonderful it is that we have people with such gifts to share instead of thinking, I wish I could do that. I think negativity has to be eradicated on a moment by moment basis. You can't just say, I'm going to be more positive. You have to search out those little strands of darkness that flow within your thoughts every second.

Want can be a mode of empowerment, but when used improperly, can also be a method to madness. It can clear the way to goals and life purpose, from I want to read every book in the library to I want a burrito for dinner. Yet, if we let it loose in our minds, it can also lead us to tear ourselves down from the inside by convincing us of the one lie we fear most- we are not enough as we are, life itself is not enough- when the truth is we do have everything.

This is me when I don't pay attention to what I want. And, when I pay too much attention.