Five Things
1. I found Polaroid Girl's shop through this lovely lass – beautiful!
2. I love I love life.
3. Can anyone help someone in need of a massive printer? Thank you Nina!
4. Writers on Writing podcasts are going to start keeping me company in my studio.
5. All I can say is: This looks EXTRAORDINARY.
6. A late addition! More video fun is right here.
Speaking of Stories…
I am in the midst of a moment that has me confronting a story I have been trying to release for a while, and I am choosing to write about it right now to talk about this process from an entirely different angle than I did yesterday. It is one thing to write a post like yesterday's where the sun was shining in my heart and there was nothing challenging my intention to release certain stories, quite another to stand by that intention when emotional triggers have been set off and the stories flood my brain uninvited. This is a cycle I have gone through repeatedly with a certain story, and each time it happens I get more and more agitated that the trigger is just as strong as it was the first day – maybe even stronger. I feel like I am somehow failing, that if I decided to let go of the story and was able to embrace that intention yesterday (or last week or whenever), then why is it here again, causing tears to pour out of me on an otherwise spectacular day? I get angry at myself for continuing to have emotional reactions that I don't feel like I can control, and fearful that these triggers are going to eventually do irreparable damage – that in the end, all this talk of letting go of this and embracing that will have amounted to nothing, because when it really mattered, I wasn't up to the challenge.
But this is one of those moments when I still have a choice, and that I need to recognize – with the help of a very wise friend who happens to be visiting this week – certain emotional triggers and reactions do not negate the truth of my having let go of this story. I choose not to hold on to this story in my day to day life, but under certain circumstances, the emotions at the core of that story might spew forth, but that doesn't mean it still has a hold on me.
There are certain stories that will never make sense to me, that I do not understand, cannot control and am helpless to change. The only story I can control is the one that describes my response to those experiences, and even then it is imperative I let it be OK that I am human, and as such there are sticky, thorny emotions pulsing through my veins that need to be released and heard. I can let the emotions spill forth and still release the story. I can acknowledge the feelings I'm having and still have a rational understanding of why I'm reacting the way I'm reacting. I can observe the triggers I'm having – see them, feel them, let them flow through me – and it will still be true that these stories do not define me. All of these things can be true together, in the fact of my humanity and in my determination to move through these emotions and experiences with mindfulness.
So today, I shed a few tears, talked things through with a friend, and took one more step along the journey of staying true to my intention to shed this story from my sense of identity. And none of this was especially dramatic or done with great fanfare. It played itself out quietly, in the space of small amount of time. But that is how it is done – this journey to my most centered self, to my essence, to the joy within me – in small steps, with stillness.
Lighter
Over the past many years, as more of my creative energies have been poured into writing, I have tried to pull forth the tiniest of details from a wide array of memories, from a chilly breeze I felt in high school to the first moment I held a copy of Ordinary Sparkling Moments. I have done brainstorm after brainstorm of stories, memories, feelings, experiences and ideas, trying to decide which ones merit the commitment it takes to plow through upwards of 10-20 drafts in order to get it just right. And through it all, I keep trying to nail down an exact definition of my voice as a writer, not entirely confident I have that figured out yet.
During the past year in particular, I have worked on stories that are, shall we say, less than pleasant – some of my darkest recollections, in fact, stories that dredge up memories that make me literally recoil, where I pull my chest inward and close my eyes, as if to brace myself for a punch in the face. I have felt compelled to work on some of these stories for two main reasons. First, because in sharing them I hope to provide a voice of hope and light, a voice that says, "Yes, this is what I went through, but I went on to create a beautiful life." Second, because I got the idea in my head that in order to be a "serious" writer I had to write about "serious" things, and that if I didn't stand before my readers naked my stories wouldn't have as much meaning, impact and gravity.
But then a funny thing happened when I was in Hawaii recently for my husband's son's wedding, where the word family was thrown around like a beach ball and I became hyper-aware of what stories I was bringing to that environment. There was one evening when I held on to all the stories that made me afraid of that word family, when I stood quietly in a crowd of revelers and focused on whatever memory I could find that would ensure I felt like an outsider. The next day, I thought about that, and realized it was entirely within my power to let those stories go and step fully into the stories being created right in front of me, stories where I was an integral part of this family, and the only person who doubted that was me. From that point forward, everything was about one thing and one thing only: Joy. And that joy was possible because I made the choice to let it in. It was just that simple.
It hit me today that I have the same choices with the stories I choose to write, and that I need to let go of feeling like I "should" write about certain things because I think they might somehow "serve the world" (and hence, earn my place in it.) If some of my stormier memories come forth in a story organically, fine, but I decided today that it is OK if I choose not to expose them. I can still write stories and essays that are meaningful, thought-provoking, and poetic even if they don't touch upon heartache, loss or sadness.
In what I write, and how I live, I get to choose which stories define me, which stories fill my heart and mind and guide me through each day. Sometimes painful memories serve me well, reminding me what is important and what I do not want in my life, but if they play no such role, then it is totally reasonable to simply let them go. As I look around my home, in a kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee, an aqua blue tablecloth, fresh flowers and a dear friend about to arrive from an ocean away, I see that my darkest stories have no place here. They are roads on the map of my past, and as such they helped me get to this exact moment – so in that sense I have reason to be grateful for them – but right here, right now, I choose to let them stay in the past, where they are no longer real, and no longer capable of casting a shadow over my life.
Video Story #1 :: Boys Will Be Boys
Five Things
1. I love the Betty Bike Bakset Liners! That's a stylish way to haul your groceries.
2. The Design People have great web design packages for small budgets. Call and ask for Britt – he'll answer any questions you have!
3. You buy organic groceries, how about organic skin care? NovAurora is a great line of non-toxic, organic skin care.
4. Jennifer Lee of Artizen Coaching is teaching a Creative Play workshop with Leah Piken Kolidas this fall. Click here for details.
5. Kristen Fischer's latest article is up on FreelanceSwitch – click here for her advice on 5 ways to save money on freelancers!
Can’t Resist
Copycat from Christine Mason Miller on Vimeo.
Watching Marisa's videos all week, and then seeing Susannah diving right in, I got the urge to join in the video fun. This is my one and only take with no edits. (Why did I put my camera on a painting and sit on a trash can when I have a perfectly good desk right in front of me? With the light coming in from the window behind my desk, it was too dark. Lighting improvisation #1!)
I realized after I finished that I should have given credit to these three lovely little bluebirds for getting the video trend started ages ago. I have enjoyed and been intrigued by everyone who has added this new dimension to their blogs, and I love the idea of creating an ongoing conversation between all of us this way!
Prayer
[Bee at work in Kauai]
[News Ticker: My latest essay is up at In The Wish Studio!]
Our home is empty for the first time in weeks. After two weeks of non-stop wedding-related visitors, plans and events, my husband and I took the bride and groom to the airport Sunday night and then crawled into bed before 8:00pm. It was still light outside when we fell asleep, and the next morning it was still a challenge to pull myself out of bed. I had big plans to wring every ounce of work I could out of this week, as it is the only week of the entire summer when my calendar is clear, but yesterday morning I saw those plans melt like morning fog when I finished my coffee and still felt like crawling back into bed. So I gave into it, and took my time getting the house back in order, catching up on email and phone calls and taking a long walk. Last night I was asleep by 9:00pm, and even though I feel better today, I am still not buzzing with energy like I'd hoped I'd be. But I'm in my studio and getting to work, and right now that feels momentous. I'm here! I'm working! Ta Da! Or at least it looks like I'm working; part of me still feels like I'm just sitting here staring at my keyboard and looking around at all of my art supplies thinking, "What are all these peculiar objects for, anyway?"
During the two weeks of all the wedding festivities, I had insane amounts of fun and ended up with armloads of moments that brought me to tears in the best way possible. It was beautiful, soulful, transformative and joyful, and was a huge time of healing for many of us involved. Like many weddings, it was a gathering where people came together with smiles on their faces along with deep, difficult feelings simmering beneath the surface, where any one of us could have made the choice to let those dark emotions spring forth and shatter everyone's hope for a close, connected family. But we all came to this event with our best intentions, and we were all rewarded for our efforts, as I believe everyone who was there is now getting back into the routine of their day to day lives with a special glow inside their hearts, and the knowledge that we are capable of so much more than we once believed. Perhaps we all made the decision to be our very best selves for the sake of the bride and groom or for our own sense of integrity, and perhaps at one time we believed that would be our greatest gift in the end – the knowledge that we made the newlyweds happy and didn't let ourselves down. But what we ended up getting was so much more – the realization that in our own complicated, unruly way, we've created a family, and that over the past two weeks each of us truly saw each other…each of us looked at those around us and recognized the essence that stirs within our hearts and compels us to surround ourselves with beauty and love as deeply as we can.
And what a gift that is…to be seen, to know that all the people we were trying to be brave and soft and compassionate for saw how hard we were trying, how willing we were to keep our fears and sad histories at bay and stay in the present, where there was nothing but love to drink in and not a single dark cloud in the sky. Sometimes, strangely, it is scarier to walk into the light and let it drip from our fingertips like honey, to send our demons away where they have no power over us, where we risk experiencing the greatest amount of love and joy, knowing that like everything in life, it won't last forever. But what will last forever is locked in our memories – the knowledge that we all gathered together to celebrate the love of two people, and what we found instead was that this was about the love of a much wider circle, and that all it takes to stay in that space is to make a choice to see the beauty within each of us, despite our flaws and foibles and fuck ups. We are each imperfect, we each have our own sad sack of stories, we are each wounded and vulnerable and delicate, but for a little while this month we were all whole, we were all cared for and adored and cherished. And it is my prayer today that we always feel that way with one another, that this healing continues and we never ever forget the light we saw in one another as we swam, laughed, celebrated and loved.
Five Things
1. Catherine Campbell's My Folk Lover Etsy shop is filled with dreamy images like the one shown above.
2. Congratulations to the amazing & inspiring Jamie Ridler on the launch of her beautiful new website!
3. It only takes five seconds to make me laugh my head off.
4. Mysterious Letters is right up my alley.
5. My latest entry over at This Ordinary Day is up. If you read that and then my previous entry, you'll see how obsessed I am with Bruno Schulz at the moment.
6. One of my new pieces from Demdaco is available at Signals catalog right here!
Energy
Things have felt so quiet lately…not especially so within the walls of our home, where visitors have been coming and going all summer – and will continue to do so until the end of August – but beyond the periphery of my Santa Monica surroundings. It is summer, after all, when vacations are taken and more hours are spent outside than during other parts of the year, but I still have this strange sense that there is a cocooning going on with a lot of people, if not outwardly, then inwardly…or maybe I am just projecting.
Even though I have been talking to my closest friends less often than usual and miss everyone like mad, there is a part of me that loves the idea of everyone getting lost in their own personal space and time, whatever that looks like. Whether it is spending hours on a bicycle, coordinating play time for kids, traveling, getting married or trying to meet deadlines, I appreciate that sometimes our connections become stronger in those periods when we give each other that space…when we let each other soar beyond our horizons, nap beneath trees in other parts of the world and clear our consciousness of everything but the stars.
“There is always music amongst the trees in the garden, but our hearts must be very quiet to hear it.”
~Minnie Aumonier
My Job
[Plumeria :: Taken last week in Kauai, Hawaii]
It is not an easy thing to describe feelings, philosophies and ideas with mere words. How often has it been said that "words can't express" x or y - that "words aren't enough"or "can't convey" what we hold in our hearts? As I was thinking about all the different stories I would be bringing back home with me from a journey to a beautiful island where I drank sunshine, spent hours in the ocean, and felt love oozing from my pores every minute, this phrase kept coming up. As I collected ideas, they came to me in bits and pieces like broken coral and seashells along the shores of Kauai. When I picked them up to consider where they might take me when I got back home, I kept thinking about how difficult it would be to describe the texture and feel of my emotions, epiphanies and transformations. But after reading the first short story in Bruno Schulz's The Street of Crocodiles and Other Stories, and nearly fainting over the way he turned words into a paintbrush, creating an image of a basket of fruit and vegetables like I've never experienced, I realized so much was possible, so much could, in fact, be expressed, explained and brought to life with words. And that this is my job…this is my task now that I am back home at my keyboard, stories spilling out of my suitcase, still strewn all over the floor, having left a trail of scattered letters and images and thoughts all over my house. It is my job to figure this out, and decide how to piece together all of these elements in way that leaves no doubt in the reader's mind what kind of joy swirled through my veins this week, and how it managed to seep through my skin in the first place. That is my job, that is my task, to not just move beyond the "words can't express" roadblock, but take a sledgehammer to it, smash it to bits and find the way to create a connection between myself and whoever reads my stories, whereby the reader reads my unique arrangement of words and simply says, "Yes, I see."
"On those luminous mornings Adela returned from the market, like Pomona emerging from the flames of the day, spilling from her basket the colorful beauty of the sun – the shiny pink cherries full of juice under their transparent skins, the mysterious black morellos that smelled so much better than they tasted, apricots in whose golden pulp lay the core of long afternoons. And next to that pure poetry of fruit, she unloaded sides of meat with their keyboard of ribs swollen with energy and strength, and seaweeds of vegetables like dead octopuses and squids – the raw material of meals with a yet undefined taste, the vegetative and terrestrial ingredients of dinner, exuding a wild and rustic smell." -Bruno Schulz
