a bunch of old bs

Heads up: everything in the next section I am about to write is bullshit. Don't know why you'd read after that glowing endorsement, but maybe a few of you have a little Pandora in you and want to know what's in that box labeled 'Bullshit' ...

________

The world is for the young. If you're of a certain age and you haven't already established your reputation, you didn't really want it enough, did you? If you're of a certain age and you need or want to start over, you're only embarrassing yourself. You're set in your ways. You can't learn anything new. What could you possibly have to say that's interesting? You're old.

_________

If you are young (we'll define 'young' for our purposes as under the age of 27 --sounds like a nice even number) and think any of the above, then you are setting yourself up for a great big load of disappointment in your later life, guaranteed. You think you know, but you have no idea.

If you are old (28 and up) and think any of that, then stop it. Seriously. Stop. I'm talking as much to myself here as to any of you. 

The world (another term we need to define --I'm in the US, and as everyone knows, we're the center of the universe in our own minds, so what the hell, we'll go with that) prefers the young. We love the precocious. We love prodigies. We loved Coreys Haim & Feldman until they grew up. We do not love messes or baggage or anything other than unbridled enthusiasm on shining faces. If there is a mess, it had better be young and hot and cute because ew.

That doesn't mean the world is right. It means the world likes things wrapped up in neat little packages.

__________

Fuck neat little packages --seriously, fuck them. They're just fancy boxes, aren't they? And fuck the world if it can't handle a mess without calling for it to be taken away.

___________

Despite the angry tone to all of that, I am actually feeling pretty hopeful. 

I've written before about coming late to art and expressing myself. Extensively. Seriously, that sums up about 1/3 of my blog posts, you're welcome --no need to read now. In my explorations into what to do with what I've figured out about my creativity, I've looked up "okay, now what?" and have been greeted with a gaggle of young faces (or faces that may look like mine, but with a long list of credits tattooed on them). It can get discouraging. Baggage weighs me down.

I can't put the baggage down. It's like a scar --I've earned it. It's my baggage. I can carry it smarter, though. I'm all about ergonomic solutions at this stage.

____________

What people aged 28-108 can contribute to the world and to the arts:

• Breadth --life experience is, in fact, experience, and we have more of it
• Perseverance --think Keith Richards (we are all Keith Richards)
• Leadership --a lot of us have had kids, so we've had to learn to lead
• Patience --again, we've had kids
• The Ability to Spot and Call Bullshit --speaks for itself
• Resources --we get jobs while trying to figure stuff out, and we're cantankerous enough to work and create (yes, at the same time)

________________

Do not preemptively assume that you have nothing to contribute to the arts. You have a lot to contribute --what that is may remain to be seen, but you have a lot to contribute. Use your well-earned patience. Persevere, because you know you can do that (Keith Richards lives!). Spot the bullshit, both what the world lays on you and what you lay on yourself. Now is the time. It wasn't before, and that's okay, because you were learning to get to where you are now.

Don't buy the old bullshit. You're not old, you're mature. Now go make whatever the hell you want.

And Happy 2018, when it comes.

optimism: a list

Trigger warning: there may be some politics in here --just a little. 

So this is the eve of the day on which the US Senate, in their infinite wisdom, passed their version of a tax reform bill. If you're the sort of person who worries about paying tax on the upkeep of your private plane, it might have been okay for you. For everyone else, it was an unmitigated disaster.

Fear not, though, everyone else! 

Firstly, the House has to pass their own version (they will), and then the two houses have to agree on the end result (they will), so maybe all of this stress is for naught. I mean, maybe they'll stop being greedy bastards and start caring about all of their constituents? It could happen (in my dreams). 

Secondly, as the infrastructure crumbles around our ears and as we enter the next decade with less opportunity and less financial certainty here in the good ol' US of A, we still have some things that tone-deaf politicians cannot take away from us. Sorry, Whitney Houston --they can take away our dignity, but here are some other things they can't get their grubby little mitts on ...

1. The laughter of children

2. A kind word

3. Friendship

4. Stupid jokes

5. Black Sabbath cranked up to 11

6. Bravery

7. Origami cranes

8. Bad haircuts

9. A good cry

10.The stars in the sky

11.Street art

12.Memories

13.The desire to be a ninja and/or a pirate

14.Good will

15.Stones (rolling or otherwise)

16.An admiration for Robin Williams

17.Dandelions

18.Our ability to learn Morse code

19.Love

or

20.Our f***ing humanity

None of the items on this list mean anything to them because they can't be monetized. That's fine. I'd take the items on this list over whatever they're getting out of this whole debacle any day.

Love and best wishes to you all.

sunday's not monday

"Tomorrow is Monday."

She lies there on her side, sheets wrapped around her like swaddling clothes. Daylight peeks in through drawn curtains --is she awake? She is awake, but only just barely. She lies still in the bedsheets and thinks about the day beyond today.

Her thoughts shift and she flips over onto her stomach.

"Yesterday was Saturday. I wasted Saturday, and now, tomorrow is Monday."

Her thoughts slide back into their original position. She flips onto her side again. The daylight is still there, peeking in and waiting for her. It takes a moment for her to realize the daylight is there because she only wants to squint to see past the daylight.

She adjusts her focus. Daylight.

"Today is Sunday."

"It's Sunday morning."

She looks at the clock. She can see it now without much effort; the sunrise has turned on the light for her. The second hand ticks like a foot tapping.

"It's 7:00 on Sunday morning. There is a whole day ahead, and right now, the sun is coming up. And Sunday's not Monday."

She unwraps herself. The daylight plays with her toes as she sets them on the floor.

___________________________

Enjoy the rest of your day.

villanelle for the exhausted

there's nothing special on my mind,
but still, it's filled with life's travails,
and I'm in need of something kind.

the wind will blow, and I'll unwind --
I'll lose my thoughts in gusts and gales
'til nothing special's on my mind.

those that will seek will also find
(or so it's said in fairy tales),
and I'm in need of something kind

move forward, back, ahead, behind;
that which succeeds --it also fails.
there's nothing special on my mind.

the trees for which my soul has pined,
the rolling hills and gentle dales --
I dream of them and something kind.

but here I sit, again resigned --
I have no treasures, quests or grails,
and nothing special on my mind.
I wait in hope for something kind.

do it wrong

Pep talk for myself --you're welcome to eavesdrop, if you like ...

Okay, self. NaNoWriMo starts on Wednesday. You've been thinking about it and organizing. You've read up on plot and character. You've thought about setting and an overdependence on adverbs (allegedly). You've considered what you already have that's written down --what works and what doesn't.

Why are you stressing out?

I know work is busy right now --really busy. Those reports don't write themselves, and no, they don't count toward your NaNoWriMo word count.

I know life is busy right now. We won't go into that, but it's busy, yes. It's hard and it's busy, but for a reason and that's the way it is.

You know all of this, so why are you stressing? Writing is something you enjoy.

You're afraid you're going to get stuck, aren't you? Like before. You're afraid work or the rest of life will win and you'll be left with only fumes to put down on paper. Or worse --nothing.

You know you're going to do it --maybe not the way you want, but you know you'll do it messy if you have to. You'll make a big fat mess ... 

...And you know what? 

That's okay. That's more than okay --that's called perseverance. That is how you finish. As messy as it is, that is how you finish.

Do it wrong because it's not wrong --it's right for you. 

Say hello to the monkeys for me.

what do you value?

Tried this in therapy today --give it a try! It's a actually pretty difficult. I've included a link to a set of cards which includes definitions of each of the possible values. You can also print out the cards and sort them, if you're into that kind of thing.

You can only pick ten (10). Which of them are most important to you in your life? And what do you need to feel fulfilled as a human being? (If you're a writer, feel free to try these for your characters --what do they want? Try it in preparation for NaNoWriMo!)

Acceptance
Accuracy
Achievement
Adventure
Attractiveness
Authority
Autonomy
Beauty
Caring
Challenge
Change
Comfort
Commitment
Compassion
Contribution
Cooperation
Courtesy
Creativity
Dependability
Duty
Ecology
Excitement
Faithfulness
Fame
Family
Fitness
Flexibility
Forgiveness
Friendship
Fun
Generosity
Genuineness
God's Will
Growth
Health
Helpfulness
Honesty
Hope
Humility
Humor
Independence
Industry
Inner Peace
Intimacy
Justice
Knowledge
Leisure
Loved
Loving
Mastery
Mindfulness
Moderation
Monogamy
Non-Conformity
Nurturance
Openness
Order
Passion
Pleasure
Popularity
Power
Purpose
Rationality
Realism
Responsibility
Risk
Romance
Safety
Self-Acceptance
Self-Control
Self-Esteem
Self-Knowledge
Service
Sexuality
Simplicity
Solitude
Spirituality
Stability
Tolerance
Tradition
Virtue
Wealth

Remember: you can only pick ten! What do you value? 

self-help book

purchase 
a moment
of peace
or the 
feeling
that peace
is possible
would be
possible
if you
would buy
this book
& sequel
& retreat
from reality
& leave
everything
behind

or

understand
a moment
of peace
is rare
that life
is hard
will be
hard
but you
can stop
& watch
the sun
painting
mountains purple
& take
it all
with you

the death & rebirth of empathy

if you've fallen sick, you've earned it;
if you're broke, you've earned that, too.
there's a lesson. have you learned it?
no? oh well. i pity you.

so why don't you really try?
now, why don't you try again?
you're pathetic when you cry --
why don't you breathe & count to ten?

too bad that you're not smarter.
it's too bad that you complain.
i'm sure if you worked harder
you wouldn't feel so much pain.

[insert death, a bankruptcy,
disaster of some sort,
a loss, a painful injury ...
because life is tough & short]

i'm trying hard to remain strong.
i don't know what i'm doing wrong ...


-extemporanea written 3 October 2017

the issue with solutions

I started therapy recently with a lovely therapist who uses ACT (that's Acceptance and Commitment Therapy --yes, I had to look it up) and Attachment Theory. It is amazing to me that I can talk about it. Back in the day, this meant there was something seriously Wrong with me, with a capital W; nowadays, I think it is viewed by more and more people as a positive thing --more importantly, I view it as a positive thing, and I'm not hurting anyone by doing it. I am dealing with what I carry around inside, whereas in the old days, I would have been expected to reach for Mother's Little Helper and soldier on.

So my lovely therapist asked me if there was anything that bothered me about our interactions so far.

"Um ...," I wracked my brain trying to think of something, "You haven't told me what to do? I mean, I know that's not what therapy is supposed to be about, but you asked me for something and that's all I could come up with!"

"That's good!" she said, being very lovely and accepting.

"I mean ...," I continued, because once the flood gates open, they tend not to close again very easily, "Actually, everything's been very nice, but I know that part of my issue is that I tend to be indecisive, and then people who know what they want make decisions in the interim, and I go along with it because it really matters to them and it doesn't matter as much to me, but then on reflection, it really does matter to me, and I would have chosen something different, or maybe something the same, but I essentially abdicated my responsibility for making my own choices because I am not quick in my decision making ..."

At that point, I had to stop to breathe.

If you have never been to therapy, that is how I see therapy. She says very little, and most of that 'very little' is questions, with the rest being acknowledgment of what I said. I fill in what would otherwise be large gaps of silence with what likely sounds like gibberish, but it does answer the questions to the best of my ability. The exchange leaves me feeling simultaneously stupid and better.

I don't believe that therapy will solve anything for me --that's what I've figured out. Then why do it, the pragmatists in the audience may be asking now? 

It's not because my therapist is lovely (although that helps). I think it allows me address the things that I try to ignore. Historically, I do not address things that bother me directly --I feel like I haven't tried hard enough to see the other person's perspective and I'm being selfish, and then, I take that out on myself. I let things go, and yet, they haven't truly gone at times. If I haven't let things go, even though I've tried to let them go, then what is that?

Maybe therapy isn't supposed to be about solutions. Maybe it's about getting to know yourself, because in a lot of ways, we are taught to ignore parts of ourselves that don't fit with the world's grand plan (or others' grand plans, if we're being truly honest). Maybe it's about dealing with things and then life goes on, or it doesn't go on and then everything falls apart and then life goes on again. Maybe I'm being too selfless, or too selfish, or something in between, or some combination thereof, all situation dependent. Who knows?

All I know is, therapy's okay --doesn't solve anything, but it's okay.

If anyone has questions about therapy, please let me know --I'm happy to share my limited experience. It doesn't solve anything, but it certainly doesn't hurt anything, either.

croissant lady

I am a flake. Not the semi-delicious Cadbury creation --a flake in the human sense. In case I had any doubts about my flakiness, I have it on good authority from sources outside of myself that I am a flake. Are you a flake, too?

What is a flake anyway? The definition I found on the Interweb suggests that a flake is a person who is crazy, eccentric, or unreliable. Based on recent use of the term 'snowflake', I would also add sensitive.

What is wrong with being sensitive? Or eccentric? And what the heck does 'crazy' mean anyway?

I get the thing about unreliable, but honestly, sometimes things need to fall apart because they do fall apart (see William Butler Yeats or Chinua Achebe if you are in doubt about this). And reliable in what sense? I've had the same job for 15 years and I pay my bills, if that's the metric you use to define 'reliable'. I'm sure plenty of flakes do (and the ones who don't, I can guarantee you, beat themselves up about it because they are sensitive, remember?). We also try to show up for people because we know what it is to need people --flakes are so full of empathy and emotion, it's hard to function sometimes.

Perhaps if we thought of ourselves like croissants, buttery in our lightness, prone to breaking off in leaves in response to the world around us, but still whole inside? Or some other better metaphor that would say we're not so bad, really? We're flexible, empathetic, responsive, ...

Flaky. It's not so bad.

now

Yesterday was hard.

Now is easier.

Why? 

I can't explain in detail. I can tell you yesterday felt like being cut with glass in the same place more than once --the pain of more and more pain, & the anguish of thinking it won't stop. The knowledge that I broke the glass made it worse. 

Now feels clear. It feels tender, but clear.

I spoke with a friend, who offered comfort. I won't go into details about that, but thank you, Melissa, for that hour and a half of your life. You know what it meant.

And last night, beginning at 12:01 AM PST, I began reading a book my friend Melina sent me as a surprise some months ago called The Poetry of Impermanence, Mindfulness, and Joy (edited by John Brehm). I finished around 1:40 AM. Maybe it was the sleepless fugue, but it helped. 

It is a collection of poems that deal with those themes (impermanence, mindfulness and joy), with works by poets heavily influenced by Buddhist thought and beliefs. It was a relief to end with joy, and the joy poems were small and manageable. Reading the biographies of the poets also helped. These were people of varying personalities --outgoing, quiet --bound together by this search for meaning and the use of images and words to try and gather the meaning where they found it. All had difficult lives (including Robert Frost --who knew?). If their lives were hard, and they could find beauty in the midst of all of that, maybe it would all be okay? Maybe I had to let go to feel what they felt in those moments when they composed their poems?

Favorites included "Miracle Fair" by Wisława Szymborska, "Aimless Love" by Billy Collins, and "The Joy of Fishes" by Chuang-Tzu.

And now, an attempt at my own poem. It is for my friend. I would apologize for attempting poetry, but it helped me.

through tears

I watch the ash tree

outside the window

and I see

the leaves feel nothing

but the wind

days with no words

It's back again. It's been a while.

This is no seductive mistress. There is nothing glamorous about it at all. It is plain and unwashed and, similar to Benjamin Franklin's observation of houseguests who won't leave, it stinks. 

But at least today, I have words.

No, it's not writer's block --I've written about that in the past. Writer's block is a seductive mistress, comparatively. If you'd like some ideas on how to overcome that, please feel free to follow the link. That's really no big thing to work past, if you're a writer. 

Impostor syndrome (which I have also written about) is a bit more difficult, but that's not what this is. The way to work past that is keep writing and damn the internal and external critics while still trying to improve.

This is the total absence of words and an inability to see much of anything at all, except possibly nothing. 

If you are familiar with this condition --and I think writers tend toward this as they are sensitive, creative types --you know that words do not come easily at times like these. These are times for feelings and wishes that everything would just stop.

I made it to today. At least today, I have words.

I am writing this to tell what ...not worked. Distracted me? Distracted me.

I tried reading, thinking that someone else could provide some words when I had none. It did not work. In truth, I couldn't process words at all --not spoken, not written, not heard, not read.

Eventually, I settled on doodling. No words. Lines. Circles. Over and over and over. I wanted to fill pages, and so, I had to keep busy in order to do that. I could not think of anything except where to put my next line, my next circle. Repetitive actions are soothing. Knitting or worry beads or zen gardens would serve the same purpose. Doodling was it for me.

After doodling, I worked my way toward drawing --nothing technical. Just trying to put the lines and curves in the right place, going the right direction. I drew animals, some of the ones I wrote poems about a long time ago: a jellyfish, a cicada, a white worm. Details take you away from the larger thing that looms and steals your thoughts.

I think it is okay to admit there are times to take breaks from writing and from words. There are times, as human beings, when language is too much. It is okay to step back in order to be able to step forward again. I am a human being, first and foremost, and I write because I love it. I am a writer when I write, but at times, like recently, I cannot be a writer --I cannot write --and it is because I am working on getting myself to a place where I can function. I am a human being first. And that's okay.

And today, I have a few words.

Here's wishing you many words when they come.

take care of yourself

This is a story that may sound familiar. The characters and situation may be different from your own, or it might be similar --let's see ...

Once upon a time, there was a young lady who was under a great deal of stress. There may have been some hormonal issues thrown into the mix as she had recently had a baby --these things happen, you know. The stress related to her workplace, or maybe it was her home life? Maybe both?

Does this sound familiar so far? You needn't be a woman to have work and life stresses; however, you might need to be a woman to have a baby. But I digress ...

In the course of all of this chaos, the young lady wasn't doing very well --not well at all, in fact. She wasn't sleeping; she wasn't eating; and she was having these pesky thoughts about very specific ways to make all of the pain go away.

She took the unprecedented step of contacting someone for medical assistance. That kind doctor gave the young lady a prescription for medical leave and antidepressants. The doctor had originally wanted the lady to stop working altogether, but the young lady didn't want to disappoint the people she was working with or for, so she talked the kind doctor into making the prescription for working half of her regular hours ("It's not so bad. I only have these obsessive thoughts all of the time, but I haven't acted on them yet, so ...").

Ringing any bells? Maybe you have needed to seek assistance for a mental health issue, or maybe not wanting to disappoint the people around you is a regular theme in your life?

The young lady turned in her prescription to her boss at work, and what do you imagine her boss said to her? 

If you guessed, "You need to take care of yourself," you are correct. 

And what do you imagine her boss said next? 

"How will you [get all of your work done] in half the time?" 

The question was followed by an expectant pause. The expectant pause was not placed there because the boss wanted the young lady to realize she should have taken the full-time leave --it was a legitimate logistical question.

Which brings us to the point of the story: so often we say to people, "Take care of yourself." We don't mean it a lot of the time, though. We mean, "Take care of yourself as long as it doesn't inconvenience me."

This story was just an illustration. It happens in many different ways in life. When you come across a person who needs help, what do you do? I don't know. I'm asking. I would think asking, "What do you need?", and, if the person is unable to figure out what they need, maybe observing and asking specifically, "Can I help you with ___?" would be good. I don't think the general statement "Take care of yourself" is at all helpful, however --if the person could take care of him- or herself, that person would be doing it already.

And before signing off and making it seem I feel superior in this matter, I am guilty of doing this. Platitudes are much easier than showing up. I have done this --I have done this recently. I am also the young lady in the story, so I've seen the other side, as well. 

Whether or not I have an answer, I do know it's a problem that needs a solution. If anyone has any ideas, I'd love to hear them.