Category Archives: on my mind…

A dozen different versions of me

I’m becoming a fan of “the pause.” Between notes and pages and words and breaths, between thought and voice, between action and reaction. In that momentary stillness, in that space between before and after, there is possibility, a  myriad of paths that can be taken, a dozen different versions of me.

I’m not good at the pause. That’s what I’ve realized about myself. I tend to rush through it. I get excited, or angry, or nervous, or restless, and I erase the pause, just like that, and only later do I think of it, often with such yearning.

“If only” thoughts are some of the hardest thoughts of all.

I’m sorry for the pauses I’ve missed, the times when I could have stepped into that stillness, breathed, found the best part of me, uttered something different than the thing I did say, caught up as I was in the heat of the moment. I’m sorry for the times I rushed through it, that chance to be more thoughtful, more receptive, more giving. I’m sorry for the people I may have bowled over in my exuberance or anger, the ones who were maybe only pausing themselves, in search of a path, a better version of themselves.

I’m late but I’m learning, and I can spot them now, the pauses between things, the opportunity to get quiet, to still everything else, if only for a few seconds, and  just activate my heart.

The conversation

“You’ve been walking the ocean’s edge,
holding up your robes to keep them dry.
You must dive naked under,
and deeper under, a thousand times deeper.”
~ Rumi

I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching lately. As my year of loving fearlessly comes to an end, I’ve been thinking about what comes next. I’ve known for a while that I wasn’t through, that this has become more than a year-long project for me, that this quest to live a life of fearless love is fundamental somehow; it lies at the core of who I am.

In January, I’ll launch a new website (she says, confidently, despite having just inserted html code that was supposed to add a widget but instead rearranged everything on the home page except the header). I’ve been thinking hard about what the new site will look like (and, consequently, what Zebra Sounds will look like once the new site is up).

Here’s what I know for sure. I’m ready to get serious. In the comment thread of Friday’s post (a post I wrote because I needed to, because a message sent to me innocently touched on something raw), Patricia wrote, “You are writing / musing on a truer aspect of the core of love then you have for a bit…”

I knew just what she meant. in response, I wrote this…

This year has been so transformative. I’ve never been more naked, more open, more awed (and sometimes hurt) by the world. But I’ve been feeling the pull lately to go much deeper in my writing on the subject of love, beyond the hugs and the sweet gestures and the mindful kindness (which are all important), to the real, complicated, hard-to-articulate, harder-to-answer questions. Your comment makes me know there will be people who want to go there with me.

So that’s where we’re headed. Into what I hope are very honest, very searching, very hopeful and occasionally white-knuckled conversations about love and what it means to attempt a life of openhearted fearlessness. On the new site, I want to talk about vulnerability, fear, intimacy, self-love, truth, global love. I want to explore the intersection between love and art. I want to collect love stories and share them because I think there is power in the permission, acceptance and light that comes from sharing our stories with each other.

Here, in Zebra Sounds, I’ll be talking more about creativity, writing, finding north, and things you might not know.

<Shameless plea for readers> In the beginning, I’ll only be publishing once a week on each blog, so I won’t be overwhelming you with posts. I’m hoping you’ll all follow me in both places. </shameless plea>

(That was a little html humor… which I promise not to do anymore…  in either place… truly, I promise.)

Over the weekend, I participated in an event, which included a visit from Brene Brown. I didn’t write down all of what she said, but I did write down this because it’s true for me too. “At the heart of this work is the conversation.”

Absolutely. I’d love to hear what you think, what you’d like to talk about here and on the new site.

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p.s. I’m off schedule. My inadvertent post on Friday has me slightly discombobulated. How about we meet back here this Friday for some good old-fashioned shenanigans, and then next week, I’ll get back on track.

xo

The (real) worst thing

I was talking to a writer on Twitter, an amazingly talented writer who regularly blows me away with the power and clarity of her essays and the emotional precision of her stories. She told me that her parents don’t take her writing seriously. I know another writer who never told her husband when she decided to write a book. She didn’t tell him when she finished it either. Or when she landed her agent.

Sometimes chasing a dream, throwing your best, most creative self at something that doesn’t net you a regular paycheck, a positive performance review or a set of fancy business cards is lonely work. The people you normally depend on for emotional support and encouragement fall short; they don’t know what to say or how to say it. Maybe they don’t even understand what drives you.

Yesterday I was talking to a friend about this, telling her about how I sometimes get discouraged by the attention my writing doesn’t get from people I love or admire. I think it’s common for creatives to feel that way because so much of our work isn’t compensated, and the only measure we have that it’s good or impactful is the number of views we get, the comments or mentions, an editor’s decision to publish our piece.

In the end, I told her, you have to write (or paint, or take pictures, or perform, or make jewelry, or sculpt) because it’s where your passion lies, because it’s the thing you can’t not do, and because deep down inside, no matter what people say (or don’t say), you believe your work is meaningful.

Self-validation is a skill, one I’m only beginning to master (and by master I mean, most of the time, I can keep writing, not let the doubt and uncertainty swallow me whole). And when I’m feeling the aloneness of it, the disconnect between the fervor and faith inherent in my creative process and the sometimes unnervingly quiet response, I’m learning how to make myself feel better.

Sometimes I write myself through it. My journal is full of pages that start out as angsty artist rambling and end up as pep talks. Sometimes I grab my camera and go someplace pretty, or find a trail and let the rhythm of my feet align my insides. In the best of times, I tackle the next new thing, because I know that’s what creatives do. It’s the thing they can’t not do, and the only thing worse than failing (or being ignored) is not having created anything at all.

Life (love, soul and cheesecake) by me

One of the most popular pieces on the New York Times website this past week was a “A Sister’s Eulogy for Steve Jobs.” It’s beautiful, full of poetry and love. You should definitely read it, but there was one line in particular that reached out and grabbed me by the heart…

He was willing to be misunderstood.

I’d been reading the piece aloud to someone else and that line stopped me. It was as if I’d been tapped with a tuning fork and for a few sweet seconds, my insides hummed with clarity, a pure and precise tone. I read the line two more times before moving on.

There is such power in that willingness, I think, both in art and in life. Being willing to be misunderstood means that you are willing to speak your truth, willing to stand your ground, to brush up against the edges and beyond what people expect. Of course that’s the hallmark of innovation, that willingness to challenge, to be different, but I think it’s also the secret to real communication.

A willingness to be misunderstood reflects a strong sense of self, a certain kind of fearlessness that paradoxically leaves you vulnerable. Whether the subject is something big, like politics or faith or global warming, or something much more intimate, like the particular topography of a lover’s heart, that willingness to be real, to say what is true even at the risk of being misunderstood is, I believe, the first step (on the only path) to being truly understood.

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According to the big fat Love Project master plan, November is the month of gifts. I don’t know what I was thinking it would look like back in January when I decided to do it, but now I think it’s about being present and responding with heart. No doubt that means more letters and cards and hugs, more moments of undivided attention, more reaching out or reaching back, more doodles and (strange, unidentifiable, slightly scary) crafts by j. And cheesecake. Someone’s getting cheesecake in November. Count on it.

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In case you missed it, “A Waltz,” Pickled Amygdala’s first big film project (and my first script), is ready for post production. The new pitch video is up at KickStarter. If you can donate, every dollar helps, but even if you can’t, go watch. Dillon and the boys are hilarious, I make a (speaking!) cameo appearance, and the clips from the actual film are gorgeous.

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I am a big, big fan of  Life By Me, a website that invites lots of people to answer one question: What is most meaningful to you? They’ve asked “world leaders, Nobel Peace Prize recipients, moms, fishermen, teenagers, designers, prison inmates, media moguls…” and now me. I’m honored (and ridiculously stoked) to share my answer, which is, of course, all about love.

(Thanks to all of you who commented over there. You’re the best!)

Is friendship an art?

I read this post about why a “No” friend is the best friend quite some time ago, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Nina Badzin makes the point that there is value in having friends who will tell you when you’re being ridiculous, when you’ve lost sight of your north, when you’re just plain wrong.

I completely agree. And yet…

Where does the honesty line get drawn? What if you’re convinced your friend is about to marry Mr. or Ms. WRONG? What if you think their anger (or hurt or resentment  or trust) is misplaced? What if you think the dream they’re about to chase is doomed, or (worse) that they’ve forgotten they even had a dream?

I think there’s an art to friendship. Sometimes it’s about being absolutely, unconditionally supportive (despite your own misgivings) and other times it’s about telling the truth even when you feel deeply that something precious is at risk. The art lies in knowing which times are which, of course, something I don’t always get right.

I guess that’s why the question has such a hold of me, because I know that I often misstep. I’ve been quiet when in hind sight I should have spoken up, feigned agreement when I should have voiced opposition. I’ve also been inappropriately tough, not realizing that what had been shared with me was fragile, a tender piece of heart and soul not built to withstand criticism, however constructively delivered.

Even now, looking back with all the clarity that looking back gives, there are times that seem murky to me. I’m unclear if I was right or wrong. For instance, I was relieved when a friend I love dearly broke up with her longtime boyfriend who I’d never liked. She said, “Why didn’t you tell me? Promise me you’ll tell me next time.” I promised, and then when she fell in love with someone who worried me even more, I said nothing. Now, years later, when my misgivings appear to only have been the tip of the iceberg, I still don’t know what the right thing to do was. I do know that I wasn’t willing to risk the friendship by being the “No” friend.

I would like to glibly ascribe to an easy friendship code like, “honesty is the best policy,” but as much as I value honesty, I’m not sure I think that’s always true.

What do you think? Is honesty always best? How do you decide when it isn’t? Should you strive to be the “No” friend? Am I making this harder than it has to be?

(Wonderfully) out of my element

Remember when I said I was going to create Song Lyric Wall Art? Well, here’s the thing about that. I wanted to do it for the sheer, unmitigated, be-a-beginner-create-without-expectation-look-what-I-made magic of it. But because I’m not a crafty person (please don’t argue, I know crafty people, I am not one), I knew the only way I’d actually follow through and create something was to tell you I would.

Oh, the power you all have!

And it worked (as it almost always does). I did it, and it was ridiculously fun to be so out of my element. I can’t do that with writing. I’m never completely relaxed and unattached to the outcome when I write. It’s too much where I live; I have too many expectations of myself. But paint and stickers and artist tape?

Nothing. But. Fun.

Here’s the piece I found at a secondhand store. I admit that I fell for it instantly and almost didn’t buy it because I knew I’d be reluctant to paint over it. But then the guy behind the counter said I could have the picture for 25% off, and I took it as a sign.

I decided that I so loved the newspaper, coffee and rose in the picture, that I’d tape them off so that they’d still be in the final piece. Somehow that made the painting over part easier too, as if the original artist and I were collaborating.

Here’s how it looked during taping. Before I painted over it, I taped off the rest of the paper, and the window frame. I’d originally had a different lyric in mind, but with the coffee and the paper, I switched to Ingrid Michaelson’s “The Way I Am.”

About six coats of spray paint later, I peeled away the first letter…

And here’s the final product, which makes me unabashedly “little-kid-hey-look-what-I-did” giddy.

My friends Caroline and Pam did the project with me (together apart) and they sent me pictures of their masterpieces too. They are especially noteworthy and cool because…

Caroline painted a blank canvas to get her colors…

… and Pam painted the penguins in a paint-by-number kit.

If you decide to try it (and I highly recommend you do), please send me pictures! Thank you Caroline and Pam for playing with me! xoxo

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In other news… I’m excited to be participating in the October 28th launch of Andrea Lewicki’s very cool Curiosity Project. Andrea is beautiful, inspiring and truly amazing. Read about her here (and try not to feel like a slacker). Her mission – to get us all to engage, indulge and follow our curiosity – is so damn affirming it makes my cells hum. In her words…

Curiosity is vital…to our well-being, to the sense of satisfaction we all crave, to the love we give and receive, and to the quality of the connections we make with other people. Curiosity is a way to engage with the world but it’s not obvious how to use it. That’s where my work starts.

She invited me to participate in her launch party, and after my initial “holy shit she wants me to go on camera live” reaction, I said yes. How could I not? She wants to ask me about the role that curiosity plays in love! I have tons to say on that subject.

Stay tuned… I’ll be posting more information as we near Andrea’s launch date.

Stick men, shovels and strange detours

Favorite quote of the week…

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.

~ Anais Nin

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This is so fun. Go. Play. Now. I promise, you won’t be sorry. Then when you’re finished, change the message (or don’t) and send it to someone you love. (Thank you Lucy Pollard-Gott for sending it to me. It was EXACTLY what I needed.)

Draw A Stickman

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This is definitely one of my very favorite Bentlily poems ever. “The Shovel.”

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I heard on NPR that if you stand on top of Mt. Diablo, you can see more of the earth’s surface than from any other peak in the world with the exception of Africa’s legendary 19,340-foot Mt. Kilimanjaro. I’d never heard that before, and Mt. Diablo is only 35 miles from my house, so I jumped in the car and drove out to see for myself.

Like most of my adventures, this one didn’t turn out quite like I planned. Then again, some of the best things that have ever happened to me, happened on unplanned detours. I wrote about it here.

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This picture from Jo Wheeler makes me smile. I love shell love.

Have a great weekend, everyone.

xoxo

What the detox taught me

So, just as I told you I would (in hindsight, perhaps inadvisably), last week I embarked on a one-week Yoga Journal detox program. It involved the same recipe for all my meals, abstinence from caffeine and alcohol, daily prescribed yoga practices, two guided meditations performed four times during the course of the week, early risings to accommodate Ayurvedic abhyanga (self massages with oil) followed by a shower, and all week long, an underlying question to ponder… what do I want to hold onto and what do I want to let go of in my life?

Before I go into what I learned, I have to confess that I lasted only two days on the one-dish-only diet. The dish is called kitchari and consists primarily of rice and secondarily of mung beans. I wasn’t crazy about it, but more importantly, on the diet, I felt very out of control. I had enormous energy swings… and with the fluctuating energy came fluctuating moods. At the end of Day 2, I realized that my overriding emotion was sadness and a terrible sense of futility. Plus, I had headaches. (I totally missed the part in the magazine where it said you should wean yourself from caffeine in the days or weeks prior to starting the detox.) I decided it was time to get off the diet.

For the remainder of the week, I ate small portions of healthy foods and I drank green tea in the morning. I kept up with everything else though, and here’s what I learned…

  1. You (and by you, I mean I) should have a reason for doing something as radical as a detox or cleanse. In the last few months, I’ve eliminated meat from my diet, gotten much more serious about my yoga practice, started meditating, spent more time unplugged and made huge, evolutionary decisions about the direction of my work. I wasn’t feeling out of balance or full-o-toxins. I wanted to do the detox more out of curiosity than anything else, but when push came to shove, curiosity wasn’t enough to keep me on track when the going got tough.
  2. I don’t like being told what to do. I kind of knew this about myself, but it surprised me how… well… resentful I felt. I didn’t like being told when to shower, what to drink, what asana sequences to practice. I spent most of my meditations thinking, “I can’t wait until I can meditate the way I want to.” And then, “Oops, I wonder what she just told me to think about.”
  3. That said, having spent a week being told what to do, it is clear to me that I don’t always know what’s best for me. On Day 7, during my yoga session, I moved reluctantly from one restorative pose to the next. I don’t like resting poses. They stress me out. I lie still and my head fills with all the things I could be doing if I were not lying still. It’s so unpleasant, I almost never do them. And yet… At the end of that practice, for the first time in months, my shoulder and neck were utterly relaxed. I felt a looseness I’ve only been able to get with Vicodin.
  4. I like green tea. I’m still drinking it. I haven’t had a cup of coffee in over a week. Or a chip, for that matter. This can’t last…
  5. The most important thing I learned from the detox was about letting go. It came to me as I made the decision to stop the diet. It was hard for me to let go of the thought that doing so would mean I failed, that I’d have to come back here and write a why-I-failed-at-the-detox-thing post.When I made the decision anyway, deciding that feeling better was worth being embarrassed, it felt right, and weirdly freeing, like stepping out of a costume or putting down a mask. It made me think about other changes I’ve resisted making in my life because they don’t coincide with the definition of myself I’ve had for years, a definition – a costume – that I think I’ve outgrown (if it ever fit at all). I’d love to tell you that right then and there, in that brilliant flash of insight, I dropped the old worn out view of me and leaped -  naked, new and badass – onto a brave new path. Turns out, at least for me, it’s a bit more of a process than that, but I’m definitely heading there, shedding the stuff that doesn’t fit as I go.

3 Things About Love

Today is Day 1 of my 7-day fall detox plan. I’ve never done a cleanse before, but I’ve always been curious. This one comes from Yoga Journal, so it’s not extreme and it’s not just about diet; there are special herbs, meditations, Ayurvedic abhyana self-massages and, of course, yoga sequences. (There’s a neti pot, too, but I’m skipping that part. My neti pot aversion is well known.)

But here’s why I really wanted to do it (and why I’m including it in a 3-things-about-love post.) It’s inconvenient, in the way that disruptions to routine always are. I’ll have to think about things I normally do on auto-pilot, my most habitual behaviors around eating, sleeping and working out.

I plan to take full advantage of the disruption. This week will be all about paying attention, conscious decisions about what to do and what not to do, listening to my heart, my guts, my own voice. It’ll be about slowing down, letting go, getting focused, and then deciding, next week, which things to let back into my life.

I think creating the time and space to really think about the things I do (the people I love, the places I go, the words I say) is an act of self-love. (Tough self-love, in fact… no coffee or wine for me this week.) It’s Day 1. I’m excited.

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Last night, Sugar at the Rumpus posted a series of Tweets (something she doesn’t do all that often). I think her message deserves repeating (absorbing, incorporating, living).

My heart clenches when people criticize the letter writers in the comments of my columns. I get it that people want to express their take…
*
…but I feel protective of those letter writers. They were brave to write to me about their deepest sorrows/mistakes/vulnerabilities…
*
…and I’m sure it’s very intense for them to see their letters on The Rumpus and also to endure whatever it is I have to say…
*
It pains me they have to read critiques of their lives. I get it. I do. I am judgmental of others at times too. But I hope we will all…
*
…remember as often as possible that we have all made mistakes, we’ve all been ugly or wrong or selfish or dumb at times…
*
…so I say to all those letter writers I’ve published: no matter what is said in those comments, take heart. I believe in you.
*
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Halfway through the Love Project’s month of seeing, here’s my most important discovery. If you start with eye contact and a smile… anything can happen. And does.

Wordplay

Recently, a friend wrote me a note that included, among other wonderful treasures, the word “proprioception.” It’s five syllables AND I had to look it up. I admit, I was dazzled. I sent a suitably swoony reply.

It made me think about my emotional, sometimes visceral reactions to words, and how those reactions aren’t always connected to the word’s actual meaning. Which led me to wonder about you…

  1. What word do you just plain love?
    I love shenanigans, badassery, wiggle, flagrant, pluck, synchronicity and mosey, to name a few.
  2. What word do you hate?
    I hate the word vomit. Throw up, puke, hurl, heave, regurgitate, upchuck and blow chunks… all okay, but not vomit.
  3. What word do you consistently misspell?
    Exhilarate, colonel, hierarchy, daiquiri and apropos. (I guessed all but one of those wrong the first time I typed them into this post.)
  4. What word’s meaning do you keep having to look up?
    Allusion. (I’ve just stopped using it.)
  5. What word do you think is completely overused?
    Organic and tribe are overused… but I still like them.
  6. What word do you think is underused?
    Doff. We should definitely doff more. And donn, for that matter.

Your turn!