Tag Archives: play

Getting it up

Posted on January 26, 2012 | 33 Comments

The thing about creativity is that unless you make a living practicing your art, it’s easy to deprioritize it. (Note: WordPress is saying deprioritize isn’t a word, but I’m sticking to it because WordPress also says that WordPress isn’t a word.)

On the to-do list you might not even have had time to write today, “make something awesome” would likely fall somewhere near the bottom, after “drop off the kids-prescription-dry cleaning-car,” “write the report,” “attend the meeting,” “reassure the boss,” “pick up the the kids-prescription-dry cleaning-car,” “do the laundry” “pay the bills,” “cook, clean, cry, collapse.”

It’s a perfectly understandable, soul-killing decision to NOT make something awesome. But as day after day passes in this frenzied “I have no time for creative badassery” mode, the muscle that creates your art – your wicked imagination – atrophies. It gets harder and harder to get it up.

So to speak.

I don’t want that to happen to you (or me), so I made a list of five ways to sneak back up on our creative natures. These ideas are small, but powerful… like Altoids.

  1. Unplug.
    Even if only for a few minutes each day, unplug your phone, your computer, your TV, your radio, and every device you have that starts with a lower case “i.” Immerse yourself in your physical surroundings. If at all possible, get dirty.
    *
  2. Take a picture.
    I seriously think cameras are magical in their ability to change our perspectives. Don’t believe me? Look at Marcie Scudder’s rainy day, Jen Erbe’s birches, jb’s kitchen table, my picture of stillness…
    *

    And – bonus! – the “make something awesome” goal is built right into this one!
    *
  3. Do something out of character.
    Wear a kilt or a tutu (or, for me, something purple). Publicly display your affection, throw yourself a surprise party, tell someone in no uncertain terms that what they do makes your knees weak, your head spin, your throat dry… and even with all that, you hope they never, ever stop.
    *
  4. Play.
    Alone or with your lover, your crush, your best friend, your kid, your parents, a perfect (or not-so-perfect) stranger. Do something, anything. Just. For. Fun.
    *
  5. Fuck should.
    For a day, an afternoon, an amazing hour of precious freedom, don’t do anything just because you should.

It may be that the awesome thing you make… is you.

xo

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Posted in j's lists, writing, writers, and stuff we like

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I do so love the word “begets”

Posted on November 17, 2011 | 19 Comments

Not long ago, I was talking to a writer friend who hasn’t been writing. She’s had a lot going on, inside and out, and it’s been hard for her to find that place inside,  where it’s both quiet and humming, dreamy and focused, wild and disciplined… that place where the artist and the art beautifully, magically collide.

I understand. I’ve been there too. It’s like living on the perimeter of your soul. She said that she was thinking of trying something completely different: painting. She’d always been interested in it but never pursued it because she didn’t think she was good enough, and so… maybe now…

I dropped everything to reply:

Yes!

I think it’s so important for us to indulge our creativity – even when the project that pulls us isn’t part of our plan, even when it won’t make us money, even when it feels frivolous and beside the point. In fact, especially when it feels frivolous and beside the point.

I love ill-advised creativity, the kind we don’t really expect to be good at. When you do something creative outside your field, it’s like giving yourself permission to be an absolute beginner. You can mess up, challenge conventional wisdom (because… well, hell, you don’t even know what the conventional wisdom is). It’s hard for a writer to let herself write crap, but it’s not that hard for a writer to sculpt or paint or photograph crap.

When you indulge your creativity outside your field(s) of expertise, you invite a sense of play. Less attached to the result, you can open to the experience – the crazy firing synapses, the giddy newness, the FUN. I told my friend that I have that sense of adventure every time I take my camera out into the world. Talk about not being attached to the result, I’m delighted when my subject actually appears in the frame.

And here’s the really wonderful part. Much as love begets love, creativity (of all kinds) begets creativity. I think if my friend starts painting, those first beautiful, timid, exhilarating brush strokes may also be her first beautiful, timid, exhilarting steps back to her writing.

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Playtime

Posted on June 23, 2011 | 27 Comments

On her Ordinary Courage blog, Brene Brown recently contemplated the nature of play. As a hardworking scientist, she’s had trouble with the concept. Quoting author Stuart Brown, she wrote  “losing track of time is an important property of play.” Using that definition, she decided that, for her, nesting is play. Piddling around her house and editing photos is play.

I think that’s as good a definition as any. It’s exhilarating when you look up to find that hours have passed while you were lost in something that made your soul hum. So now I’m curious…

If losing track of time is the criteria, what qualifies as play for you?

~~~~~~~~~~

Here’s some stuff I love…

“How Babies Play,” and “The Temptation to Please” more magic from Bentlily.

“The Spoon Theory,” by Christine Miserandino.

Zebra art!

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Playing At Love

Posted on June 19, 2011 | 24 Comments

Of all the Love Project magic we’ve performed so far, I gotta say graffiti love has been the most unexpectedly exhilarating for me. Every time I set out to “tag” something, I get excited, anticipatory. Even sitting here writing to you about it has me grinning.

Honestly, when I thought of graffiti love, and wrote it into the big, fat, Love Project master plan back in January, I didn’t really know what I meant. But then June arrived, and I had this thought: “We’ll leave love lying around for people to find,” and as soon as the thought had formed itself in my mind, I felt my energy shift. It wouldn’t be a month of observing (though it makes me giddy to stumble upon other people’s graffiti love). It would instead be a month of sneaky, beautiful, unadulterated PLAY.

And I’ve been having a blast.

I love dreaming up stuff to do. I love doing it and imagining how the people who find it will react. I love being there to see their reaction whenever possible, all that pent-up, ridiculously childlike anticipation released in one delicious instant, like a sneeze, or an itch being scratched, or a big unseemly guffaw that rocks you to your core.

Here’s what I learned last week. There is something very ZEN about making post-it note art. Maybe it’s the geometry of it, or the colors, or the repetition – pull a sheet off, stick it to the wall (or door, or window, as the case may be), pull the next sheet off, stick it to the wall – watching my love-filled silliness take shape. I did this…

And this…

Which in the morning, as the sun comes up, looks like this…

Also, I forgot how fun it is to play with magnet words. I left a little graffiti love for The Boy.

And, I played with chalk. I was in a sundress when I drew this, and it was so hot outside that the cement burned my knees when I tried to kneel. So I hopped from square to square, squatting down, drawing me in a polka-dot dress with a kite and clouds and a smiley sun… just like I did when I was five.

If this doesn’t make you want to play, nothing will…

(This one is easier to see if you click to make it bigger.)

And here’s the wonderful graffiti love you sent me.

This one wasn’t technically sent to me as part of the Love Project, but it’s so pretty, I decided to include it. It’s nature’s love graffiti.

xox

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To the man on the unicycle, with love

Posted on July 18, 2010 | 23 Comments

Here is the story my husband told me when he came home from running errands Sunday morning.

I saw a man walking his child in a stroller. Only the man wasn’t walking, he was riding a bike. Only it wasn’t a bike, it was a unicycle.

I loved the image. I wished I had seen it. It captured my imagination and my heart. First chance I got, I came in here to write a post. I wanted to share my delight, paint you a picture. I thought it would be easy, but when I started to type, I found I couldn’t quite articulate what it was about the unicycling dad that I loved. Was it the incongruousness of it? The surprise? The not-so-subtle circus allusion, coupled with my recent recurring thoughts that maybe I should run off and join one?

Yes. It was all of that… and this.

When I ask myself, “What kind of dad walks his child sitting atop a unicycle?” every answer I think of delights me. He is unconventional, playful, rooted in his life and given to flights of fancy. He does not think childhood is something you leave behind in order to become an adult, and he doesn’t buy into the conventional wisdom that we should do only one thing at a time.

And I imagine his child – so young she fits in a jog stroller – believing that this is how all fathers go for walks with their children. By the time she realizes how many adults have forgotten how to play, I hope it will be too late for her. She’ll have an oversized smile, an outdoor laugh, an awesome, untamed imagination. She’ll sing, and question, and color off the page. She’ll wear polka dots and stripes at the same time because she loves them both, and she’ll know, instinctively, that life is too precious not to spend it dancing.

I was trying (not very well) to explain it all to a friend. I was trying to tell him all the wonderful things that the unicycle dad made me think of, hope for. “You got all that from a guy on a unicycle pushing a stroller?” he asked, doubtful.

I hesitated. He was right. I was assuming a lot. For just an instant, my mind began to skip down less grand, less colorful paths. And then I remembered who I am.

…Yeah. I got all that from a guy on a unicycle pushing a stroller.

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Posted in beautiful strangers, love, on my mind...

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Balance

Posted on May 3, 2010 | 29 Comments

I love the idea of balance. I love to read articles and posts on the subject. I love all the theories, the practices, the reminders to play more, eat less, set goals, go with the flow, focus, laugh, meditate, dance. Even in yoga, I love the balance poses best of all, the sense of mastery when I finally nail one after weeks of trying.

Whenever I stumble across a writer waxing poetic on the subject of balance, I get a little excited. The child in me claps hopefully, whispers fervently, “I believe.”  I approach each piece wishing for magic. I have this idea that balance will come to me in a blinding bit of logic and touchy-feely, woo-woo wording. I’ll read it and recognize instantly the truth of it. I’ll know just how to proceed – seriously, but with a sense of playfulness; committed to a life path, but maintaining an openness to epiphany and evolution; bursting with love, but with a clear sense of healthy boundaries and the dangers of toxic relationships.

And then there’s this other part of me. The part of me that looks at the paragraph above and laughs at the absurdity of it. The part of me that believes balance is lovely and fleeting, and that maybe it isn’t a way of life at all, but rather the art of teetering magnificently. Maybe it’s about noticing the moments, however impermanent, when you get it right – find flow in your work, or joy in your play. Maybe it’s about falling and then getting back up, making sure you take in the view before you tumble again.

What do you think? Is balance achievable? Can you make it last, or is it something you gain and lose and gain again like so many of life’s lessons?

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Make A Splash

Posted on October 12, 2009 | 20 Comments

It’s Monday again, and I’m dishing up the lovely. Sort of.

This is the only one of my Beckoning The Lovely posts that I pre-planned. Knowing that I would have to make a splash before my 12-week project ended, I had the foresight to do it while the weather outside was still conducive to making splashes. But, of course, the making of this post resulted in a story. Two actually. One is all about how it feels to be the mom of boys who are in the process of taking flight, leaving the nest as children do. It’s a heartbreaking, heartwarming, well-worn tale, but with a few surprises that make it worth telling. And no doubt I will, some other time. Right now, I’m telling the tale of my splash. It goes like this…

On the boat with Chad and our dog, Lexi, I said, “Hey, it’s warm. We’re in bathing suits. There’s all kinds of water here. Let’s make a splash.” Lexi could not have been less interested. I was not holding food. Chad, got out the camera and showed me this cool feature that allows us to take twelve shots in super-quick succession with just one push of the button. “Okay!” I said. “You jump, and I’ll film your splash.”

“Are you sure?” Chad said. “It’s a little tricky to get the timing right. I could film your splash since I’ve done it before.”

Ignoring the logic of his suggestion, and adopting what I imagined to be an expression of total technical competence, I held onto the camera and suggested that he who makes the biggest splash should, in fact, do the jumping.

Here is my first attempt to catch Chad’s splash.

MakeASplash2

Okay, so clearly he was right. There was a trick to the timing. Through laughter, I assured him that I’d do better if he’d just please jump one more time for me. For Zebra Sounds. For all of you. (Picture me, quickly switching from my technically competent expression to my the-show-must-go-on, win-one-for-the-Gipper face.)

Here is my second attempt to catch Chad’s splash.

MakeASplash3

I have to say that I was extremely amused by the fact that I, at first, completely missed the splash, and then completely missed Chad. Through uncontrolled giggles, I assured him I could do this. It was not until he’d jumped maybe six times, that he took the camera and told me to jump.

Here is Chad’s capturing of me… making a splash.

MakeASplash1

Okay, so yes. He managed to get both me AND my splash on the first try. But, look at my form! If cannon ball splashing were an Olympic sport, I’d so be in medal contention!

So, there’s only one thing left on the list of lovely things. Make a movie. Your suggestions are welcome. Encouraged. Desperately requested. =)

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And now for something completely different… After finding this site yesterday, I giggled my way through the next 10 minutes or so. The Mandle Company sells “candles on testosterone.” With scents like dirt, meat and potatoes, tail gate and swimsuit model, what red-blooded American man could resist?

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Who AREN’T You?

Posted on May 5, 2009 | 16 Comments

In “If You Only Had 10 Words,” I invited everybody to describe themselves using 10 words only, no explanatory sentences or qualifying statements, just ten words. No sooner was it posted than one intrepid reader suggested I do the opposite post: 10 words that describe who you are NOT.

So I did it, of course, made my list, and I’m inviting you to do it too. I was surprised how much harder this one was for me. It took me quite a bit longer to think of 10 things I’m not than it did to write my Twitter profile list of 10 things I am.

Here you go, though, my list:

I’m not… organized, lonely, content, stylish, hesitant, daring, religious; I’m not a shopper, a planner, or a fan of dogs that can fit in my purse.

Okay, so share your list please, and also let me know which was harder for you – to think of 10 things you are, or 10 things you’re not. There’s some sort of interesting psychological question at play here, I just don’t know what it is. (Maybe if you’re a pessimist the “NOT” list is easier?)

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If you only had 10 words…

Posted on April 30, 2009 | 16 Comments

Today is Thursday; on Tuesday, Gal Friday listed in her blog ten words people use to describe her. (Yeah, I have a big smile on my face having typed that sentence.) Ever since I read her list, I’ve been thinking what if you HAD to describe yourself in ten words. Not ten sentences, just the words themselves, all by themselves. And not the words someone else would use, but your words, your choice.

In twitter, where you only get 140 characters no matter what you’re trying to accomplish, my bio consists, coincidentally, of ten words. Here’s what it says: Fierce, shy, curious, amused, restless; writer, reader, blogger, cheesecake enthusiast. You could make the argument that “cheesecake enthusiast” is only one designation, even if it is two words, which I concede. So I’ll add to the list redhead since I didn’t include any physical characteristics and that may be my most distinguishing physical trait.

So I am very curious. If you could only use ten words to describe yourself – no sentences, no explanations – what would they be? (C’mon. Play with me. It’ll be fun.)

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And now for something completely different… Because I’m a super NPR dork, last week I attended the live simulcast of This American Life, which I loved. (Along with Augusten Burroughs, I have a big crush on Ira Glass.) It was my-kind-of wonderful, and one of the best parts was when Joss Whedon (creator of Buffy The Vampire Slayer among other things) sang a song about video commentary. You know, the DVD extra where the director has to talk about his vision and justify every decision he made so we can second guess and criticize him. Joss Whedon is hilarious here (and stunningly talented.)

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The Problem with Productivity

Posted on January 9, 2009 | 2 Comments

I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.”  ~ E.B. White

That’s how I started out today.  I awoke wrapped in a dream.  It fell away from me before I could recall it, as dreams so often do, but in its wake I felt a meandering sort of optimism.  The sort of optimism made all the more certain by its vagueness.  (The sort that leads to silliness, dancing, chocolate and all manner of tiny celebration.)

Now, six hours later, despite the fact that I’ve crossed several items off my list of things to do, I can see clearly that if I continue on this path, I will neither improve the world nor enjoy it today.

Time to make a new list.

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