Category: Work
Thursday, May 3, 2012 | Big Thoughts, Death, Dream, Friends, Play, Work |
Have I been writing quite often about my dreams? Maybe it’s because I’m woken on so many mornings by my alarm, pulled out of dreamland, bringing the dreams with me. My kids are not going to remember the 2.0 version of their mother, the one who for thirty-five years or so was the very opposite of early riser. The 2.0 version thought 7 o’clock in the morning was quite viciously early enough, thank you very much. But the 2.0 version has been obsolete for over a year now. She may already have been forgotten. My kids are going to remember version 2.1, up before dawn, coming in from outside in running gear, or freshly showered after spin class. “Where were you this morning?” they ask sometimes, greeting me from their perch at the breakfast bar.
I’ll admit: it wasn’t easy to recalibrate my instincts. But I’ll admit, too: change has brought about all sorts of good things. I’m friendlier, for one thing. Less prone to the growlies. Less resentful, somehow, of the necessary morning duties, more light-hearted regarding the inevitable complaints. (“This toast is too cold!” “This porridge is too hot!”)
This morning, I woke with dreams of my friend’s father still in my mind. We attended the memorial service last night. Let me tell you about one small and extraordinary moment. After the more formal proceedings, we all went to the church basement to eat sweets, visit, and share memories. Among the people who got up to say something was a woman I’d never met. She wasn’t a family member or someone from the neighbourhood. She said she knew my friend’s father from work. She said that she worked as a teller in a bank. My friend’s father had been a customer. She spoke about his friendliness, his stories, his interest in her life, about how, as she came to know him, she would wave him over to her line. She regretted that she hadn’t gotten the chance to say goodbye. She was glad to be able to come to his memorial service. She came to his memorial service. Isn’t that amazing?
This is what it says to me: The potential for meaningful relationships is all around us.
Meaningful relationships don’t have to be conventional. They don’t necessarily require tons of time. They can be as simple as asking your bank teller a question. Being interested. Being curious. Being, most of all, present.
Today was a day rife with potential challenges. I got up early. I did not nap. I was interviewed on live radio right after the kids left for school. And then I headed off to lead writing workshops for teens. Several fairly major things remain to be checked off my to-do list. But it hasn’t been a hard day, not at all. I feel a little foot-weary from standing. I feel a little wired from more than my usual dose of caffeine. But I feel, also, the worth of every interaction, no matter how small. Pay attention. Whatever is happening in your day, look it full in the face. Ask questions. Wonder. Give it your best.
I thought, today, about how new experiences are always around us. How people, if pushed in the friendliest of ways, will embrace something new. How even the most grownup of us crave to feel those moments so common in childhood — the ones that delight and surprise us. How maybe all of us are waiting to be delighted and surprised. And then I thought, I can do that.
It’s as easy — and as crazy hard — as stepping outside of my comfort zone.
Tuesday, Apr 24, 2012 | Chores, The Juliet Stories, Work, Writing |
“My days are full, yet I keep asking: how can I fill them just a little bit more …”
That’s my tagline, which you can read in full to the right of this post. In practice, it means integrating work with life. Work isn’t over here, and life over there; ideas are everywhere, experiences intermingle. It means conversations about deep things grabbed in passing. It means discussing story ideas over supper. It means writing about things that matter to me; or finding ways to make the things I’m writing about matter more.
I think it can be a confusing way to live. It’s next to impossible to keep things in balance. But maybe that’s coming at it from the wrong angle. Maybe balance is not so important; maybe what matters is throwing yourself in to whatever you’re doing, at any given moment, and being there.
It’s not about ticking boxes, or trying to fill the columns evenly.
Into what column would I file running? And how would I categorize photographing the kids on a sunny afternoon? Watching a soccer game? Baking bread? Cleaning the bathroom? Writing a new song? Doing an interview? Leading a workshop?
Today’s experiences include: spin class; preparing supper in the crockpot before breakfast; research; spending the afternoon with my four-year-old; conversations with friends; organizing my kids’ running club; taking my daughter to soccer practice and going for a run; and stopping in at a city meeting about a parking garage planned for our neighbourhood that will block a bike trail.
I’m leaving a few things out. Deliberately. I’d like to blog about my current writing plans and projects, but the truth is that freelancing is a tricky business, not just in its feast or famine nature, but also because not everything comes to pass; or happens when, or as, you think it’s going to happen.
But it’s a solid day, in a week that looks to be packed as full as ever.
:::
A funny thing that happened on Saturday afternoon. I walked uptown to buy food, and stopped in at Words Worth Books. There at the front counter was The Juliet Stories. My first thought was, oh, that’s nice, it’s displayed right at the front. But then I realized it was stacked on a pile of unrelated books — not part of a display, but about to be purchased. It was a “Wow! You’re buying my book!” moment. When the customer discovered I was the author, a pen was found and I signed the book for her, right then and there. She was shopping with friends, and one of them ran to get a copy so I could sign it for her too. It was a little burst of excitement, all around.
And, see — it fits in no particular column. Household chores? Check. Being a writer? Check. Wandering into a new, unplanned, and unusual experience? Check, check, and check.
Thursday, Apr 19, 2012 | Dream, Readings, Running, Work |
light beyond dark
I love seeing all the runners go by my window, more and more as the days get sunnier. There is one young woman who zooms past virtually every day at a kickass pace. (I kind of want to be her.) My office looks onto the street, and our street seems to be a popular route, though I can’t imagine why; traffic is heavy and there’s nowhere to run but the sidewalk. Personally I prefer running away to the park, and dashing around the grass and trails.
I’ve had a few excellent runs this week. Dare I say it? I’ll whisper it. My hip feels back to normal.
Today is another sunny day. And my mind is sunny to match. It’s been an up and down week. I made the mistake of trying to write intensively far too early into the book-visioning process. The funny thing was, I knew the problem before I began, knew that it couldn’t possibly work, and yet … I had to go through the experience to get it. I’m dumb like that. But I’m not sorry. Yesterday, I wrote for eight hours straight. It wasn’t what I’d intended to write. But it was such a happy day. It reminded me why I write. I don’t do this because I have to. I do this because I love to. Writing is my version of singing. It’s my version of dancing. (Though I like singing and dancing too). It is, quite simply, the thing that I do best.
Yup, I’m going to keep doing it.
I’ve got ideas, though. Notions, plans, intentions, dreams. Maybe even a vision.
:::
This month, I’ve slowed down on the Juliet publicity front. Next month it gets all busy again. I’m enjoying the break, though I’m looking forward to crawling out of my cave and interacting with real people again. *Note to self: Remember to re-attach mouth to brain before exiting cave. Also, reacquaint self with basics of small-talk.
Here’s what’s coming up …
:: May 15. 7pm. Indie Night at the Starlight in Waterloo! Heather Birrell, Robert Hough, my brother’s press, plus a bunch of other writers, and me!
:: May 16. Type Books in Toronto! With Heather Birrell! (It’s almost like we’re going on tour together.) I’ve got the time roughed in as 6-9pm, but that sounds long. I’ll get back to you.
:: May 27. 7pm. Wilfrid Laurier University in Waterloo. More info to come on this event, which sounds pretty wild.
:: May 29. 9am. A Different Drummer Bookstore in Burlington. This event is called Books and Brunch, and I’ll be reading with Dennis Lee (!!) *note to self: Do not start reciting Jelly Belly poems. That probably gets really irritating.
My other brand-new-activity-in-May is helping to facilitate several 45-minute writing workshops for teens. Anyone done this before? Tips? Advice? Games? Ice-breakers? Can you tell I’ve never done this before?
Tuesday, Apr 17, 2012 | Music, Word of the Year, Work |
:: Practicing matters. And you can practice anywhere. (She’s practicing, on her lap, the song she’s memorized and is about to perform.)
:: Being willing to try matters. Signing up for an extra recital, in preparation for a more intense competition next week. Wearing a new dress (and running shoes; just in case). Brushing your hair.
:: Being supportive matters. Even when the recital is long. Even when there are no snacks. Even when you have to do everything imaginable to keep quiet. (Toward the end, CJ was making silent faces to entertain himself; by the last performance he was literally whacking himself on the head repeatedly, but kind of quietly. So he made it through.)
:: Performing matters. Getting up in front of an audience. Doing your best. Sharing what you’ve learned. (At this point in any recital in which any of my children have ever played, I start to cry. It’s involuntary, and happy, but I do try to rein myself in, lest I embarrass the performer.)
:::
On this third day of writing week, I am reminded of a few more things that matter, a great deal, to me.
:: Exercise matters. Note to self: no matter how you may want to, do not sit for two days straight without taking time to go outside and move. And breathe.
:: Perspective matters. It’s hard to get perspective inside a room with a closed door. See above, plus add in kids and friends and husband.
:: Kindness and gratitude matter. I can’t write what I want to write by force.
:: Preparation matters. I am at the beginning of a project, not the middle, not the end. Here are some metaphors. You can’t go into labour if you’re not even pregnant. And, the work I need to do now is like composting. Layering information, layering ideas. It looks like waste at this stage. It won’t look so good, either, when it starts to rot. But given time, and turning, it will become rich soil. And then I can plant a new garden.
:::
Read between the lines, and you’ll guess. This is/will be a tough week. But I’d like to note two lovely and unexpected things that have happened so far.
:: On this third day of my writing week, I wrote a new song.
:: Yesterday, the power went out, and I wrote for several hours with pen and paper. I liked it a lot. No distractions.
Friday, Apr 13, 2012 | Blogging, Play, Spirit, Work, Writing, Yoga |
at the farm
When we were driving home from Kingston, post-Easter holidaying at the farm, I was filled with ideas. Future plans. Things I want to do someday. Big things. Let me get them down on the page. (And maybe you’d like to share your big plans in the comments below; I’d love to hear them.)
** Bike trip through Ireland (or another beautiful place). With the whole family, if possible.
** Own a horse. Actually, own two horses, so AppleApple and I can go riding together.
** Write and record an album of songs. (This would require devoting several hours a day to singing and playing.)
** Spend a year training five or six hours a day and run an ultramarathon (like the Canadian Death Race, even though that’s a terrible title for a race).
** Tear down our garage and build a small apartment that could house university-aged children.
** Share a getaway in the country with friends, for retreats, summer holidays, etc.
** Get a dog. (I don’t know why that seems like such a big thing, but it does!)
But upon reflection, this morning, I see that I’ve already accomplished some of the big things I once dreamed of doing, and I want to recognize that too. I wanted to be a mother, and I have children. From a very young age, I intended to be a writer, and I’ve published two books. As a child, I dreamed of being a runner, and now I’ve completed a marathon. As an adult, I was troubled by the fact that I’d never learned how to swim, and I’ve learned. Once upon a time, all of the above were just hopes and imaginings and dreams. I’ve been so fortunate.
Last night I went to a kundalini yoga class. It’s been about a year since I last took kundalini. The experience felt different this time around. In the interim, I’ve pushed my body further than it had ever gone before. But I also learned that my body could be pushed too far, and injured, and that’s changed how I think about effort and pain. I felt so attuned to my own body, last night. It was easy to listen to it, and hear what it was saying — to recognize the difference between the agony of effort and the pain of gone-too-far. I felt more cautious, and yet also more available, more open to the movements, like I could flip a switch and go there. I felt a deep trust — of myself. But here’s the thing. The sense of wonder and discovery is not the same. I’ve learned my body is capable of accomplishing very difficult tasks. I’ve learned that I am strong. When I first started kundalini, now a few years ago, I was utterly amazed, blown away by what my body could do. I had no idea.
Now I know.
That takes away some of the sheen of adventure and discovery. But it also means there is room for a richer, more layered experience. It’s like having the second child. You’re simultaneously more relaxed, more laid-back, and not as blown away by the newness of discovering what it means to be a parent. It’s familiar, it’s known territory.
I think life should have a balance of known and unknown experiences. I’m not sure we get to choose these experiences, at least not all of the time. But I like thinking about what I would choose, if I could. And what I’ve chosen. And how I’m working out that balance in my life right now.
Can I tell you something? I really really really want to write a book in this blog-voice. Not a book based on the blog. But a book that would capture the yearning, reflection, wondering, and experimenting that I feel this blog is really about. Put that on the first list. I have no idea how it would be shaped. But I’m opening my mind to the possibility.
Wednesday, Apr 11, 2012 | Big Thoughts, Book Review, Exercise, The Juliet Stories, Work, Writing |
flying
On this morning’s run, my friend and I were talking about exercising. About how exercise keeps us balanced, mentally. Yet when we most need to move, to sweat, to feel alive in our bodies is often when we are least in the mood for it. Mental strength underpins physical strength; and we don’t always feel strong or motivated or inspired. I still find it unpleasant, every morning, when the alarm goes off early. I feel resistant to leaving my warm bed and the sweet state of sleep. Every single morning. There hasn’t been one morning when I’ve greeted the alarm by leaping up with joy in my heart. But I do it. And within minutes I’ve gathered my clothes, I’m brushing my teeth, and I’m already beyond the yucky feeling of I don’t want to. I’m ready to go.
What’s the lesson here? Establish a habit. Make a routine that runs counter to your immediate instinct. I’ve never once regretted getting up early to exercise. Yet somehow my mind forgets that every morning. But that’s okay. Because my habits and routine remind me. Other tips for exercising regularly, even when you don’t feel like it: Meet someone — makes it harder to change your plan last-minute. Set out your clothes the night before. Get up and go. Don’t think about it, just do it.
Okay, enough with the motivational messaging.
Today is the day I dreamed of yesterday. The kids left for school with minimal complaining. Lots of kisses from the two youngest. Hugs from the two oldest. Quick nap. Cup of coffee. Finishing the last of the interviews for this article. Sitting and dreaming. Quiet house.
Have I told you that next week is a writing week? It will be my first writing week in this new office space. It will be my first attempt to dig into the new book. I may not update here on the blog quite as often; then again, I may need to blog more often, who knows.
Here are four things that are making me happy this morning.
One is the status update of a writer friend I know only on Facebook: “A must read. I simply can’t stop underlining this book!” with a link to The Juliet Stories. (Wish I could peek in her copy to see what she’s been drawn to.)
Two is a book review by my friend Nath, who didn’t tell me she’d decided to blog about The Juliet Stories. I love hearing her thoughts. Maybe we’ll even talk about it someday while we’re driving to spin class together (or biking outside together–soon!).
Three is an invitation from the Eden Mills Writers’ Festival to do a writing workshop with high school students, and to meet students, on two different occasions.
Four is doing interviews for this freelance piece. I think of myself as shy, but I’ve been really enjoying interviewing people. Maybe this relates back to my original thought o’ the day: don’t automatically trust your immediate instinct. Why would I think of myself as shy? I enjoy talking to be people, and do it regularly. In high school, I was genuinely shy. But that’s more than half my life ago. Time to update the mental self-image.
