Three More Good Things (one word: Squam)

Despite a tiring, rainy day outside, I'm feeling happy and shiny in my soul because I'm off to New York this weekend for a long awaited visit with a friend. The weather forecast is calling for coldish weather, but the lows don't go below 20 degrees (Fahrenheit). After enduring single digit temperatures for a few weeks this winter, anything above the teens feels manageable. So while I'm gallivanting around Brooklyn and soaking up the goodness, here's your second tidbit of soul sunshine. (Don't miss the first part. It's a good one.)

I actually have three things to tell you about today.

First is for those of you who attended the Squam Art Workshops (SAW) last year.


Liz Kalloch (also known around blogland as Athena Dreams) has pulled together a wonderful opportunity for 2008 SAW attendees: the First Annual Squam Art Show: A Vision of Squam. This show is open to anyone who attended or taught at the 2008 Squam Art Workshops. "This show is meant to be the story of how your work may have shifted and grown, how your lives as artists were perhaps changed, how the experiences you had at Squam in 2008 may have allowed you to see your work in a different way, how each of your artistic communities have grown and expanded and finally, what kind of work came out of your experience," says Liz.

The submissions deadline is April 30, 2009. (That may sound like you have plenty of time, but don't be fooled. Mistress Spring has a habit of flitting in and out of the month of March, tempting us all to distractions like flowers, flirty dresses, and cupcakes. The end of April will be here before you know it. So get to it!)

The jurors for the show are Susan Schwake, Liz Kalloch, and Mary Jo Monusky. The show will be held at artstream Gallery in Rochester, NH and opens on September 1, 2009. All of the details about submissions and the show are available here.

Secondly, this is for those of you who attended SAW last year but may feel a little shy about entering work in a juried show. (Like me!) Liz has also put out a call for a Collective Media Submission. All 2008 SAW attendees are encouraged to submit something to this category. Here's how Liz describes it: "These pieces will all be hung in the gallery like prayer flags, like meditations on a moment, like beautiful memories, or maybe even like cocooning butterflies." Doesn't that just sound too lovely not to be a part of it? Submissions for the Collective Media Submission must arrive at artstream Gallery by August 1, 2009. Again, you can find out more here.

And thirdly, this is for all of you who didn't attend the Squam Art Workshops last year. What about this year? Want to try your hand at knitting, painting, or songwriting? How about a class on storyweaving, mixed media art, poetry, outdoor sculpture, jewelry making, or photography? There are even classes on tapping into your creativity and slots for open studio time.


There are two sessions of SAW this year. The Spring Workshops will focus on fiber arts (with a few other types of classes thrown in for good measure) and will be held June 3-7, 2009. The Fall Workshops are more multi-faceted and will run September 16-20, 2009. You really need to check out the website to get all the details. Because the goodness runneth over!

I had mixed feelings after attending SAW last year, all based on my own conflicted feelings and issues. The event itself is fabulous. Over the past five months, the experience has had time to mature and mellow, and to develop a nice patina. I've realized that despite my feelings of isolation while I was there, I was actually developing new friendships that continue to grow and deepen. So I'm looking forward to going back this September. In addition to spending time with these friends, I'm looking forward to playing with paints and words, all mixed up into one messy, thrilling experience.

If you're intrigued, I hope you'll dig a little deeper and consider attending. Registration has been open for a little while now, and spaces are limited. So if you feel this opportunity tugging at your soul, don't dismiss it.

Okay, that's the Goodness Report for now. I'll be back next week with tales from the big city.

You're invited: Be Present Retreats

February is nearly over. Spring has been edging its way into this last week of the month, but I don't expect her to last. She's such a tease; here one day and then gone the next. And March is a mean bastard, full of bluster and the cold shoulder. So I'm not putting away my winter coat for flirty dresses just yet.

If you need something cheery and exciting to keep you going until Mistress Spring returns, I have some goodies to tell you about. Read on for the first one and then come back tomorrow for another.


My friend Liz Elayne Lamoreux has cooked up a new adventure called The Be Present Retreats. "These were born from the belief that creating is a meditation of the soul," Liz explains. "Each retreat will be an invitation to pause in your life and gather in a supportive environment filled with like-minded individuals in a creative, playful, and meditative atmosphere."

The first retreat is June 10-14, 2009, and registration has already begun. The June retreat is called Self-Portrait Excavation and is a retreat centered around the journey that is the self-portrait. Gathering at The Lodge at Gearhart's Little Beach on the Oregon coast (about 10 minutes from Cannon Beach), attendees will immerse themselves in paint and mixed media, words, photography, and the beauty of our surroundings under the guidance of Judy Wise, Jen Goff, and Liz.

It sounds like an absolutely magical and lovely time, doesn't it? I wish I could go, but alas, I cannot. But you? Perhaps you can go! (Do you hear it? That whisper telling you that this is just what you need? Just what you long for? Listen to that whisper. It is wisdom and kindness.) At the very least, find out a more and ponder it.

(see you tomorrow for another soulful treat!)

Pitfalls of the Blogging Writer

image by the trial

There are many things I love about being a writer. There are many things I love about blogging. But sometimes, being a writer who blogs can be a real drag. Actually, being a writer has a number of pitfalls. I live in constant fear that I'll mispronounce the word "nuclear." I worry about undetected grammatical errors infiltrating my daily speech. Writing a quick email is never quick or easy. Words are my trade. Unfortunately, those very same words are what we English speakers use to communicate. So every written or verbal interaction is like a landmine for writers. One false move or double negative and BOOM! Not good.

I love using this space to tell stories. I also love that it's a place to make you laugh, share truth, and generally form and kindle connections. That's what I love about writing in general. So when I'm quiet for a few days (or nearly two weeks), it's not because I'm not thinking of you, dear reader. It's because I feel constrained by my role as Writer, capital W. I want to stop by and say, Hey friends, how's it goin'? It's cold and snowy here. Oh, and I've been working on a cool project. What's new with you?

But that's not very story-ish, now is it? (Plus, dropping the letter "g" from the ends of words could get me in trouble with the word police.) Even writing this post feels like a cop-out. In the back of my mind, I'm always aware that what I write on this blog can be used to judge me. Of course, that's true for all of us who blog or share our words in a public way: There's always the risk of judgement when we put ourselves out there. But that's a whole different emotional animal that deserves its own series of posts.

I mean that I know that potential clients and editors can come here and judge the quality of my writing or the content of my posts. I have no statistical data on this, but I believe that what I write here may be a factor in whether or not someone hires me. So I feel an unspoken pressure to make sure it's always good.

But that kind of pressure in this kind of format leads to no writing. While I often use this medium to share stories, a blog is something different than a book of essays. Sometimes I wonder if I should make it more like an online publication and less like my little corner of the virtual town square. But I've developed real friendships and made good professional contacts as a result of blogging. Erasing the community quotient from this space doesn't feel right.

I'd like to know how those of you who make your living creatively feel about this topic. Do you feel like everything you write must be a reinforcement of your personal "brand"? (I know, I know: many of you hate that term.) Does this issue of quality control impact other artists as much as it does writers? What about those of you in other fields? How do you balance staying in touch and building community with the need to provide quality content on a regular basis? And while you're at it in the comments, How you doin'?

The Portfolio Project

image by Badgurl

Remember how I asked you to come back for this post if you like it quick and dirty? (Yes, I know: It's a stupid, base joke, but I can't help myself.) Well here you go, folks. You're just in time to play a great new game to help you overcome whatever has been blocking you from fulfilling your creative dreams.

The Jens Extradordinaire (that would be Lee and Lemen) got together and cooked up an idea they're calling the Portfolio Project. Here's how Lee describes it:

We came up with a 12-week action burst that would focus on daily production goals that will dramatically expand our body of work. This is a big game. What would your landscape look like, if 12 weeks from now you had 50 new paintings, or 100? If you had 50 new poems and short stories? What if they weren’t all amazing–don’t you think the odds are that plenty of them would be? That it would feel good to fish for the best from a vast ocean instead of a puddle of projects

The basic idea is to do your creating quick and dirty, not pretty and perfect. There is no room for perfection in this game. Just create, create, create, and see what comes out of it.

Ms. Lee is producing a series of podcasts exploring the ups and downs of the Portfolio Project. They're chockablock with little nuggets of wisdom and encouragement, so I highly suggest that you check them out and consider subscribing to find out when she posts a new one.

I'm starting to play the Portfolio Project today and invite you to join me and the others. The beauty of this game is that you can start when you want and make up your own rules. I've decided to set aside one hour a day to work on whatever kind of writing I want, free from the worries and constraints of getting it "right" or being "good enough."

Call it a game, a self-help project, an experiment. Just don't call it a New Year's resolution; those things are loaded with fear and failure rates. Be kind to yourself and start writing, painting, drawing, playing music, taking photos, making collages, whatever creative pursuit suits your fancy. And let us know how it's going.

Featured in BlogHer "Soulcare" Post

image by Badgurl

I'm so pleased that one of my blog posts is featured in "Soulcare: What Gift Will You Give Yourself?", which is Rachelle Mee-Chapman's most recent BlogHer column. Rachelle is known online as Magpie Girl and is always full of intriguing, uplifting, and challenging thoughts on living the spiritual life. She has a knack for creating community wherever she goes, be it in person or online. In this week's BlogHer post, she brings together several women's perspectives on taking care of ourselves during the holidays. Please hop on over there for some great ideas and musings on how to be good to your soul this month. Then leave your own suggestion in the comments if you'd like.

Self Reflection

image by James Jordan

The man behind me in line at the post office smells bad, like a combination of body odor, motor oil, and stale cigarettes. I try to stand as far away from him as possible without creeping out the guy in front of me. But suddenly the man behind me starts to talk, apparently to me. He makes some comments on having to wait in line and trying to have fun regardless. I smile vaguely and mumble an agreement. But of course he isn't done.

He launches into a seemingly random and convoluted story about how he had to lecture someone -- his son, I think -- on acting like a man. Being a man isn't something that happens right away, not even after you've been in the military, he tells me. But his daughter, she had a four-point-grade-average. And why? Because she worked hard. You gotta study and work hard. And learn to be a man. I'm not gonna do it for you.

The line moves forward, and I'm next. Someone else is talking loudly about a local ski resort, and suddenly the man behind me switches subjects and launches into a treatise on the place. They have free skiing this time of year, he says, to get you hooked so you'll come back and pay later. He says he worked there for five years. I ask him if he skis. He says no, and seems to see the humor in this. I can't help thinking he's making the whole thing up. But when I look online later, I find out that the resort is indeed running a free ski ticket special.

The conversation is confusing and makes me feel embarrassed, but now I'm too invested in it to just turn around and ignore the man. I tell myself that he's probably lonely, possibly homeless, and perhaps delusional. Maybe he doesn't even have a son or daughter. Or maybe he does, and they don't want anything to do with him.

I don't want to talk to him, but I tell myself that he's a person who deserves respect. And what harm can a bit of conversation do? But even as I'm trying to be magnanimous, I notice myself glancing at the faces of the people in line behind him, wondering if they think I'm there with him, or if they pity me for being the sucker who got roped into talking to him. Or even worse, maybe they're thinking how kind I am for taking pity on him. I catch myself caring what these strangers think of me, and I feel ashamed.

The mail clerk calls "Next!" and I walk away from the one-sided conversation, pausing just long enough to let the man finish his sentence. I get swept up in the details of my mail and lose all track of the man. I have no idea what kind of transaction he does or whether he leaves the post office before me.

I leave, thinking about how I tried my best to see this outcast as a real person. But I also know that I did it halfheartedly, with reservation, and a secret sense of accomplishment at being the sort of person who will pay attention to a dirty, rambling man. And then I feel shame at such watery pride. My attempt to be openhearted is a thin gruel that amounts to nothing more than self-righteousness. It's sour and unfulfilling.

I feel even worse a few minutes later during a phone call with a friend when I complain about the wait in the post office and the chatty, smelly man behind me. I treated him like half a man to his face and then scorned him in private.

What kind of a person does that make me?

It makes me the kind of person I dislike. I once lambasted a friend of my parents' who complained about the homeless people panhandling outside of his office. If they really wanted a job, he claimed, they could get one. I was baffled and hurt when my dad agreed with his friend. I reminded him of how many jobs he'd personally lost due to lay-offs and plant closings. There but for the grace of God, I said. I lectured my elders on how good people end up down-and-out due to circumstances that that they couldn't foresee and that we don't know.

These were the same lectures I gave myself ten years ago as a volunteer coordinator for a mobile soup kitchen. The program fed dozens of people each night on the streets of east London. I was fresh out of college, alone in a new country, and floundering in a role that lacked adequate management and supervision. I spent most of my time hiding out in the office, ordering supplies, creating newsletters, and making the monthly volunteer schedules. I went out on the van just a few times during my year with the program. I was afraid to interact with the homeless men and women, afraid to be on the streets at night, afraid that I would look afraid. I let that fear guide me, even though the interactions themselves were never very frightening. But I made myself the wizard behind the curtain, keeping both the volunteers and the clients at arm's length.

I'm uncomfortable around the homeless, the elderly, the disabled, the infirm, the incoherent. This makes me uncomfortable with myself. To make up for it, I acknowledge misfits in the post office. I always try to look homeless people in the eye. When they ask for money, I either give a little something or say, "Sorry, not today." I try to give them a small piece of the respect I've lost for myself, and in that way, try to regain it.

Tell Your Story: An Interview with Jen Lee

The magical Jen Lee, photo by Jen Lemen

Some things I love:

• new friends with old souls;


• beautiful creative projects;


• learning how to do something new; and


• getting to the heart of a story.

This audio interview that I did with the radiant Jen Lee envelops all four of these things. First of all, my lovely new friend Jen has a wise soul that practically glows with creativity. To create this interview, she taught me a thing or two about using Garage Band on my new Mac. But the best part of this little interview is getting to hear a piece of Jen's story, including how and why she created Don't Write: A Reluctant Journal and Solstice: Stories of Light in the Dark, two projects that are still available for purchase on her website. (Each are part of limited edition runs, so don't wait to order them!)

Treat yourself to a warm beverage, close your eyes, and allow yourself to soak in Jen's voice as she talks about having the courage to write and making our voices heard.

(Once you click through to the audio link, just click "Play" to listen to the interview online.)

Hello, my name is:

Fingerprints by kevindooley

Awhile back, I wrote about my failed attempt to rename myself and the lingering desire to try it again. To sum up the original story: During my freshman year of college, I tried to add a vowel to the end of my name in hopes that it would make me stand out from the sea of Jenn's in my generation. Due to a friend's honest question and my timidity, it didn't stick.

But over the past year, I've realized that the name Jenna calls to me, beyond my desire to be different . There's something about it that appeals to me. I wondered if it could feel like home, but I wasn't sure I was ready to rename myself. In June, I wrote, "Names get into our being. They're part of the story we tell to ourselves and about ourselves. I don't know if I can cast aside Jenn or Jennifer for Jenna."

Three months after writing that, I decided to take Jenna out for a test run. I've always been fascinated with the idea of going to a place where nobody knows me and creating a new persona for myself; not because I'm ashamed of who I am in my "real" life, but because so often I get bogged down in who I'm expected to be. Or more accurately, who I'm accustomed to being, which, despite my best attempts to live authentically, does not always line up with who I really am or want to be.

So in September, I traveled to the woods of New Hampshire to meet more than 100 strangers at the Squam Art Workshops. I "knew" a few of the women there through blogging, but had met none of them in person and had never spoken with any of them on the phone. The extent of our interaction had been reading and commenting on each others' blogs and sharing an occasional email. It was as good a place as any for my name experiment.

Two months earlier, I trotted out my new name a few times while at BlogHer in San Francisco, but I had a hard time being consistent with it because I'd already met several of the people there. I wasn't completely ready to commit to that extra letter.

But for five days in New England, I said, "Hi, my name is Jenna." For five days, I heard people say, "Hey, Jenna...." and then realized they were talking to me. If I'm being completely honest, I felt like I was lying about my identity. It was just one tiny extra syllable on top of "Jenn," but I may as well have introduced myself as Mathilda. My own name sounded foreign to me.

And yet, I stuck with it during the whole retreat. I resisted the urge to abandon my experiment and fall back on the familiar. So now a whole group of people know me as Jenna. I told one of my closest and oldest friends about this experiment, and she admitted that she could never think of me as a Jenna. I understand that. The verdict is still out on whether or not I can.

Then today I read something that Karen Maezen Miller wrote on her blog:

Our mind is so swiftly conditioned to an acquired understanding of names and labels. Like all forms of delusion, we attach and identify erroneously with names when they are just tools. Identifying yourself with a certain name is like mistaking the fork for the food.

It reminds me of Popeye's famously jaunty song: I yam what I yam, and that's all that I yam.

I am Jennifer/Jennie/Jenn/Jenna Ann McGuiggan. Call me what you will, I'm still me. And that's all that I yam.

Only Connect: The truth I SAW

me, as seen by Melissa Piccola

I want to tell you the magical tale of 120 women (and a few men) in the woods of New Hampshire, gathered together for art making and soul digging. I want to write about the lovefest that was Squam Art Workshops: how we were inspired, our artful souls lifted high above the trees that grow so straight and true around Squam Lake; how deep, soulful bonds were formed and first time meetings felt more like reunions of old friends; how we surprised ourselves with our own abilities, our similarities to one another, and our capacity to connect.

I've read so many blog posts from SAW attendees that touch on or delve into these very things. I want to tell you that magical tale, but it's not my story. I wish it was. But mine is messier, less cheery. I'm still deciding if it's less magical.

I wish I'd spent five days feeling elated and connected and rooted and artful. Instead, I spent a lot of that time feeling disconnected, tentative, needy, and bothersome.

Epiphany in the Woods

One afternoon at SAW, I found myself walking to the dining hall alone, feeling sorry for myself. I tried to take in the beauty all around me, but felt completely separate from it. I silently berated myself for being a killjoy, for being awkward, for being alone at that very moment when surely everyone else was deep in the throes of exhilarating conversation with their new found soul sisters. Then I had a small epiphany: "Oh. This always happens to me when I go away."

I remembered how a similar feeling of disconnect and discontent followed me around like a palpable presence in San Francisco at BlogHer this year; how even after the conference, while sightseeing with friends, I couldn't shake this specter of sadness. The same thing happened the year before at BlogHer in Chicago, even though I'd fulfilled my wishlist of "BlogHer deliverables."

I realize now that this feeling is achingly familiar. I felt it as a teenager in a very small high school; as a college student with a diverse group of friends; as a young volunteer in a foreign country; in various jobs that quietly killed my spirit. All my life, I've battled the feeling that I'm on the fringe of things.

Why do I always feel like an outsider, even when I'm somewhere I want to be, doing something I want to do, with people I want to be with? Feeling this way unnerves me, confuses me, saddens me. It flies in the face of all that I hold most dear.

At My Core

During Andrea Scher's Superhero Life session at SAW, we did a life coaching exercise to uncover our core values: the ideals that act as our guiding principles; our highest hopes and expectations; the traits we most cherish and respect. I was sweetly surprised when the exercise led me straight to the things I already knew I loved.

My first core value is Joy & Wonder. For me, this means living with my eyes and heart wide open, loading up my life with things big and small that bring me joy and fill me with wonder. It means seeing magic and beauty all around me, much like Anne of Green Gables and so many of the bloggers I love.

I wrote about Joy & Wonder in my 2007 Retrospective:

For the first time that I can remember, I had days when I was just happy to be alive. Each day suddenly held beauty and joy and meaning. I was shocked to realize that I was excited about the coming day; that I looked forward to the possibility of getting up tomorrow and seeing what would happen. This new sense of euphoria left me breathless. For so long I've wanted to live a life of joy and wonder. And for so long, it escaped me. I finally realized that I had to create such a life if it would not just come to me. Of course, the more I sought to create it, the more it came to me.

My second core value is Connection. The fullness of this word for me is complex, but part of it means that I need to connect with people to be happy. I savor time alone, but I need big doses of deep conversation and riotous laughter with kindred spirits. I need this connection in order to feel whole. Without enough of it, it's hard to live with Joy & Wonder.

Come Away With Me

I don't know why I have this fringe problem. How much of it is insecurity clouding my judgement of how people view me? How much of it are those nasty internal gremlins preventing me from connecting? During The Superhero Life, Andrea said that the gremlins' job is to keep us safe. When they whisper that we aren't capable of something, we're tempted not to try. And if we don't try, the gremlins protect us from the pain of potential failure. Perhaps mine tell me that I can't connect in order to protect my heart from the pitfalls that come with living so wide open.

I want to tell you the magical tale of 120 women in the woods of New Hampshire, but for now I can only tell you the story of me. My art retreat experience did not go how I'd hoped. But it's opened my eyes to some important truths about how I experience the world, including how I experience myself and other people.

I came away from SAW feeling sad and a little bruised. But I think this has little to do with the event and the people, and much to do with me.

Observations upon returning from Squam

morning fog on Squam Lake, Holderness, New Hampshire

• My fight or flight instinct is stronger than I realized. I tend to want to jump ship as soon as I get frustrated. (Thankfully, my painting teacher talked me through it and kept me from ripping up my painting and fleeing for the safety of my cabin.)
• I loved being around so many artsy women and gleaning fashion tips from them. I want to start layering shirts, wearing dresses over jeans, piling on the necklaces, wearing my hair in pigtails (which I did), and being just as fun and funky as I've always secretly wanted to be been, without worrying that anyone will think I look "weird."
• Almost everyone deals with personal doubts and gremlins.
• New Hampshire is beautiful.
• I should take bug spray with me next time.
• Several of my blog crushes know who I am!
• I underestimate myself.
  
• I now know what matte medium is and how to use it.
• Getting a cold while in the middle of the woods is not pleasant, but neither will it kill you.
  
• Having your ears completely clog on the plane is very, very, very, very frightening, especially if you're claustrophobic.
  
• Being stuck in a tiny water closet in a cabin is also very frightening.
  
• Listening to your body is some of the best medicine.
• I'm ready for Autumn.

There's so much more I could -- and should -- say about my experience at SAW, but I'm still processing. Getting sick while I was there is making it harder than usual to jump back into life after being away. But I wanted to peek in and say hello. I'm back. I'm here. The rest of me is just trying to catch up.

Where (and how) are you?

It's All Happening: Mondo Beyondo Update

heart in Union Square, San Francisco

At the beginning of the year, I wrote a retrospective on 2007 and a Mondo Beyondo Prospective for 2008. (Find out more about the Mondo Beyondo concept.) I named 2008 my year of Opportunity, Abundance, Prosperity, Plenty, and Creation, and made a list of intentions for how I want to live and what I want to do. I also named and claimed some Mondo Beyondo dreams for this year and beyond. I'm amazed and joyful and humbled and pleased to see several of them coming to fruition.

I wanted: "to start creating mixed media art and find my own path as a visual artist." Next week, I'll go to my very first art retreat, where I'll take a painting and mixed media class. I'm also taking a travel journaling class and attending the Superhero Life workshop. I'm particularly excited about this last one, as it's being taught by the Super Duper Andrea Scher of Superhero Designs. I met Andrea very briefly at the BlogHer Swap Meet this summer and can't wait to learn from her. Plus? Her lovely assistant will be Jen Gray, who I "know" through blogging and a few emails. (It's hard to know if the word "know" is really the right verb in these cases, isn't it?)

And as if that weren't enough, Jonatha Brooke will be providing camp fire music, Boho Girl Denise will be running around taking artist portraits, and Kelly Rae Roberts, one of my favorite artists, will be hosting a discussion about living the creative life.

But wait! There's more! I was serendipitously connected with Kelly Barton of Camp Indigo Soul to share a rental car between the airport and the camp. After connecting with her, I realized that she is the woman behind one of my favorite Etsy shops. And speaking of serendipity, I'll also get to meet the inspiring Liz Elayne Lamoreux of Be Present, Be Here and The Little Room Etsy shop. (Remind me to tell you the funny little story about how we "met" online.) I'm also looking forward to meeting Kirsten Michelle from In the Land of the Lovelies.

I have a feeling that once I get back from New Hampshire, I'll be gushing about all of these women and more, as well as the whole Squam experience. (fair warning!)

I wanted: "to uncover and be at peace with my decision about having a child." Although I haven't reached a decision or a place of total peace yet, I have had a major epiphany in this realm, which has helped me to understand the swirl of emotions surrounding this issue for me. I'm not ready to tell that part of my story yet, but the plot is definitely taking a few twists and turns.

I wanted: "to spend a week at a writers' retreat somewhere beautiful, comfortable, and nurturing." Earlier this year I reconnected with a writer friend from college (hi, Jamye!). Several months ago, she asked if I would be interested in joining her and some other women on a writing retreat. The details are still unfolding, but it looks like this little dream will come true the first week of November.

At least one other Mondo Beyondo dream is in the works and looks like it will become a reality. And that's just what I can see. What if all the others are unfurling in their own way and time? I don't know where my dream cottage is yet, but I'm sure it's out there.

There is more of the year behind us than in front of us, but there's always time for dreaming and scheming. What are you up to lately?

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

image by Haynes Photography

Dear Potential New Neighbors:

Thanks for talking to me before the real estate agent showed up. I was just out there in my backyard, battling with The Garden That Threatens To Engulf My House when you waved hello from the neighboring deck. That was nice of you.

And then you came around to the side yard and clearly wanted to converse. I have to say, I felt a bit giddy at that moment: drunk on the possibility of talking to real, live people. You see, I work from home. And today, my longest conversation with anyone outside of my cats was 30 seconds on the phone with the husband, about something that I can't even recall.

So you -- and your desire to interact -- caught me a little bit off-guard. I'm usually pretty good socially. I can hold a conversation about almost anything with almost anyone. But I was rusty tonight. So if I came off weird, please forgive me. I don't know why I felt like I had to explain the random swing set at the bottom of my yard. Well, actually, your two adorable kids are probably the reason. I didn't want anyone getting their hopes up about playing with the neighbor kids. No kids here. Just two lazy adults and one idle swing set left from the last family. And me babbling about it.

Other than that bit of rambling from me, I guess the conversation went okay. Right? Neighbor?

Yours truly,
Jennifer

Life After Death

image by nicolas valentin

Thank you to everyone who left a comment on the last post, emailed me, or sent their support via Twitter. I appreciate each of you so much. The flurry of activity that surrounds death came to a head with yesterday's funeral. Now comes perhaps the hardest part of all: the denouement back into everyday life.

I've been removed from my normal routine for more than two weeks now, what with traveling across the country, spending days at the hospital, and grieving with family members. I'm weary in body and spirit. Trying to jump back into the fray of normal life has been hard. I long to get back to my easygoing routine that barely qualifies for the word "schedule." I want to cook dinner, weed the garden, sit on the patio, do some freelance work, laugh with my husband.

But this morning, I didn't even want to get out of bed. Still, I did. And I managed to take Gatwick the Catwick for one of his periodic haircuts, return library books (on time!), pick up a few groceries and household goods, and do two loads of laundry. This means that we now have some vegetables in the refrigerator and I won't have to shower with a paper towel, like I did this morning. I also wrote 19 words of an assignment and stared at my notes for said assignment.

I'm glad I spelled it all out like that, because I was feeling a little loser-ish and a lot overwhelmed. But now I see that I did accomplish something. Several things, in fact. One thing at a time. Living is always that way: one thing at a time.

Comfort in the Unknown

image by doeth

"I'm excited and nervous about it," I said.

"Why?" James asked.

"Because it's outside of my normal milieu. Outside of my comfort zone."

There's a pause. I know what my husband is about to say next, and I know he's right.

"Yeah, but doing things outside of your comfort zone is part of who you are."

"That doesn't mean they're not still uncomfortable."

It's true. I do push myself to do things outside of my comfort zone, not because I'm an adrenaline junkie with something to prove, but because so often what I want is beyond the boundaries of what I know. I do these things because I know I'd regret not doing them:

• Auditioning for college and community theatre
• Living in a foreign country for a year
• Going out to eat or to a movie by myself
• Signing up for a five-day art seminar retreat
• Putting my private thoughts out there for the world to read
• Planting a garden
• Going to conferences filled with other bloggers and writers
  
• Signing up for a summer watercolor class
• Learning to drive a stick shift
• Mastering the insidious worlds of mortgage lending and credit scores
• Taking a roadtrip by myself
• Calling the mayor's office to ask for an interview
• Going door-to-door to campaign for my candidate of choice
• Starting a business
• Trying scallops
• Admitting that I've struggled with depression
  
• Getting my first pet
• Volunteering to be a Big Sister
• Wearing pantyhose and high heels

I read this list and none of it seems very radical. Nothing on the list is shocking or so far outside of the norm that it would make news. But how many of our daily fears and triumphs do?

I picture my comfort and discomfort zones as slightly intersecting circles with just the tiniest bit overlapping in a shade of grey. But beyond that are more circles. Your circles. And they all intersect. What I fear, you may not think about twice. What I do with ease may send you spiraling into a panic.

What if we could let go of the fear, acknowledge the discomfort and just move on, knowing that our circles' boundaries will change; believing that others will be there to welcome us into their zones?

What if "Feel the fear and do it anyway" was more than a saying that has become trite from extended usage in certain circles? What if it's the only way to live?

I'd love to hear what your comfort zone includes and excludes. I imagine building this giant network of comfort and support, so that no matter what we have to do, we know someone who can tell us all about it and welcome us into our own unknown.

Bloggers for Jeni Auction

The Bloggers for Jeni auction is now up and running. (I've posted here and here about Jeni Ballantyne, an Australian blogger and mother of two who has been diagnosed with stage four colon cancer.)

Click here to go straight to the ebay store, which contains more than 130 items including:

• photography
• one of kind services and gifts
• gift certificates to online boutiques
• Hand Crafted items
• Yummy Bath Products
• Toys and clothing for baby and child
• Jewelry
• much more!

The auction will be up and running until Thursday, May 1, 2008.

There are a few ways you can continue to help in the efforts to raise funds for Jeni's care.

1. Stop by the auction and bid on items. (If you are new to ebay, you can easily set up a free account to begin bidding.)

2. Let your friends know about the auction.

3. Post on your blogs about the auction and include the link to the ebay store.

Practical Kindness (update on Jen Ballantyne)

Last month I wrote about Jen Ballantyne, a woman who is living bravely and honestly with stage-four colon cancer and the knowledge that she may have fewer than three years to live. One visit to her blog and you realize that Jen, also known as Jenni, tells it like it is: the fear, the pain, the confusion, and yes, even the joy.

In my last post about Jenni, I wrote about the "doctrine of substituted love" and encouraged us to bear her burdens of fear and pain. I truly believe that such metaphysical efforts translate into physical results. But it's good to go beyond the mystical and into the tangible realm. Several wonderful women, Bella at Beyond the Map,Meg Casey, and Jen Lemen are orgainizing a practical way that you can help Jenni. They are working to set up an eBay auction. A PayPal donations system is already in place. (See the donate button in the sidebar.) The money will be used to help pay for Jenni's treatment and those forms of care and pain management that will not be covered by insurance, such as acupuncture, massage, and naturopathy. The funds will also help to create a trust for her six-year-old son. These are things Jenni desperately needs, but can't afford. This is help she won't ever ask for, because she is too worried about everyone else. Get the full details on how you can help here. Donated items for the auction are being accepted until April 18, 2008. I'll post an update when the auction goes live.

A friend recently asked me how blogging ties in with my business as a freelance writer and editor. I said that this blog is a place for me to write regularly and showcase my writing style to my potential clients. Some posts, like this one, are more personal than others. Then again, even my essay-like posts usually revolve around a personal topic.

In many ways, I'm not very good at separating out the personal and the professional. My husband, who has mastered his emotions in a way that I sometimes envy and sometimes pity, reminds me that certain things are "just business." And while I try to take this to heart, that's just the problem -- I take things to heart.

I work and play with words because I love them. I tell stories -- yours, mine, and others -- because I love them -- the stories and the people in them. When I edit a manuscript for a client, I want that book to be its absolute best. I take it personally. When I write an article for a publication, I want readers to care about the issues. When I post on this blog, I want to connect with you.

Where does the personal end and the professional begin? For me, the line blurs a little more each day.

So if you're new to this blog and wonder why I'm posting about the story of a woman with colon cancer in Australia, it's because I truly believe that we're all interconnected. Our stories matter, because ultimately, they're all part of one larger story. And I always invite you to tell yours in the comments.

photo credit: icy beauty by josef.stuefer

Unmasking Ourselves

photo by exfordy

This is determination: Leaving at 4:00am to drive five and a half hours for a weekend with someone you've only met once. That's what my new friend Lisa, the head Nerdy Renegade herself, did last Friday. After planning to arrive on Saturday, we changed plans so Lisa could make it from Dayton to Greensburg without getting stuck in the blizzard that buried Ohio.

Lisa and I found each other last year in the world wide web of blogging. And then last July, on the first day of BlogHer in Chicago, as I was walking from the breakfast buffet to my seat, I heard a woman say, "Nerdy Renegade News." I whipped around, precariously balancing my coffee and mini-muffins, and said: "Nerdy Renegade News?! Are you Lisa from Ohio? I'm Jennifer from The Word Cellar!"

A few moments of squealing and hello-ing ensued, only to be cut short by the start of the morning seminar. A bit later, at a breakout session, I walked into the room and spied Lisa next to an empty seat. I sat down and assured her that I wasn't stalking her. We hit it off immediately, giggling like tweens over our blog crush across the room.

We continued to stay in touch by reading and commenting on each other's blogs and emailing every so often. Finally, Lisa suggested that we arrange a road trip to take our friendship to the next level: from virtual to physical. (And yes, I realize that sounds weird. And no, it wasn't like that. Even though while we were making dinner together one night, I exclaimed: "This must be what it's like to have a wife!" Ask any woman and she'll tell you that she really could use a wife.)

The most surprising part of the weekend was how easy it all was. I've been seeking new opportunities for friendship and community for at least a year, but always had this idea in the back of my head that I'm too old to be making new friends. I felt like it would just be too much work to meet new people and start from scratch.

This weekend I remembered that making new friends doesn't feel like work. Meeting business contacts, networking, and schmoozing -- those can feel like work. Falling into a friendship with a kindred spirit feels more like play.

Another interesting thing about making new friends as an adult is that it frees you from expectations. My friends from my younger years know me like we're family. Those long-term relationships can have a wonderful sense of intimacy and comfort. But there's also an unconscious, self-imposed rule to conform to a specific role. I don't mean that they foist their expectations upon me. I mean that it's easy for me to fall into the familiar patterns of our friendship; to stick to the script; to be the same old person.

But as we grow and evolve, we don't always know how to share these changes with the people who've known us to be this or that. If we're not careful, we stop being ourselves -- our current and up-to-date selves -- around the people who've known us the longest.

And there's a bonus with new friends: They're blank slates! They haven't already heard my favorite stories a dozen times. Which means they don't secretly roll their eyes when I pull out my stock anecdotes. And trust me, I have a lot of them. (Stick around here long enough and you can roll your eyes at me, too!)

I'm grateful for the new friends I'm making through blogging, as well as the ones who've known me for years. Each shows me a different side of myself, and I'm learning to be authentic with both sets.

(And now all you former Girl Scouts, please sing along with me:
Make new friends, but keep the old;
One is silver and the other's gold.
I don't agree with assigning precious metal status to friendships, but gosh it's a catchy tune. Now, let's do it in a round!)

For Love of Words

photo by starmist1

If you know me at all, you know that I love words. And if you're reading this, I suspect you love them at least a little bit, too. So in honor of words -- their beauty, their power -- I share these gems with you today.

I found this little meme floating around some blogs I love. It goes like this: Pick up the nearest book and open it to page 123. Find the fifth sentence. Post the next three sentences. (And tag five people.)

I cheated a little. I chose a book that was behind me on the bookshelf, not one of the books sitting on the desk next to me. But then I was a good girl and followed the directions. Here's what I read:

When night falls, there will be armloads of branches and flowers on the street, all neatly tied with rope, ready for the trash pickup in the morning. The women who are called to the lilacs will arrive to see that the hedges have been chopped to the ground, their glorious flowers nothing but garbage strewn along the gutter and the street. That is the moment when they'll throw their arms around one another and praise simple things and, at long last, consider themselves to be free.

(from Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman)


In the spirit of community, I tag Allyson, Melissa, Lisa, Pink Shoes, Kelly, and anyone else who wants to participate.

also...

because i like lowercase and needed a poetic shot in the arm, i bring you mr. e.e. cummings:

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Jen Ballantyne and the Doctrine of Substituted Love

photo by Crystl

Two nights ago I dreamt that I got a letter from my doctor informing me that I had leukemia and that my prognosis was poor. I tried to wrap my dream-mind around the fact that I was probably going to die soon. I woke with a heavy sadness that stayed with me all day.

Underneath that sadness is another burden I've been meaning to tell you about. Jen Ballantyne, an amazing woman in Australia, is battling bowel cancer. She has been told that she has 12-18 months to live. At age 39 and with two sons, she's not ready to go. Jen has been breathtakingly honest about this journey on her blog, The Comfy Place. Thanks to the efforts of several other amazing bloggers (including Meg, Jen, and Jena), a host of lovely women have gathered around Jen to lift her up. I invite you to do the same.

I've never met Jen in person, have only recently started to read her blog, but think about her multiple times during the day. I fervently want to see her made whole, with no more pain and plenty of good years ahead of her. I wish this so strongly that I feel like she's one of my kin. That naturally leads to thoughts of how we're all connected, how our lives and stories are intertwined beyond what we can see or explain. I don't mean to sound presumptuous, but I feel like I'm carrying around part of Jen's fear, sadness, and pain. In fact, it feels like dozens of people from around the world are carrying her burden.

In his novel Descent into Hell, Charles Williams puts forth his doctrine of substituted love. He claims that we can carry another person's burden, not in a metaphorical sense, but in a real way. He says that I can choose to take on someone else's fear, carrying it as my own, and freeing the other person from it. The other person no longer has to be afraid, because I'm doing that for her. I experience the fear firsthand, but can handle it just fine because it is not my own.

Here's an excerpt from the book. In it, Pauline is terrified of meeting her doppelganger -- her exact double -- face to face. The poet Peter Stanhope tells her that he'll carry her fear for her, so that she doesn't have to be afraid. (I've included a long excerpt. Williams' writing style is rather dense and takes some getting used to. But I hope you'll stick with it to get the full impression of what he's talking about.)

"It's me," she repeated." It comes from a long way off, and it comes up towards me, and I'm terrified--terrified--one day it'll come on and meet me. It hasn't so far; it's turned away or disappeared. But it won't always; it'll come right up to me--and then I shall go mad or die."

"Why?" he asked quickly, and she answered at once, "Because I'm afraid. Dreadfully afraid."

"But," he said, "that I don't quite understand. You have friends; haven't you asked one of them to carry your fear?"

"Carry my fear!" she said, sitting rigid in her chair, so that her arms, which had lain so lightly, pressed now into the basket-work and her long firm hands gripped it as if they strangled her own heart. "How can anyone else carry my fear? Can anyone else see it and have to meet it?"

Still, in that public place, leaning back easily as if they talked of casual things, he said, "You're mixing up two things. Think a moment, and you'll see. The meeting it -- that's one thing, and we can leave it till you're rid of the other. It's the fear we're talking about. Has no one ever relieved you of that? Haven't you ever asked them to?"

She said "You haven't understood, of course.... I was a fool.... Let's forget it."
.....

"Will you tell me whether you've any notion of what I'm talking about? And if not, will you let me do it for you?"

She attended reluctantly, as if to attend were an unhappy duty she owed him, as she had owed others to others and tried to fulfill them. She said politely, "Do it for me?"

"It can be done, you know," he went on. "It's surprisingly simple. And if there's no one else you care to ask, why not use me? I'm here at your disposal, and we could so easily settle it that way. Then you needn't fear it, at least, and then again for the meeting--that might be a very different business if you weren't distressed."

"But how can I not be afraid?" she asked. "It's hellish nonsense to talk like that. I suppose that's rude, but--"

"It's no more nonsense than your own story," he said. "That isn't; very well, this isn't. We all know what fear and trouble are. Very well--when you leave here you'll think of yourself that I've taken this particular trouble over instead of you. You'd do as much for me if I needed it, or for any one. And I will give myself to it. I'll think of what comes to you, and imagine it, and know it, and be afraid of it. And then, you see, you won't."

She looked at him as if she were beginning to understand that at any rate he thought he was talking about a reality, and as she did so something of her feeling for him returned. It was, after all, Peter Stanhope who was talking to her like this. Peter Stanhope was a great poet. Were great poets liars? No. But they might be mistaken. Yes; so might she. She said, very doubtfully: "But I don't understand. It isn't your--you haven't seen it. How can you--"

....

"Listen--when you go from here, when you're alone, when you think you'll be afraid, let me put myself in your place, and be afraid instead of you." He sat up and leaned towards her.

"It's so easy," he went on, "easy for both of us. It needs only the act. For what can be simpler than for you to think to yourself that since I am there to be troubled instead of you, therefore you needn't be troubled? And what can be easier than for me to carry a little while a burden that isn't mine?"

She said, still perplexed at a strange language: "But how can I cease to be troubled? will it leave off coming because I pretend it wants you? Is it your resemblance that hurries up the street?"

"It is not," he said, "and you shall not pretend at all. The thing itself you may one day meet--never mind that now, but you'll be free from all distress because that you can pass on to me. Haven't you heard it said that we ought to bear one another's burdens?"

"But that means--" she began, and stopped.

"I know," Stanhope said. "It means listening sympathetically, and thinking unselfishly, and being anxious about, and so on. Well, I don't say a word against all that; no doubt it helps. But I think when Christ or St. Paul, or whoever said bear, or whatever he Aramaically said instead of bear, he meant something much more like carrying a parcel instead of someone else. To bear a burden is precisely to carry it instead of. If you're still carrying yours, I'm not carrying it for you--however sympathetic I may be. And anyhow there's no need to introduce Christ, unless you wish. It's a fact of experience. If you give a weight to me, you can't be carrying it yourself; all I'm asking you to do is to notice that blazing truth. It doesn't sound very
difficult."

"And if I could," she said. "If I could do--whatever it is you mean, would I? Would I push my burden on to anybody else?"

"Not if you insist on making a universe for yourself," he answered. "If you want to disobey and refuse the laws that are common to us all, if you want to live in pride and division and anger, you can. But if you will be part of the best of us, and live and laugh and be ashamed with us, then you must be content to be helped. You must give your burden up to someone else, and you must carry someone else's burden. I haven't made the universe and it isn't my fault. But I'm sure that this is a law of the universe, and not to give up your parcel is as much to rebel as not to carry another's. You'll find it quite easy if you let yourself do it."

"And what of my self-respect?" she said.

He laughed at her with a tender mockery. "O, if we are of that kind!" he exclaimed. "If you want to respect yourself, if to respect yourself you must go clean against the nature of things, if you must refuse the Omnipotence in order to respect yourself, though why you should want so extremely to respect yourself is more than I can guess, why, go on and respect. Must I apologize for suggesting anything else?"

He mocked her and was silent; for a while she stared back, still irresolute. He held her; presently he held her at command. A long silence had gone by before he spoke again.

"When you are alone," he said, "remember that I am afraid instead of you, and that I have taken over every kind of worry. Think merely that; say to yourself--'he is being worried,' and go on. Remember it is mine. If you do not see it, well; if you do, you will not be afraid. And since you are not afraid. . . ."

She stood up. "I can't imagine not being afraid," she said.

"But you will not be," he answered, also rising, certainty in his voice, "because you will leave all that to me. Will you please me by remembering that absolutely?"

"I am to remember," she said, and almost broke into a little trembling laugh, "that you are being worried and terrified instead of me?"

"That I have taken it all over," he said, "so there is nothing left for you."

"And if I see it after all?" she asked.

"But not 'after all'," he said. "The fact remains--but see how different a fact, if it can't be dreaded! As of course it can't--by you. Go now, if you choose, and keep it in your mind till--shall I see you to-morrow? Or ring me up to-night, say about nine, and tell me you are being obedient to the whole fixed nature of things."

"I'll ring up," she said. "But I ... it sounds so silly."

"It is silly sooth," he answered, "and dallies with the innocence of love. Real sooth, real innocence, real love. Go with God."

They shook hands, and slowly, looking back once, just before she reached the lane, she went out of his sight.

(pp. 96-100. Williams, Charles. Descent into Hell. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1993.)

My friend Allyson and I tried this out once when she had a piano recital. I told her that I'd take her stage fright so she could play unhindered. As soon as she sat down at the piano my stomach turned upside down and inside out with nervousness. Sitting there in the audience, I had a full-blown case of stage fright. And yet, it wasn't overwhelming or unmanageable. I felt the fear completely, and yet it didn't belong to me. That small but significant difference made it fine, made it bearable.

Allyson played the Chopin Nocturne beautifully. Afterward, she said that her fear melted away as soon as she sat down.

An informal piano recital is one thing. Dealing with a life-threatening illness is another. But I believe we can do more than simply sympathize with Jen Ballantyne's burden. I believe we can can collectively carry it for her, taking away the fear so that she can continue on this journey unafraid. It sounds grandiose, crazy, and a little bit naive. But I believe it's already started to happen as strangers take Jen into their hearts and support her in unfathomable ways.

E is for ME! (Excellent Blog Award)

Just in time for Valentine's Day, I'm tickled pink to be the recipient of my very first blog award. A hearty shout out and humble thanks to Lulu at Redefining Sanity for bestowing an E for Excellent upon this blog.

Lulu found my blog because she generously participated in the latest Bloggy Giveaways carnival and I'm a whore hound for quality free stuff and entered her contest for a Juice Beauty Organics To-Go kit. I didn't win, but I'm okay with that. Not because I'm a good loser, but because I won something else from another blog (Hot Diggity!). And more importantly: because Lulu made my day with this award!

All sarcasm and joshing aside, I'm honored to be one of the 10 blogs that Lulu awarded. Go check them all out here and here. And while you're there take a stroll around Redefining Sanity. Lulu has some good stories about her amazingly wise kids and why she needs to return to the Year of Glamour.

Thank you for sharing the good juju, Lulu!