Make It Work: For You

I just finished reading Chris Brogan's article on Skrillex. "Okay, enough," I hear myself say.

It's about time I learn about this guy, Skrillex that is, since I continue to see his name all over the place. I know he's music related, but I had no idea what the scene is surrounding him.

Pretty cool. Here's a guy working a brilliant business platform, as Brogan points out:

                    "None of them have time to hate.  

                    Here’s why: because the connection will carry you. 

                    The connection to your community is what each of 
                    these people used as a main gauge."

  
"The connection will carry you."

So true, yet so simple. 

I started thinking about the advice I overheard given to someone publishing their first book: "Don't read the reviews!"

I dislike book reviews. As a reader, I dislike book reviews. There's no context given to guide these perceptions, so I'll come to my own conclusion, thanks. I couldn't imagine publishing a book, then having someone tear it to shreds, again, without context. What an unfounded waste of time. Again, no thank you. 

I'd rather bask in the love and support of those who love and relate to what I do, who know and appreciate the painstaking work it takes to write laboriously, to hear myself speak the words "I did it" again and again, and not be exposed to the negative energy.

I think this directly relates to this new-found inner fire and sense of belonging I've acquired synchrosporadically this year. Yes, that would be: two parts synchronicity, one part sporadically.

Yet, my inner critic, Maude, is stepping in. She can't handle all these feelings of belonging and connectedness. 

"People are going to think you're weird."

"People are going to think you're nuts for associating with this stuff." 

And loudest of all:  

"By defining yourself in this way, you are secluding yourself from people who can't relate."

If you know me, you know I'm familiar with being well-rounded, as my mom called it. But as I start to find a place in this world that is a little more defined, I feel a slight threat to my well-roundedness. Yet, I sense this threat stemming solely from fear: from the recognition of difference, change, the unknown. 

So you know what? I'm going to continue stepping forward into this unknown. I'm going to continue defining my community and using that as my main gauge, instead of using everyone I know, because I think that is what will work for me, too.

As for Skrillex, keep doing what your doing, man, and keep feeling the love. 

_ _ _ _ _ 

Are you familiar with Skrillex and his business skillz? Do you agree this post is about the success that can be found in not caring what other people think? Do you struggle with this as much as you did when you were younger (relative to your age now)? Do you have a strong opinion on book reviews? Have you ever feared a sense of belonging or a sense of something new, even though it still felt right? Does your inner critic speak as harshly as mine? Any words of wisdom?

 

          

 

Too Dark, Too Deep... Too Real.

I think best in the shower. I swear at some point in my life I will give in and get a waterproof voice recorder to keep in there with me. So you may have noticed I haven't posted in a while. This seems to be a reoccurring theme, and I hate it. (Maude loves it.)

Do you want to know why I stop blogging time and time again? (...Or do you maybe already know from experience???) It's not that I fear what you think, what you'll say; I encourage and embrace that wholeheartedly.

It's what they think. What they'll say. You know, the people who just don't get why someone would ever be so open, so honest with any of this... stuff. Them. And while I hate to create a divide, I can't deny coming across this continuously in my life. And while it's never so black-and-white, I'll digress from explaining myself more. (Humor me here.) I also gently encourage the thems to explore anyway, for fun, and really go there every now and again for a hot minute to see what treasures they may find.

Truth: The apple seems to have fallen from an orange tree in this case. 

'It's too dark, it's too deep, it's too real.' My super-sensor-social-media-aware-watch-your-back critic tells me.

'Okay.' And simple as that, I shy away.

But every time, I return.

I always kept a journal as a kid and teen... and well, I still have one. But as time went on, I'd berate myself over and over again so much that the writing, the opening up, came to me with less and less ease. Why? 'Because you always say the same damn thing' Maude tells me. 'No one wants to hear about your crap, what's going on "insiiide" you and it's just plain depressing.'

She's so harsh. So glad I can smile at her these most days and turn away. She's not talking to me. She's talking to anyone who will listen. Frankly I've had enough of her.

This is where I belong. I want you to hear my voice. I want you to feel my words resonate, to hear my words and say, 'Yes, I've felt that,' and know it's okay to think and feel the way you do. It's part of the human condition. Why can't we collectively embrace that? It is my hope to give you a safe place to relate. It is my hope to nurture that part within you and me, for I have so longed for that place to belong. I sense maybe some of you can relate.

And now that I've found it (for the millionth time), I'm claiming it. It is mine. I don't want to let it get away again.

Today I claimed, 'I am a writer, and an artist.' This is me.

A New Year (a Little Late)

(Hi there Maude... I see you've been back at your game. Now it's time for me to get back at mine.)

I've had an amazing January thus far, prompted mostly by the simplest action: choosing a word to guide me in 2012. I've never given this concept much thought (maybe it never came up?); I've always stuck with the process of pondering resolutions. Instead, I let the words roil in my head, one by one. I remember grasping for a few, but I knew better to simply trust. Strangely, I don't remember where or when this word came to me, but it hit me strrrrong.

Belong.  

Wait. 

Give it the space on your lips it deserves.

Belong.  

Let it sink slowly from your mind into your heart.

BELONG.

There. Within just a few days of entertaining myself with this new word (which I immediately fell in love with, of course) I sensed something shifting within me. I sat smiling with that strong, solid feeling and let it know I am here listening, waiting. Patiently as ever.

I've always been the type to jump at the chance for a fresh start. I've always felt so grounded in those moments: the start of a new school year as a child, a new season for sports, a new quarter in college, a new class, a new friend, a new year in my life, a new YEAR for the world. I thoroughly embrace the clean slate concept.

I smirked silently to myself during a conversation my mom led at my Grandpa's 94th birthday last Saturday. I knew it was food for thought.

"So does 94 feel any different than 93?" she asked.
"Nope!" he responded cheerfully. Simple as that.

But that's just it. There is nothing tangible changing. It's an invented moment: purely man-made. It's nothing more than a chance to feed on the newness of that moment.

I will take that chance.

BELONG. I (re)realized in the past 6 months... I never felt much like I belonged in my hometown. Last August, I returned here for the first time in 10 years, down to the exact month I'd left. It sucked. My (poor) brother drove me home all the way from Saint Louis. I was a mess the first half hour. I cried again 5 hours later (probably right when I woke up). And I broke down hard the moment we pulled into the driveway wondering, "What the hell have I just done to myself?"
 
But that was 2011 (Phew! See what I mean about the clean slate?), and I've grown accustomed to trusting the process. Now, here I am ready to pack my car and leave for Georgia on Monday. Freedom. A place I belong. And even better? What has ALL OF 2012 been about? Belonging... Even. In. My. Hometown. WOAH.

Not that I'm meant to stay, but that was all a part of it: recognizing I don't belong and being okay with that regardless of how others feel. My friends and family who are here have filled the past few weeks with so much love, and I've let them. I've even asked them to. (Gasp!) I don't even think, okay I'm not going to have enough time to see everyone. The reality: feeling welcome and belonging aren't quite the same thing. So why couldn't I see it? Why couldn't I let myself belong for the past 5+ months?

Because I never have. Some of this goes deep, and it hurts (when I let it). But I see it, and I'm so solidly okay with putting this swiftly behind me. I'm finally learning, in 2012, just 6 months shy of turning 30, how to belong in this world and IT. FEELS. GREAT.

I can tell you in all honesty, in pure happiness and without desire for pity, that for the first time in a long while I'm actually waking up and feeling like these days are mine to have and to hold. I wake up thinking, "I belong to this day."

So simple yet so ridiculously profound.

(There will be more on this topic I guarantee.)


- - - - -

This post is dedicated to the many people souls I've learned belong in my life...
Zak - for gently urging me to keep writing (thank you), and patiently reminding me again and again of the amazing comfort another human being can offer...
Margaret - for sharing the journey of The Artist's Way and so so so much more...
Kara - for leading me to The Artist's Way, and understanding with me sometimes it is the only way, for without it we are lost...

And the soul-full women I continue to connect with online with whom I want can't wait to learn and share so much....
(list and links to come!)

Resistance. Truth: Part 10.

Image by koeb via FlickrHave you ever searched for something far and wide, and then once you found it... you froze... unable to take that final step?  You can call it anxiety, fear, laziness, or resistance.  You can blame it on being weak or a perfectionist.

Whatever it is you want, you are the only one standing in your way, but you can't move: you're paralyzed by this inundating resistance.  You can't figure out how to get out of your thoughts and just PUT. ONE (damn) FOOT. IN FRONT. OF. THE OTHER.  Thinking about the task as a whole seems enormous, too much, or maybe even pointless by now... whatever your mind is telling you.  You've created an unsatisfying end (or thirty) to the story without even engaging beyond page three.  You put the book down and are ready to walk away.  

'I already know what's going to happen,' you tell yourself.  But you don't.  But you sure know what's going to happen if you stick to that thinking: nothing.  Nothing will happen.  Nothing will change.  Nothing will come to you if you don't go get it.  Or even just ask for it... though asking isn't easy when you know someone has the power to say 'no'.

Isn't just letting it go easier to deal with than finding out what you want is no longer for sale, not in your size, or just slightly out of your reach?  'Sorry,' your little heart tells you, and it feels so real, before you've even tried seeking the (actual) truth.

I play this game.  The more important the thing that I want, the more frozen I become.  This started in college as I was nearing the end of my studio classes; a resistance kicked in that I'd never known existed within me before.  I feared everything.  I couldn't put pen to paper, or finger to keyboard.  I slept hoping to wake up without this heaviness existing upon me.   I punished myself and denied myself playtime.  But it never went away.  The heaviness stuck, time kept ticking, and deadlines were looming.  I became a zombie.  I knew the motions, and I tried to just Do the Work to distract myself.  This worked for a little while, until I'd become overwhelmed again and have to try a different approach. Then I'd start this process all over again.

I feared failure more than anything I've feared in my entire life.  I feared going all this way and not getting that degree, or that stupid little B that I needed.  I was so terrified of failing that I almost made sure I failed just so I could know if I would survive it.  What is it that makes us do this to ourselves?

Today I had something important to do.  Actually, this week I had something important to do.  I wanted to get it done Tuesday.  It didn't happen.  Wednesday passed... Thursday... 'okay, okay.'  And then the external resistance kicked in.

'Just how strong are you Sera?  How much can you handle?  How much do you want this?'  THAT... that is when my perseverance kicks in... the inner athlete in me sees a challenge.  'Oh, so you think I'm going to let this beat me down?'  I had to get something printed... and of course I'm out of ink at my house.  The first place I go, the only place I thought I'd have to go, can't print something double sided and make it line up.  'Are you kidding me?'  Maude is now having a field day.  Here we go... nothing can be that easy.  

I start calling print stores, and no one's answering.  By this time, it's after 6pm... and they're probably closed.  But I've got the determination NOW; I need to do this NOW.  I need it printed in color on card-stock.  Still, no one's answering.  The library prints for free on regular paper, and black and white.  'Something is better than nothing, Sera.'  Okay.  To the library I go.  I print.  I print a few extra copies just in case.  I check out the book I reserved from another library.  I walk out to my car and realize... I did it, and yet, nothing is going to change in the next 12 or even 24 hours.  I want color and card-stock.  I don't want to settle.  I want to do this right.

Friday morning.  Body is sore.  Supposed to do this, need to do that.  I can't do one thing because I'll be distracted by the other: I can't go on my scheduled weekly 'artist's date' because I will be beating myself up for not doing what I need to do.  One foot in front of the other.  Get dressed.  Put your contacts in.  Make yourself presentable so you can face the day without confidence as yet another distraction.  Bring all your supplies, your zip-drive and your card to pay.  Just do one step at a time.

Drive to the print store.
And then print.
Pay.
Cut.
(Breathe.)
Paste.  
Drive.
(Breathe some more.)
Deliver.

And now... it's DONE.  And while one step at a time was manageable, I was nearly in tears by then end of this process.  But I did it.  And now there will be no regrets, no lost opportunities, no blame to throw around.  Take THAT, Maude. 

I'm doing the best that I can. (And yes I have to keep telling myself this.)