Over the past week I've been exposed to unfamiliar terminology and concepts that got buried under such a thick web of cobwebs over the years that I'm not sure exactly what they mean anymore. I've attended a bunch of seminars and lectures where my brain felt like a deer caught in headlights. The few readings that I've managed to attend have been filled with tales of sexual exploration, head injuries, Appalachian family dynamics and a dog named "Bob" who suddenly dies at the doorstep of a stranger who just happens to have the same name.
There's been people who actually complain about fluorescent lights and talk openly about their psychic abilities as if they were as common as brown hair and blue eyes. I've survived my first writer's workshop where I didn't have a clue what to expect or how to evaluate the work of my fellow students. I didn't realize that submitting a "shitty first draft" would garner such a response. Hell, I wasn't even aware that there was such a thing as a "shitty first draft." In the business world and in many business educational programs, a first draft is all you need as long as it sounds halfway thought out. In my "writing life" all I've ever come up with are "shitty first drafts."
It seems absurd to me that writers work so hard to get abused by editors or peers and get paid so little. Should it really take 70 hours to work and re-work a poem until it's in a good enough state to be worthy of publication? In the corporate world 70 hours would get you a lot more money in the bank than one poem.
I realize that everyone gets criticized as well as praised in a workshop and my peers and leader have been helpful and nice. When my leader realized just how green I was, she stopped me on the stairs to make sure that I was comfortable. The criticism doesn't bother me because there's plenty of praise too and the "negative" is delivered in a soft, very helpful way. It's the process. Everyone else writes narratives on each other's work, with reading suggestions and well-thought out responses. I write out lists in bullet point style and have no idea what I should and shouldn't find "wrong" or "right" with a piece. And a reading list? Please. I've read more non-fiction, dry business textbooks and Wall Street Journal articles in the last 14 years to be bothered with most fiction.
Besides the lectures given by working writers who show up with holes in their shirts and champion the lesbian themes in Mary Oliver's poetry, there's been the sound of jet airplanes flying over my hotel room every two minutes. This is not a good environment for a sensitive to try to get a good night's sleep or work on the writing that she gets paid for, which thankfully is business and technical. I'm finding solace in it this week because it's something I'm comfortable with and good at. I even got hired on as a contributing writer for another web site. Ironically it's an educational site, which is the field that I just got offered a job in back home.
So far I've been getting on the 405 each day and making the drive to Culver City to sit through a day that's focused on writing and what I need to know to make it through this MFA program. I've met a lot of people and talked on a more personal level with a few. Everyone is really nice here. Everyone understands that writers get nervous, need a bottle of water nearby when speaking in public, tend to be "quiet," and need that one-on-one interaction to begin to open up. There's nothing abnormal about seeking a place under the trees or at a table alone to read a book or work on "a piece."
In spite of this, a big part of me feels out of place. Second and third term students tell me that's normal, no one really talks about it, and it will go away with the second residency. Peers in my workshop tell me to keep writing, the story is really good and that it's a very good start. My first term writing mentor brings a bottle of tequila and limes to her lectures and tells me to "surrender" to my characters. She says it was a courageous act to go from the MBA to the MFA. I tell her that the decision didn't really feel that way. I just made it-without any real expectations. Last night I went out for dinner and drinks with another first term student from Colorado Springs. We ditched the campus event at Shanghai Red's in Marina to discuss our common bond of not being supported by our mothers in our writing endeavors.
Then I drive the 405 back to the hotel and have a dream about my dog and his dog girlfriend shitting all over the floor of a room they've been locked up in. In the dream I let my dog, Scruffy, out of the room. But then Chloe starts speaking to me. In a real voice. Like she's human. She watches me clean up the mess on the floor and asks me if I'm male or female. I tell her I'm female, obviously. She escapes from the room after that and I later see Chloe and Scruffy driving past me on the other side of the road. I'm blaming this dream on the key lime and coconut martinis I drank at dinner.
At this point I'm still the former MBA who compartmentalizes, who is logical, who makes decisions mostly based on the bottom line, who feels completely lost in an unstructured, studio, creative environment full of the "types of people" she hasn't been around since she was 18, and who is wondering if this idea to get an MFA isn't just a "shitty first draft."
But then there's this other voice, this "young dreamer who is being awakened and called back," as my mentor told me. She still wants to clean up the floor. She still feels the desire to pull up the "shitty first draft" on her laptop, slow down, expand, be less concise, and effectively juggle multiple points of view. "If someone brought you here, you should be here," said one of my workshop peers. It's just going to take a few revisions before I feel the same way.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
This Will Change Your Life
It's funny the way we experience life in circles sometimes. One of the more interesting aspects of being sensitive is that you get these feelings that "something" is about to happen before it does. Some of us "receive" thoughts that later manifest or just "know something" that we shouldn't. So it shouldn't surprise me that I heard the words "this will change your life" this evening. But, I found them to be profound and I found myself responding strongly to them because they represented one of those circles we sometimes encounter.
A long time ago I knew that my life was going to change, but I didn't know exactly how yet. It sounds crazy and there are times when I've wondered if I'm not just a little. But sometimes we forget just how powerful the trait of sensitivity can be. It doesn't always have to make sense. In fact, a lot of times it doesn't.
We think we have control; some sort of direction. Three years ago I was sitting on the balcony of a beach condo overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. I had just attempted to take the GMAT to get into an MBA program. I'd gotten a perfect score on the writing portion, a respectable score in the verbal portion and a dismal score on the math. At that point I'd been out of school for eight years so I knew that getting any kind of decent score on a standardized test was a long shot. I thought, so I still suck at thinking quantitatively when under pressure and can write like a pro even though I'm completely out of practice. As I watched the sun set into the blue green waters along the beaches of Treasure Island and felt the nightly breeze brush up against my bare skin, I resolved to go to school anyway. I was going to get that MBA no matter what and achieve my goal of opening up the doors to the rest of the corporate world.
At the time I didn't know that the decision to get that MBA was really an interlude that made the next act possible. Without that program I wouldn't have met the three professors who I worked with individually over the course of eight weeks of extremely challenging course work that involved a mid-term project paper, a final, weekly class attendance, heavy online discussion and a 20 page term project paper. These are the professors who praised my work, selected one of my final projects as an example for future students and who called me "one of the most outstanding students" they'd seen in the program. These are the individuals who wrote my recommendations so that I could pursue another graduate degree that I wasn't really sure about-until tonight.
This evening I finally sent them an update e-mail as I promised I would. I am grateful that I get this chance, even though I know it is going to be far from easy and I have a lot of growth to do. It isn't going to be easy because I'm going to have to change as a person. I'm going to have to keep changing my life. I don't quite fit in just yet, but I'm not a complete stranger either. This wasn't the plan I had in my mind three years ago. But everything we do, every choice that we make ends up changing our lives in some unforeseen way.
No one can guarantee the finale. Few of us stick to the original script. And I think it would be an awfully boring play if we did.
A long time ago I knew that my life was going to change, but I didn't know exactly how yet. It sounds crazy and there are times when I've wondered if I'm not just a little. But sometimes we forget just how powerful the trait of sensitivity can be. It doesn't always have to make sense. In fact, a lot of times it doesn't.
We think we have control; some sort of direction. Three years ago I was sitting on the balcony of a beach condo overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. I had just attempted to take the GMAT to get into an MBA program. I'd gotten a perfect score on the writing portion, a respectable score in the verbal portion and a dismal score on the math. At that point I'd been out of school for eight years so I knew that getting any kind of decent score on a standardized test was a long shot. I thought, so I still suck at thinking quantitatively when under pressure and can write like a pro even though I'm completely out of practice. As I watched the sun set into the blue green waters along the beaches of Treasure Island and felt the nightly breeze brush up against my bare skin, I resolved to go to school anyway. I was going to get that MBA no matter what and achieve my goal of opening up the doors to the rest of the corporate world.
At the time I didn't know that the decision to get that MBA was really an interlude that made the next act possible. Without that program I wouldn't have met the three professors who I worked with individually over the course of eight weeks of extremely challenging course work that involved a mid-term project paper, a final, weekly class attendance, heavy online discussion and a 20 page term project paper. These are the professors who praised my work, selected one of my final projects as an example for future students and who called me "one of the most outstanding students" they'd seen in the program. These are the individuals who wrote my recommendations so that I could pursue another graduate degree that I wasn't really sure about-until tonight.
This evening I finally sent them an update e-mail as I promised I would. I am grateful that I get this chance, even though I know it is going to be far from easy and I have a lot of growth to do. It isn't going to be easy because I'm going to have to change as a person. I'm going to have to keep changing my life. I don't quite fit in just yet, but I'm not a complete stranger either. This wasn't the plan I had in my mind three years ago. But everything we do, every choice that we make ends up changing our lives in some unforeseen way.
No one can guarantee the finale. Few of us stick to the original script. And I think it would be an awfully boring play if we did.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Illusions
A few evenings ago I turned on the television to watch Homeless to Harvard while attempting to make some headway through one of the required readings for my upcoming MFA seminars. It wasn't the first time I'd seen the movie and for some reason I'm more productive when there's something else going on in the background. It's one of those made for TV movies that are based on a "true story." It’s a story about this young girl who overcomes a childhood and background filled with despair, disease, dysfunction and adversity. She decides she's going to make a better life for herself no matter how much she has to push her own spirit.
It got me thinking about what makes some of us persist while the rest choose to accept less than what we are worth. Where does the drive to be something other than what we currently are come from? You look at some people who have made something out of their lives and there's nothing too adverse about their backgrounds to motivate them towards greatness. It may be because they don't tell the truth; the entire picture of their lives. Their former circumstances may become rearranged into a more presentable picture so that there aren't any uncomfortable questions or an end to the game of pretend.
Because I think that adversity is that "thing" that drives us. We can create illusions about ourselves and our environments, but the believability of those illusions rarely lasts for entire lifetimes. I think we spend the majority of our lives always looking for a new one. An illusion is something to hold onto; some idea to believe in. It's something that says there's more to what we see. There are the ideas of hope, faith, and love. Are they too illusions? Or are they something more? Can they last? Are they real? Sometimes it's questionable. You don't have to have had a rough childhood or a series of setbacks to understand those concepts.
Sometimes you wonder what you're doing with your life. It doesn't seem to matter that you're treading water because it keeps coming at you. And there's so much of it so you can't see anything else-or know anything else. And you're alone. There's no one in sight to help or comfort you. There's no answer.
Someone like me spends an entire lifetime trying to become someone they're not, because at least the illusion has tangibility. It has boundaries; an identity. But what happens when those boundaries start to constrict and suffocate what we feel? What happens when that illusion starts to become more of a fishbowl than a spiritual lifeline?
What happens when we're not really sure who we are or if we "fit" into a place that feels safe, neat and comfortable? I suppose some of us are more vulnerable to this "tragic state" than others. Astrology would say that those born under "dual" signs such as Libra and Gemini feel this way because they're really two people. We feel like Buddy the Elf after he goes to New York to meet his biological father because we've got two separate identities.
One of those identities pulls us in one direction while the other is screaming "no, go backwards." It becomes difficult to achieve "something" because you're diverse enough to want a piece of "everything." The illusions that we hold onto sometimes change. Sometimes we put them into boxes inside our hearts and our psyches and we leave them there. Sometimes we revisit them to remind ourselves of something that we used to know and that we need to relearn in order to move forward. Sometimes they become so ingrained in our personalities that we become just like them; a reflection of what we once garnered inspiration from.
Then there are those that invisibly hold our hands the entire time that we exist. They never leave even though at times we may want them to. Full of shadows or light, they shape who we think we can be. But underneath all of that we are all really just nothing. Not anything in the sense of unimportant but in the sense that we are just a series of breaths that doesn't seem to make sense or have any particular meaning.
Definition becomes an escape; a crutch; an excuse to avoid facing that we are indefinable. Our journey is whatever we wish it to be. A series of roads that are parallel and yet each one represents a different color; a different possibility. Each one its own illusion that makes us feel less afraid.
It got me thinking about what makes some of us persist while the rest choose to accept less than what we are worth. Where does the drive to be something other than what we currently are come from? You look at some people who have made something out of their lives and there's nothing too adverse about their backgrounds to motivate them towards greatness. It may be because they don't tell the truth; the entire picture of their lives. Their former circumstances may become rearranged into a more presentable picture so that there aren't any uncomfortable questions or an end to the game of pretend.
Because I think that adversity is that "thing" that drives us. We can create illusions about ourselves and our environments, but the believability of those illusions rarely lasts for entire lifetimes. I think we spend the majority of our lives always looking for a new one. An illusion is something to hold onto; some idea to believe in. It's something that says there's more to what we see. There are the ideas of hope, faith, and love. Are they too illusions? Or are they something more? Can they last? Are they real? Sometimes it's questionable. You don't have to have had a rough childhood or a series of setbacks to understand those concepts.
Sometimes you wonder what you're doing with your life. It doesn't seem to matter that you're treading water because it keeps coming at you. And there's so much of it so you can't see anything else-or know anything else. And you're alone. There's no one in sight to help or comfort you. There's no answer.
Someone like me spends an entire lifetime trying to become someone they're not, because at least the illusion has tangibility. It has boundaries; an identity. But what happens when those boundaries start to constrict and suffocate what we feel? What happens when that illusion starts to become more of a fishbowl than a spiritual lifeline?
What happens when we're not really sure who we are or if we "fit" into a place that feels safe, neat and comfortable? I suppose some of us are more vulnerable to this "tragic state" than others. Astrology would say that those born under "dual" signs such as Libra and Gemini feel this way because they're really two people. We feel like Buddy the Elf after he goes to New York to meet his biological father because we've got two separate identities.
One of those identities pulls us in one direction while the other is screaming "no, go backwards." It becomes difficult to achieve "something" because you're diverse enough to want a piece of "everything." The illusions that we hold onto sometimes change. Sometimes we put them into boxes inside our hearts and our psyches and we leave them there. Sometimes we revisit them to remind ourselves of something that we used to know and that we need to relearn in order to move forward. Sometimes they become so ingrained in our personalities that we become just like them; a reflection of what we once garnered inspiration from.
Then there are those that invisibly hold our hands the entire time that we exist. They never leave even though at times we may want them to. Full of shadows or light, they shape who we think we can be. But underneath all of that we are all really just nothing. Not anything in the sense of unimportant but in the sense that we are just a series of breaths that doesn't seem to make sense or have any particular meaning.
Definition becomes an escape; a crutch; an excuse to avoid facing that we are indefinable. Our journey is whatever we wish it to be. A series of roads that are parallel and yet each one represents a different color; a different possibility. Each one its own illusion that makes us feel less afraid.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Destination Trust
Is it really possible to go through life without worrying? I'm not sure that it is. Worrying is one of the things we do best as humans. Conceptually, I'm aware that it does more harm than good and often has no merit. Still, those of us who had any sense of security ripped out from under us at an early age tend to be experts at it.
Some of us, like me, tend to blow up a little easier than others. Like Friday when I went to deposit my stock options check, I discovered that my wonderful bank had inadvertently changed my debit card's pin number without telling me. They reissued the card this year, but somehow forgot to send the new pin number in the mail. It figures.
I'm just now finding out because I've been using my other debit card that's linked to my writing income for months now. The banker was very helpful, but now I'm pissed that I have to walk across the street and have the branch verify my identity so they can reset it. This of course has to be done before I leave town in June. Oh, and since they've decided to tighten their security measures, I'll have to inform them I'm traveling so they don't shut off my card like they did last time. There's nothing like trying to confirm a bunch of transactions at Ralph's, gas stations, and the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf to a personal banker at 3 in the morning.
I was also pissed because I couldn't deposit my check using the ATM machine. I was forced to go back home, dig up a checking deposit slip and go through the "old fashioned" drive-thru. You know the lanes where you get to speak to an actual person through an intercom, are forced to be courteous, and watch your money shoot up through a tube. Seriously, I don't think I've used those since the 90s.
Now of course this reaction was a little unwarranted. But that's what we perfectionists do when a little bump ruins our picturesque plan. It's also what we do when we feel like we've lost control.
Control is what we think we lose when we have to place trust in something that isn't predictable or tangible. Kind of what I've done to myself at the moment. Some days it drives me nuts that I'm working at home and that it's not a "real job." I've always earned money through a "job." It doesn't matter that I'm still earning fairly decent money and am able to have a little more control over how much I make. Somehow it doesn't matter that I can start as early or as late as I want to or watch General Hospital at 2pm if I so choose.
Sure my higher self has tried to help me realize that I need to change my way of thinking. There's nothing like a series of dreams about airplanes that won't take off or are delayed by storms to make you wonder. And when that dream has you checking into a hotel room to talk to one of your best friends from high school you haven't seen in years about following through on this writing thing, it's an even stronger message.
Lately, I've been told that I'm going to have to trust this decision and life direction. Trust - what is that really? Some sort of blind feeling that seems to say "I don't have any proof, but I'm confident it's ok?" Or is it more of an acceptance that feels truth without the need to verify the facts?
Another pesky part of being me is that once I reach a destination, I can't wait to get somewhere else. It's all about "now what?" and "what can I achieve next?" instead of savoring what's happening before whatever that "next thing" is arrives.
A very wise author whose book I've recently re-read for a pick-me-up says that sometimes you have to change the outside before the inside catches up. Small actions that direct you towards the change you want are what get you there; a simple enough concept.
So if I'm going to change my thinking and finally learn to trust something, I have to start doing the opposite of what I'm tempted to do. Committing actions that turn your back on the destination that you wish for doesn't change the fact that you'll still want it. I've always believed that most people are inherently good, no matter what their prior or current circumstances might be. But believing that about myself, that's been a life long struggle.
This destination - it isn't about trusting something I can't see or verify. It's about trusting me.
Some of us, like me, tend to blow up a little easier than others. Like Friday when I went to deposit my stock options check, I discovered that my wonderful bank had inadvertently changed my debit card's pin number without telling me. They reissued the card this year, but somehow forgot to send the new pin number in the mail. It figures.
I'm just now finding out because I've been using my other debit card that's linked to my writing income for months now. The banker was very helpful, but now I'm pissed that I have to walk across the street and have the branch verify my identity so they can reset it. This of course has to be done before I leave town in June. Oh, and since they've decided to tighten their security measures, I'll have to inform them I'm traveling so they don't shut off my card like they did last time. There's nothing like trying to confirm a bunch of transactions at Ralph's, gas stations, and the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf to a personal banker at 3 in the morning.
I was also pissed because I couldn't deposit my check using the ATM machine. I was forced to go back home, dig up a checking deposit slip and go through the "old fashioned" drive-thru. You know the lanes where you get to speak to an actual person through an intercom, are forced to be courteous, and watch your money shoot up through a tube. Seriously, I don't think I've used those since the 90s.
Now of course this reaction was a little unwarranted. But that's what we perfectionists do when a little bump ruins our picturesque plan. It's also what we do when we feel like we've lost control.
Control is what we think we lose when we have to place trust in something that isn't predictable or tangible. Kind of what I've done to myself at the moment. Some days it drives me nuts that I'm working at home and that it's not a "real job." I've always earned money through a "job." It doesn't matter that I'm still earning fairly decent money and am able to have a little more control over how much I make. Somehow it doesn't matter that I can start as early or as late as I want to or watch General Hospital at 2pm if I so choose.
Sure my higher self has tried to help me realize that I need to change my way of thinking. There's nothing like a series of dreams about airplanes that won't take off or are delayed by storms to make you wonder. And when that dream has you checking into a hotel room to talk to one of your best friends from high school you haven't seen in years about following through on this writing thing, it's an even stronger message.
Lately, I've been told that I'm going to have to trust this decision and life direction. Trust - what is that really? Some sort of blind feeling that seems to say "I don't have any proof, but I'm confident it's ok?" Or is it more of an acceptance that feels truth without the need to verify the facts?
Another pesky part of being me is that once I reach a destination, I can't wait to get somewhere else. It's all about "now what?" and "what can I achieve next?" instead of savoring what's happening before whatever that "next thing" is arrives.
A very wise author whose book I've recently re-read for a pick-me-up says that sometimes you have to change the outside before the inside catches up. Small actions that direct you towards the change you want are what get you there; a simple enough concept.
So if I'm going to change my thinking and finally learn to trust something, I have to start doing the opposite of what I'm tempted to do. Committing actions that turn your back on the destination that you wish for doesn't change the fact that you'll still want it. I've always believed that most people are inherently good, no matter what their prior or current circumstances might be. But believing that about myself, that's been a life long struggle.
This destination - it isn't about trusting something I can't see or verify. It's about trusting me.
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