Seriously! Do you ever feel like you are in a holding pattern and can't seem to break out of it?
I watched a movie recently with Gwyneth Paltrow and Anthony Hopkins, where she is a brilliant women who subverts her intelligence and one day, her mentally-diseased but equally brilliant father asks her how many days she's lost. Lost to her inertia. Wow, that was a powerful thought.
Inertia is my main challenge in life. It is not a lack of creativity, intelligence or even motivation. I have plenty of motivation, but it's not enough to move me forward at times. And I flounder.
Floundering seems be in direct proportion to the number of ideas I have circulating in my brain. The more that are actively being worked over, the more inability I have to act. Is that a lack of focus? I think so, but floundering sounds so much more interesting.
Anyway, I've decided to reactivate my writing on this particular blog, and use it therapeutically. I'll bet you already thought I was. No! I usually try to attack something more universal, more profound than my own private hells (and heavens). However, blogging is such a compelling medium for self-expression. I know so many people are doing it, but I still meet so many I wish would!
So, I'm FOCUSED this weekend on moving forward. I'm off to shoot some hoops! More about that next time.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Getting My Priorities Right
Today, I’m sitting outside Wanda, writing at the little table I’ve set up for that express purpose, but seldom used. Why? Because up until now, I have not had a battery in my laptop and writing on the “veranda” required an arduous unplugging, stringing wires and plugging back in of my essential writing tool.
That’s right. I have muddled along without the one ingredient that makes laptops so great, the ability to use them anywhere. For a year and a half, I have only written where I could plug in Toby (my Toshiba laptop).
Finally, last week, I ordered the battery on Amazon.com. It was $56 including shipping. How many times have I told myself I couldn’t afford it and then gone on to buy $60 shoes or some equally non-writing related article of clothing?
This weekend I plan on heading over to the park outside the library, where I can also pick up their free Wi-Fi, then sitting on my fabulous sling-back chair with the footrest and writing until my fingers fall off or freeze into place.
I cannot believe I put this off for so long and denied myself the ability to be a mobile writer. Perhaps the reason is that the novel I had been working on was so difficult for me that I was just perpetuating ways to avoid writing, whereas now I’m joyfully engaged in writing that seems to appear on my computer screen almost telekinetically. I want as many ways to writing as possible now.
I don’t know for sure. But I do know that I’m way into setting my priorities all of a sudden. Last weekend, I spent organizing Wanda, substituting skinny velvet covered hangers for my old ones (thereby increasing the capacity of my two tiny closets) and tossing out clothes I no longer need. I don’t need to keep a bazillion clothes anymore, because I’ve come up with a new plan for work wear.
I’ve converted my Mon-Thursday work clothes to white blouses with black slacks. If you’re shocked and fairly certain I’ve gone insane, join the crowd. I realized the other day that I’m a little confused by clothes and truly don’t care about them for the most part. What I really love is jewelry, artisan types primarily, but rarely wear because the clothes I’ve chosen don’t “go” with them. Now my clothing will be a backdrop for the jewelry I own and I’ll feel more free to express myself by buying wearable art.
What is it important to own or have? I’m finding the answer to be – “Not much.” There is such freedom in that realization.
That’s right. I have muddled along without the one ingredient that makes laptops so great, the ability to use them anywhere. For a year and a half, I have only written where I could plug in Toby (my Toshiba laptop).
Finally, last week, I ordered the battery on Amazon.com. It was $56 including shipping. How many times have I told myself I couldn’t afford it and then gone on to buy $60 shoes or some equally non-writing related article of clothing?
This weekend I plan on heading over to the park outside the library, where I can also pick up their free Wi-Fi, then sitting on my fabulous sling-back chair with the footrest and writing until my fingers fall off or freeze into place.
I cannot believe I put this off for so long and denied myself the ability to be a mobile writer. Perhaps the reason is that the novel I had been working on was so difficult for me that I was just perpetuating ways to avoid writing, whereas now I’m joyfully engaged in writing that seems to appear on my computer screen almost telekinetically. I want as many ways to writing as possible now.
I don’t know for sure. But I do know that I’m way into setting my priorities all of a sudden. Last weekend, I spent organizing Wanda, substituting skinny velvet covered hangers for my old ones (thereby increasing the capacity of my two tiny closets) and tossing out clothes I no longer need. I don’t need to keep a bazillion clothes anymore, because I’ve come up with a new plan for work wear.
I’ve converted my Mon-Thursday work clothes to white blouses with black slacks. If you’re shocked and fairly certain I’ve gone insane, join the crowd. I realized the other day that I’m a little confused by clothes and truly don’t care about them for the most part. What I really love is jewelry, artisan types primarily, but rarely wear because the clothes I’ve chosen don’t “go” with them. Now my clothing will be a backdrop for the jewelry I own and I’ll feel more free to express myself by buying wearable art.
What is it important to own or have? I’m finding the answer to be – “Not much.” There is such freedom in that realization.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The Long and Rambling Road
Apt words for how I view my life today. I have an urge to write that is just so powerful at this moment. I look around Wanda, my RV and home, seeing the things that need to be done are literally piled up, but I could no more attempt to do those things before writing this morning than bath before I breathe.
I do journal in a book, but lately find that it’s just too slow for the process I’m going through. Even with the computer and typing as fast as I can, my mind is often on to the next thought before I’ve finished scribing the last.
Here, though, I am, attempting to get down some of the thoughts about my life that keep repeating, in ever widening circles with greater and greater understanding each time.
I am a slow study. I’m often frustrated when I have an epiphany that seems so simple, but involves so many areas of my life. How could it be that it took until last month to understand that I don’t want to be a grownup? At least not in the sense that I have always defined grownups mentally, since being raped at the age of eight. From then on the word meant a person that can’t be trusted and makes up stupid rules. So much of my life has been dictated by that definition.
I just reread an article by Malcolm Gladwell, Late Bloomers, in the October 20, 2008 issues of The New Yorker. When I read it the first time, I remember feeling an extreme sense of relief, because it explored the idea that genius or accomplishment doesn’t necessarily occur like a comet in youth.
This time I caught even more of the positive outlook for me and others in my predicament. Writing is something I’ve been working at for years, in various forms, always achieving some measure of success, but never going all the way to an end product I could point to and say, “This is why I’ve been scribbling for 40 years.” Gladwell points out that late bloomers often have an experimental process, trying and abandoning different methods, story lines, styles, until they finally light on the right one.
This is so totally me. I’ve attempted many different lives, let alone all the writing genres in which I’ve dabbled. An understanding that this is normal for the late bloomer gives me a sense that all I’ve experienced was a sort of collecting of experiences, until I could happen upon the right ones for me. They’ve also been fodder for my writing.
In the past few weeks, I stumbled upon the most joyful writing of my life. I’m 120 pages into a new novel written in the first person. This is the first time I’ve written fiction in the first person. From the initial writing session to this moment, the writing of this novel has been gloriously fun for me. That is also a first. Often, I’ve struggled and fought with myself to sit and write, anticipating pain and finally sitting down to experience it.
So, now, after many years of beating the proverbial bushes for my style, I’ve at long last found it. I have no doubts that this novel will be a success and it’s coming along very quickly.
Another joy in reading Gladwell’s article came with the affirmation that my failures in life have not been wasted. Indeed, the opening of a ladies resale shop, Keepers, in the worst of times just after 9/11, was not a misuse of money and life, but instead the vehicle for opening my understanding of women. I came away from that experience, much poorer financially, but much richer emotionally. Instinctually, I knew that my two and half years there were only a failure if money is the sole measure of success. But it was wonderful to find support for that theory in this New Yorker piece.
My mind is somewhat exorcised now, so I’m off to make breakfast and then move on to my novel. The main character’s name is Lydia and for those moments I indulge in my writing I get to “be” her. So, I’m off to become Lydia for several hours. I hope your Labor Day will have included some joyful labor of love as well.
I do journal in a book, but lately find that it’s just too slow for the process I’m going through. Even with the computer and typing as fast as I can, my mind is often on to the next thought before I’ve finished scribing the last.
Here, though, I am, attempting to get down some of the thoughts about my life that keep repeating, in ever widening circles with greater and greater understanding each time.
I am a slow study. I’m often frustrated when I have an epiphany that seems so simple, but involves so many areas of my life. How could it be that it took until last month to understand that I don’t want to be a grownup? At least not in the sense that I have always defined grownups mentally, since being raped at the age of eight. From then on the word meant a person that can’t be trusted and makes up stupid rules. So much of my life has been dictated by that definition.
I just reread an article by Malcolm Gladwell, Late Bloomers, in the October 20, 2008 issues of The New Yorker. When I read it the first time, I remember feeling an extreme sense of relief, because it explored the idea that genius or accomplishment doesn’t necessarily occur like a comet in youth.
This time I caught even more of the positive outlook for me and others in my predicament. Writing is something I’ve been working at for years, in various forms, always achieving some measure of success, but never going all the way to an end product I could point to and say, “This is why I’ve been scribbling for 40 years.” Gladwell points out that late bloomers often have an experimental process, trying and abandoning different methods, story lines, styles, until they finally light on the right one.
This is so totally me. I’ve attempted many different lives, let alone all the writing genres in which I’ve dabbled. An understanding that this is normal for the late bloomer gives me a sense that all I’ve experienced was a sort of collecting of experiences, until I could happen upon the right ones for me. They’ve also been fodder for my writing.
In the past few weeks, I stumbled upon the most joyful writing of my life. I’m 120 pages into a new novel written in the first person. This is the first time I’ve written fiction in the first person. From the initial writing session to this moment, the writing of this novel has been gloriously fun for me. That is also a first. Often, I’ve struggled and fought with myself to sit and write, anticipating pain and finally sitting down to experience it.
So, now, after many years of beating the proverbial bushes for my style, I’ve at long last found it. I have no doubts that this novel will be a success and it’s coming along very quickly.
Another joy in reading Gladwell’s article came with the affirmation that my failures in life have not been wasted. Indeed, the opening of a ladies resale shop, Keepers, in the worst of times just after 9/11, was not a misuse of money and life, but instead the vehicle for opening my understanding of women. I came away from that experience, much poorer financially, but much richer emotionally. Instinctually, I knew that my two and half years there were only a failure if money is the sole measure of success. But it was wonderful to find support for that theory in this New Yorker piece.
My mind is somewhat exorcised now, so I’m off to make breakfast and then move on to my novel. The main character’s name is Lydia and for those moments I indulge in my writing I get to “be” her. So, I’m off to become Lydia for several hours. I hope your Labor Day will have included some joyful labor of love as well.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Reno or Bust!
I drug myself from my writer’s lair this weekend, Jonesing (I think Jonesing is capitalized?) for an adventure.
I was literally headed to Wal-Mart for a new sling-back chair; you know – one of those that you can fold up into a bag and “sling it over your back.” I was hoping to go somewhere, away from people, and just consider the Universe and my place in it.
Instead, I ended up in Reno, surrounded by people and pushing slot machine buttons for thirteen hours - heading back to Sacramento at 5:30 a.m., when I finally noticed that there were very few people in Circus Circus with me – except the occasional waitress wanting to know if I desired a cocktail. I had no idea what time it was and was a tiny bit embarrassed about the passage of time doing something so “irrelevant.”
Yet, on my way back home, a two-hour drive, I realized several wonderful things about my little foray into the less than glamorous “Biggest Little City in the World.”
First, I had no plans and I literally followed my nose. I happened to have some clean long pants in a laundry basket in the back of my car, but I was fully prepared to stroll around in shorts if need be. I didn’t have any ideas about what to do and where to stay if I chose to. I just went. Yay for me!
Secondly, I’ve always thought I suffered from a lack of concentration. Oh, really? Well, how then do you explain a woman who sat for five hours, with hardly a potty break, broke for dinner, and then returned for another seven hours to sit in front of very distracting machines, consistently making huge decisions, like – Do I bet 30 pennies or 60 pennies this time? Obviously, it’s all a matter of priorities and interest level.
Mostly I came home ecstatic to know that I can still pull off an all-nighter. Recently, I’ve come to regard myself as an old lady – 57 years of age – who obviously can’t hang with the youngsters anymore. Oh, yeah? Bring ‘em on baby. You know what they say, “You can’t keep a good woman down!”
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Real Life Lessons for Those Over 50
Recently someone forwarded me a list of life lessons a 90-year-old journalist had published again after many requests for the column. It was a very insightful list of things to remember as you go through life. I’d love to share it here but haven’t been able to find the woman to get permission. In the meantime, I’ve come up with a few of my own insights to share – not nearly as meaningful, but perhaps helpful to the over 50 crowd.
1. If your daughter asks to borrow something you wear regularly, give it to her. It’s obviously not age-appropriate for you. The only exceptions would be earrings.
2. Past the age of fifty, allot 10 percent of your mental energy and time to finding things, remembering why you came into a room and picking up things that seem to fall with no help from you at all. If you plan on it, you won’t be nearly as frustrated by it. Instead, you’ll find yourself chalking it up to your very clever plan.
3. If, by chance, you live or adventure in a motor home, be sure to buy a box of those surgical gloves (you can find them in drugstores) to wear when you dump your sewage tank so you won’t have to spend the next seven days wondering if you have managed to contaminate yourself.
4. When you are lucky enough to spend time with people under the age of 25 leave all your comments about the younger generation behind and just try to enjoy their energy. It’s better than a drink from the fountain of youth.
5. Don’t weigh yourself down with things you’re done with but worry that the kids might want someday when you kick off. Have a family yard sale and drag all that stuff out to the driveway. If they want it, they’ll let you know and take it home right then. Problem solved, space saved.
6. Give things away, in general. There’s always someone you know who collects coffee cups or treasures a perfume you just can’t wear or reads voraciously. Except for truly exceptional books, what are you saving them for? You’ll feel lighter with every item you send back out into the Universe.
7. Cherish every piece of love and affection that comes your way.
8. This is the time in life when you don’t have to examine everything to make sure it fits just right, that it’s acceptable to everyone in the world. If it feels good and it isn’t hurting anyone – go for it.
That’s it, for now, except that I advise buying the surgical gloves anyway. You never know when you’ll need to do something that will leave you feeling a little yucky – heaving the neighbor’s dog’s “gift” back over his fence, for instance. I’m just saying.
1. If your daughter asks to borrow something you wear regularly, give it to her. It’s obviously not age-appropriate for you. The only exceptions would be earrings.
2. Past the age of fifty, allot 10 percent of your mental energy and time to finding things, remembering why you came into a room and picking up things that seem to fall with no help from you at all. If you plan on it, you won’t be nearly as frustrated by it. Instead, you’ll find yourself chalking it up to your very clever plan.
3. If, by chance, you live or adventure in a motor home, be sure to buy a box of those surgical gloves (you can find them in drugstores) to wear when you dump your sewage tank so you won’t have to spend the next seven days wondering if you have managed to contaminate yourself.
4. When you are lucky enough to spend time with people under the age of 25 leave all your comments about the younger generation behind and just try to enjoy their energy. It’s better than a drink from the fountain of youth.
5. Don’t weigh yourself down with things you’re done with but worry that the kids might want someday when you kick off. Have a family yard sale and drag all that stuff out to the driveway. If they want it, they’ll let you know and take it home right then. Problem solved, space saved.
6. Give things away, in general. There’s always someone you know who collects coffee cups or treasures a perfume you just can’t wear or reads voraciously. Except for truly exceptional books, what are you saving them for? You’ll feel lighter with every item you send back out into the Universe.
7. Cherish every piece of love and affection that comes your way.
8. This is the time in life when you don’t have to examine everything to make sure it fits just right, that it’s acceptable to everyone in the world. If it feels good and it isn’t hurting anyone – go for it.
That’s it, for now, except that I advise buying the surgical gloves anyway. You never know when you’ll need to do something that will leave you feeling a little yucky – heaving the neighbor’s dog’s “gift” back over his fence, for instance. I’m just saying.
Monday, June 22, 2009
The Passive-Aggressors and How to Survive Them
You’ve run into this type, even if you haven’t known the correct name for them. Most everyone displays some kind of passive aggression, but these folks make it their “normal” behavior.
How to spot a passive aggressive type, who I’ll call Patty for this exercise:
• Look for a fake smile plastered on Patty’s face while she delivers a criticism disguised as a joke, making it more difficult to challenge her snide remark.
• Patty is almost always the last to voice their objections, after taking the temperatures of others, and usually wait until it’s too late to do anything about them to say anything. You’re already at the Chinese restaurant when she tells the group that she’s “allergic” to Chinese food.
• Patty can usually be found lying in wait until there is a crowd around to attack. There’s safety in numbers. She gets the benefit of making the other guy look like a fool, and usually walks away without the angry response she might get if she and her prey weren’t in the company of others.
• Patty is a pro at finding small ways to sabotage the efforts of others, but making it look like she’s in full support of them. Sly comments breed suspicions in co-workers or family members, undermining the effectiveness of the one in charge of a project or event.
• Basically, Patty is a poop with the skills it takes to hide that fact.
How can you handle the Pattys in your life? While, there are two tactics I’ve found that work very well, if you can manage to contain your irritation long enough.
One is to refuse to engage. When you get the “joke” comment from Patty, walk away or just look back at her as blankly as you possibly can. This will create an uncomfortable tension that is exactly what Patty has been trying to avoid by coming at you in a passive way.
The other is to rise above it all and be very direct. For instance, if suddenly, after all the decisions have been made and the reservations placed for the Chinese restaurant and you’re all sitting down to a meal Patty drops her allergy on the group, take a moment to focus on her, then ask as emotion-free as possible, “Why didn’t you say something before?” Patty will be surprised and probably fumble to find some answers that usually revolve around martyrdom like “I didn’t want to spoil everyone’s fun.” If she pulls that one out, you might want to counter with “Interesting.” That will leave her nonplussed.
Essentially, taking the invisible wind out of Patty’s invisible sails once or twice will alter her behavior because it isn’t getting the desired results.
Good luck. This may be one of the most useful life lessons I ever pass on to you.
How to spot a passive aggressive type, who I’ll call Patty for this exercise:
• Look for a fake smile plastered on Patty’s face while she delivers a criticism disguised as a joke, making it more difficult to challenge her snide remark.
• Patty is almost always the last to voice their objections, after taking the temperatures of others, and usually wait until it’s too late to do anything about them to say anything. You’re already at the Chinese restaurant when she tells the group that she’s “allergic” to Chinese food.
• Patty can usually be found lying in wait until there is a crowd around to attack. There’s safety in numbers. She gets the benefit of making the other guy look like a fool, and usually walks away without the angry response she might get if she and her prey weren’t in the company of others.
• Patty is a pro at finding small ways to sabotage the efforts of others, but making it look like she’s in full support of them. Sly comments breed suspicions in co-workers or family members, undermining the effectiveness of the one in charge of a project or event.
• Basically, Patty is a poop with the skills it takes to hide that fact.
How can you handle the Pattys in your life? While, there are two tactics I’ve found that work very well, if you can manage to contain your irritation long enough.
One is to refuse to engage. When you get the “joke” comment from Patty, walk away or just look back at her as blankly as you possibly can. This will create an uncomfortable tension that is exactly what Patty has been trying to avoid by coming at you in a passive way.
The other is to rise above it all and be very direct. For instance, if suddenly, after all the decisions have been made and the reservations placed for the Chinese restaurant and you’re all sitting down to a meal Patty drops her allergy on the group, take a moment to focus on her, then ask as emotion-free as possible, “Why didn’t you say something before?” Patty will be surprised and probably fumble to find some answers that usually revolve around martyrdom like “I didn’t want to spoil everyone’s fun.” If she pulls that one out, you might want to counter with “Interesting.” That will leave her nonplussed.
Essentially, taking the invisible wind out of Patty’s invisible sails once or twice will alter her behavior because it isn’t getting the desired results.
Good luck. This may be one of the most useful life lessons I ever pass on to you.
I'm Back!
There have been a couple of inquiries lately as to when I planned on getting back to my blogs. Well, today’s the day! Although, I won’t post this until Monday, I’m sitting in Wanda, my RV, enjoying an absolutely beautiful Sunday. It can’t be more than 85 degrees, if that, at least here under the trees.
Having returned from vacation in Arizona three weeks ago, I’ve really appreciated the climate here. It was already 105 degrees in Phoenix on Memorial Day, but my daughter, whom I was visiting, and I did get away to Prescott where the temperatures were 25 degrees cooler, day and night.
I think it was the temperature changes that brought on the Mother-of-All-Colds. Yow! I was really miserable for two weeks solid.
That, however, has no relationship to why I’ve been away and frankly, I’m not really sure what the whole story is, because I truly love writing my blogs. Two things coincided – I finished the novel I’d been working on for three years and I started therapy. Did my brain just decide I was finished on one hand and occupy itself with figuring out the complex workings the Kathy-being on the other? Don’t really know, but I do know just typing this is relieving a certain stress and giving back to me what it always does – a sense of expression.
So, now it’s onward, as they say! Glad to be back and don’t be too surprised if you see a lot more action on my two-blog sites. A good friend suggested I market them a little more and I plan to do just that. So, hang on for what I hope will be a wild and happy ride!
Thanks for hanging in there with me, all you faithful and regular readers, who number over one hundred by the way!
Having returned from vacation in Arizona three weeks ago, I’ve really appreciated the climate here. It was already 105 degrees in Phoenix on Memorial Day, but my daughter, whom I was visiting, and I did get away to Prescott where the temperatures were 25 degrees cooler, day and night.
I think it was the temperature changes that brought on the Mother-of-All-Colds. Yow! I was really miserable for two weeks solid.
That, however, has no relationship to why I’ve been away and frankly, I’m not really sure what the whole story is, because I truly love writing my blogs. Two things coincided – I finished the novel I’d been working on for three years and I started therapy. Did my brain just decide I was finished on one hand and occupy itself with figuring out the complex workings the Kathy-being on the other? Don’t really know, but I do know just typing this is relieving a certain stress and giving back to me what it always does – a sense of expression.
So, now it’s onward, as they say! Glad to be back and don’t be too surprised if you see a lot more action on my two-blog sites. A good friend suggested I market them a little more and I plan to do just that. So, hang on for what I hope will be a wild and happy ride!
Thanks for hanging in there with me, all you faithful and regular readers, who number over one hundred by the way!
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