Fill in the Blanks to Get Unstuck

… while they were totally safe, they were also totally stuck

The _______ (person or persons) chose not to go to the _________ (place) with their _________(another person or persons). It was a scary venture. [Cold. Steep. Deep.] (Pick one or add one of your own).

Instead, the ________ (person) stayed in a ______ (different place) where it was __________. [Warm. Quiet. Shallow.] (Pick one or add one of your own).

After a while, the ______ (person) looked out the window [portal, bars, door, etc.] of the ________ (place) to see what s/he was missing.

It had been a mistake not to go, of course, because . . .

while they were totally safe, they were also totally stuck.

Which would you rather be?

Focus & “Workus Interruptus”

I am listening to a Headspace meditation series on Focus this week. My middle name is “distractible.” You too?! We all struggle to stay on task with everyone and their brother or sister clamoring for our attention.

Wait… what’s that over there? A shiny object!
The to-do list calls. “Yoo-hoo. You forgot something.”
I add Something. Capital ‘S’? Little ‘s’? Either way, is it necessary? Did I stop what I was doing? YAASSS! :angry:

Workus interruptus. It’s a new Latin term recently resurrected from the La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles, California. Really. Just last week. You didn’t hear about it? WI as they called it to save time was brand new back in the day just after the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, and the Latin speakers then (yes, there were a few) coined the term. A careless tourist to Los Angeles dropped the WI write-up while visiting the area that is now the La Brea Tar Pits, where the dinosaur bones were buried in the muck.

No one wanted to go in to fish out the term at the time, and WI only reinserted itself into the lexicon as the tectonic plates shifted ever so slightly, bubbling new tar and the term workus interruptus to the surface. Last week. It was in the news.

What a find!

[P.S. Spell Check is having a FIT right now. “Fix it. Fix it!” she says underlining furiously. I think she’s having a fainting ‘spell.’]

The Headspace app does not mention this phenomenon directly. But it does mention, of course, the importance of being aware of distractions and interruptions. One of the tricks Andy Puddicombe (the founder of Headspace) mentions is clearing your workspace. Think “Outer Order, Inner Calm” as in Gretchen Rubin’s book.

So, I will busy myself cleaning my desk drawers. Talk about workus interruptus!?!? :slight_smile:

Spell check has given up. :woman_shrugging:

The Truth?

“If you don’t have the experience of something you’re not at liberty to write about it.”

Do you agree?

Can I tell if I’m telling my truth? Am I writing for an audience that I’m trying to impress? Am I trying to impress you right now?

Here’s what I want you to know: I struggle to tell the truth because sometimes I don’t know what it is until I write about it. Which… is probably why I write.

What’s the truth?

In recalling from altMBA that we are all irrational, I can assure myself that even if I think I’m telling the truth, I’m probably not. Or maybe, it’s my truth today, but it will be different tomorrow. Is that possible? Does truth change day-to-day?

Do you want the truth? “You can’t handle the truth,” Jack Nicholson’s character says in the movie A Few Good Men. The truth can remind me of something. It may remind me of hurt. I don’t know. Or happiness? OR wishes, that are not the truth… just wishful thinking.

Here’s the thing: Stuff “above the fold” or at the top of the iceberg above the water may or may not be the truth. The stuff below is the ‘truth-y’ stuff. And I should go there more often to write my truth, even if it hurts, and maybe even if I have not experienced it directly. Is that cheating?

Retaliation

“Is it growing, Mom?” Tony said, concern in his voice.

* (The name of this painting is “California Street.” See below for artist and detailed publishing information.)

Retaliation in Red

A Short Story

            No one knew how the red spots got there. They just appeared one day, and they were spreading. People’s brains were worn thin from trying to figure it out. The spots grew on the street and slid up along the walls. Sometimes it got in your hair if you weren’t careful.
            Mildred Lee took her ten-year-old son Tony to the cable car that day. As she dropped him near the cable car stop it seemed there were more red dots on the streets than last week and even more than yesterday.
             “Is­­­­­­­ it growing, Mom?” Tony said, concern in his voice.
              “I don’t know,” she said glancing at her watch. “But I gotta run or I’m going to be late for work. Hop on the cable car and I’ll see you tonight, Honey.”

But she would not see him as he was that morning. No. Tony ran after the cable car, but he didn’t reach it because he slipped on the red goo and got a mild concussion. When he woke up he was in a land far away. It was red. The sun was red. Tony’s clothes were red. His hair and skin were red. The people around him were red. They wore red clothes. Bright red. Cinnamon apple red. He was afraid at first, but then, he realized it must be some joke his friends had played on him. He was not hurt. And the color would wash off. He was sure of it. The people seemed friendly enough but they smelled funny, so he wanted to leave right away, but how?

Tony seemed to have found a way out of the red city, because the next thing he knew he was standing outside his home.


            “Hi, Mom,” Tony said, skipping into the house through the kitchen door. Tony’s mom fainted. Who faints anymore? Well, she did.

She came to with smelling salts that Tony’s dad administered. He whiffed some himself.

“What happened to you?” both Tony’s parents said at the exact same time.

“I don’t know. I was running toward the cable car and I slipped. When I woke up, I was in another place. And I was red. But then I fell asleep again and I woke up outside the house, but I was still red.”

“Well, I hope this washes off,” Tony’s mom said, licking her thumb and rubbing it on the back of Tony’s arm. Nothing changed. Tony was still red. Very, very red.

“Tony! Who did this to you?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s kind of cool,” Tony said admiring his face in the dining room mirror.

“It’s not cool because it’s not washing off. I’m calling the school.”

Tony scratched his red head with his red fingers. “I never made it to school that I remember.”

“What? Where were you?” Tony’s dad said. “Now don’t make up stories.”

 “The place was different. Like, the people there were red, and the buildings and streets were red.” He paused. “Even the dogs were red.”

“Maybe you slipped and passed out. You were dreaming is all. Now let’s see if we can get this off you. Come with me, young man,” Tony’s mom said. Then to her husband, she said, “Call the Sedgwick’s.  Their son is in Tony’s class. See if he was at school.”

While Tony’s mom scrubbed Tony’s skin with every thing from spot remover to cleanser and steel wool, Tony’s dad had called five other kids’ parents. It took several tries as the lines were busy. Finally it was determined that out of those five, the three children who were anywhere near that particular cable car line were red. All reported going to the same strange place where Tony went where people, clothes, and dogs were red. And all the children had remained red with no amount of washing that would alleviate the stain. The children peed red.
           Finally Tony’s mom stopped scrubbing. Tony was crying. She was crying. And the next morning Tony’s mom and dad were red, along with everyone else in San Francisco. The lobsters had retaliated. But they didn’t like the taste of humans, so they let them live.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

* Please note: Do you see the red spots on the street? The story popped upon the page from this wonderful piece of art! This post is a pure fantasy riff on the above painting in the book Bay Area Scene Paintings by Gordon T. McClelland & Austin D. McClelland, Copyright 2018. No disrespect is intended.

Page in Book: Page 26 and Cover

Artist: Jade Fon

Title: California Street

Year: 1950s

Media: Watercolor and gouache

Book Description: Looking down California Street from Nob Hill with China Town on the right side, the business district down below and a section of the Bay Bridge is visible through the towering canyon of buildings.

A FAMILY VISIT UNDER “COVIDITY”

… take the road less travelled

The four of us hesitated as if to say, “Is this a good idea?”

In their eyes, I saw their questions. “Are they safe? Are we?” We, too, had doubts.

Our little family had taken showers, washed our hair, and used hand sanitizer. The wait was over. I went first, and I hugged our older son, inhaling his shampoo-fresh scent. I didn’t cry.

Then I hugged his wife. We held back our tears, but I’m not sure why.

My husband hugged our son and then our daughter-in-law. Finally, we stood apart and took in with a reverent silence that these were our first human contacts outside our spouses since March 16, 2020, three and a half months ago.

Our fear-stiffened bodies surrendered. Our Covid stoicism breathed a tentative sigh of relief, wondering if before-Covid behavior could be trusted. There was only one rational thing to do.

“Fuggedaboudit.”

And, that’s what we did.

Pop quiz. What do you do when family comes to town? RIGHT! You eat. And so, we cooked, and boy did we eat well! One night we had barbecued chicken slathered in a sweet-spicy sauce. Coleslaw with mayo/yogurt dressing. Corn salad with surprising roasted hazelnuts! Who knew?  What a treat. Wait. I almost forgot to tell you. I made a turkey. We had Thanksgiving dinner in July with stuffing and mashed potatoes with gravy. We had leftovers for days. Sandwiches with turkey and avocado on homemade sourdough oat bread. Turkey tacos with salsa, black beans, cheese, and piquant guacamole. Burgers. Hot dogs. Sweet potato fries.

We had a full week together. Over our many delicious meals, we shared what we knew had changed. The pandemic had forced us to revise our futures in ways never before imagined. We used to wake up with some silvery expectation—a chocolate raspberry smell in the mornings that today was going to be wonderful, and tomorrow “wonderfuller” still.  We didn’t know any better. We thought our pretty purple petunia patch would be there next week. Next month.

Now, we realize the idea of planning has sharp edges. The round world looks flat. The melty chocolate chip cookies from yesterday could be a bread loaf now, baking in a neighbor’s oven. And that was only if they were lucky enough to find flour. Or yeast.

We could go down that road. Yes, we could. But, we could take the road less travelled by where we sign up for wet happiness in a paradise of waterfalls. The conscious mind lets us reimagine our lives—revise our reality—with a fresh inhale, and a subtle exhale that reminds us that we can choose how to respond. We have the power to react. Or not.

Man, it’s a scary power! But, I’ll take it because right now, I need it.

So, how are you doing with reclaiming your power? Revising your reality? You’re doing okay? Awesome. Yay you.

Skipping Out

Skipping Rocks in the Pacific Ocean

Off Season

Craving fresh air, we head to the beach on a particularly fine winter day in Southern California. We do not go often, and yet we live within a 30-minute drive. The beach this day is gloriously empty.

The best part about the ocean is that she doesn’t change much. She’s so rare. And yet she doesn’t care. But to be fair, there’s so much to spare, whether it’s this ocean here or an ocean anywhere, she’s just there.

Take off your shoes and roll up your jeans. Approach the water like a merchant marine. Start with one toe, and then dip the other nine. After a while, you will feel sublime. You might pick up a rock, and taking a firm grip, toss it sideways and count the skips. My brother was good. He could do five or six.

On Season

The beaches are crowded in the summer months. Oh, and parking is diabolically difficult. The locals know to carpool and to come early.

If you go in the summer, you’ll see wall-to-wall sunbathers, families, boys, girls, men, and women. Umbrellas of all sizes, shapes, and colors dot the beach. People mostly just hang out. Read. Play. Talk. Eat. Relax. Seagulls hang around trying to look bored but give themselves away when a morsel of food drops. “Mine, mine, mine,” they seem to say. The best idea is to stay out of their way.

If the wind is just right, you might see kites fluttering in the sky. Don’t you like kites?

Be ready to smile as you watch the children splashing and playing in the waves. They don’t seem to feel the cold or get tired of being sandy, salty, and wet. I miss being a kid.

Any Time

Almost any time of the year at certain posted beaches, you’ll see big dogs, little dogs, and medium-sized dogs of all kinds, on and off leash. It’s a sniffer’s heaven. They all seem to love being at the ocean.

We think the ocean doesn’t care. But she secretly likes visitors. I think so, or why would she be so inviting all the time? She even likes surfers.

Skip out sometime. Take your dog, your kids, and anyone else that needs a nature hit down to the nearest ocean. Or a lake. Or a park. Skip out. Take a break. It’ll do you some good.

Photo by Jonathan Petersson on Pexels.com

10 Two-Letter Words

“If it is to be it is up to me.” ~ Senator Cory Booker

 

I heard the quote while listening to ‘On Being’ with Krista Tippet’s Podcast .

photo of woman looking at the mirror
Photo by bruce mars on Pexels.com

Go for it!

The Challenge and Joy of Finishing

Mozart. Bach. Van Gogh. Rodin. Margaret Mitchell. Stephen King. Stephen Spielberg. George Lucas.

Have you heard of these folks? They all finished something. Did they know they were done? Probably, they just got tired of messing with whatever they were working on, put a period, an ending, a final splotch of paint or marble or editing scissors down and called it done. Many “artists” admit they are never done. They just abandon the project and move to the next one. 

But what does that mean? It means that at some point these creatives finished the project. The musical piece was finally written. Maybe there were several instruments. Maybe just one. The marble statue was finally rid of the stuff that wasn’t needed to make the statue (quote Michelangelo), and the life-size piece could stand on its own without the sculpture’s chisel hovering near its unprotected loins.

For every writer, filmmaker, painter, or project manager, businessperson, or code writer, the creative venture needs a finish line. Someone needs to say the magic words: “It is done.” “It is ready.” “It is finished.” At some point, hopefully, the artist’s work is shipped—published, distributed, shown, or sent to the marketplace.

Then the pain begins.

Or not.

For every successful creation, there are hundreds that are crap. But that is actually wonderful. The only way we can know our work is “good” is to send it out. On the other hand, it also makes absolutely no difference if nobody likes your work. Your blood, sweat, and tears spot the pages, but maybe they just do not like your face. They might not be ready for you yet. They might be looking the other way. The timing is wrong. Your luck sucks. 

It doesn’t matter.

If you have finished something—anything—good or bad, you have won. You are a success. You finished what you started. Finishing is difficult.

It’s not impossible. Look at the music, the books, the businesses, the inventions, the paintings, cars, sculptures, computer programs, cell phones, and every other thing you can think of ever created. They were finished. At some moment in time, a human being started something. Then they finished it. That. Is. Awesome.

Quotes on Finishing

“Why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. 

~ J. K. Rowling

“Whatever it takes to finish things, finish. You will learn more from a glorious failure than you ever will from something you never finished.”

~ Neil Gaiman

Fear of Shipping [My interpretation: Shipping = Finishing]

Shipping is fraught with risk and danger.

Every time you raise your hand, send an email, launch a product or make a suggestion, you’re exposing yourself to criticism. Not just criticism, but the negative consequences that come with wasting money, annoying someone in power, or making a fool of yourself.

“It’s no wonder we’re afraid to ship.

“It’s not clear you have much choice, though. A life spent curled in a ball, hiding in the corner might seem less risky, but in fact, it’s certain to lead to ennui and eventually failure. …”   

~ Seth Godin 

* * *

Thought #1

Why Finishing Is Important

For You and For Us

Finishing is critical because we need to fail!  We need to fail so we can do it right the next time and the next and the next.  Who is one of the biggest failures on the planet right now? Elon Musk. Who else was a huge failure? Steve Jobs. They were successful because they allowed failure into their lives.

From many, many, many podcasts, articles, how-to books, and blogs, I know that failure is the key to success. If failure is the key to success, finishing is the key to failure.

   Finish  —  Fail  — Succeed  —  Repeat

  • Finishing is making a contribution.
  • Finishing is you making your mark on the earth.
  • Finishing is why you are here.
  • Finishing is your life’s purpose.
  • Finishing brings you joy.

Enjoying the journey to the finish line is important, too. Don’t beat yourself up if you are enjoying that journey. That’s okay. Try to finish, though.

* * *

Thought #2

We Need to Fail!

… even though it’s not fun.

I hate to fail. No one likes to fail. We don’t want to be failures. People like winners. True. No one wants to be the last one in the race. Few people want to come in fourth at the Olympics. They don’t get a medal. But what they did get was experiencing the Olympics! How good must they be to make it through all the competitions and trials to get to the Olympics in the first place?

Failing and being a failure are two different things, however. Failing is a temporary thing. In fact, failing a bunch of times is how you eventually get better.

Failing is learning. “Oh! How interesting! That didn’t work. I’ll try something else.”

Failing is helping other people learn. “Wow. Look what they tried! Let’s see if we can do it better or differently.”

Failing is winning the game of perseverance. Gaining strength. Experiencing grit. Knowing how golly gosh darn badly you want it.

Failing is a gift.

Unfortunately, failing multiple times can keep some of us from finishing. We grow tired of the skinned knees, the broken airplanes (Wright Brothers), the cotton gin that breaks (Eli Whitney) and the telephone that doesn’t ring (Alexander Graham Bell). We give up. We will not finish that book. We will never hear the musical piece. We leave our sculpture in a heap of rocks and rubble, and we will punch a hole in the painting. No one will ever experience your novel,  your Mona Lisa, your Nutcracker Suite, or your David statue.

So you are not John Steinbeck or Leonardo da Vinci? You are not Tchaikovsky or Michelangelo? Did they think they were when they created their works? How would they know in the beginning if they did not finish anything?

Every one of the artists you know didn’t know they were any good when they started. John Steinbeck was rejected dozens of times. Starving artists starve for a reason. Are they failures?

Here’s the deal. These creatives are only failures if they measure success by money and fame. Many of the famous artists never saw fame or fortune while they were alive, so they did not think they were any good!

Fail. Fail often. Keep writing, painting, making music, sculpting, and inventing. In the meantime, let’s look at why we don’t finish our works so that we can find a way around it.

* * *

Thought #3

Why We Don’t Finish

It’s very common.

ONE WORD . . .

The word is…

FEAR

Fear Takes Many Forms

Sometimes, the fear “choice” we make is acceptable by society’s standards. We do want things to be perfect, for example. We would prefer that our cars’ brakes work correctly, right?

Busy-ness is another example of an acceptable form of fear. In our western Puritan ethic American culture, having too much to do and being overloaded is “good” for the community. “Busy hands are happy hands.” However, Socrates said, “Beware the barrenness of a busy life.” I like: “Don’t equate activity with accomplishment.”

o Perfectionism (Fear)

o Procrastination (Perfectionism + Fear)

o Time and Overload (Procrastination + Fear)

o Prioritization  (Time + Procrastination + Fear)

o Don’t Know How! (Fear of looking dumb.)

Perfectionism

It has to be perfect! They’ll laugh at me if it’s not perfect. I hate mistakes! (I do.) I just need to work on it a little more. Then it will be perfect. One more time. 

Once more.

One more.

Once more.

And again.

Only one more.

Look at the pattern. It’s stair steps. Down.

It’s fear. Fear of getting it wrong. Fear of finishing. Fear of putting your (unfinished, imperfect) work in the public eye. It’s safer inside where no one can see our warts. No one will laugh at our spelling errors, our inappropriate camera settings, our composition screw-ups, our terrible color choices, background proportion blunders, or visible chisel marks.

SO WHAT? If it is not brakes, or a building, or surgery, a little mistake isn’t going to end the world. Fuggedaboutit. Finish it. And ship it!

Procrastination

This is my favorite, I think. I am particularly good at finding some huge, pressing projects that are laudable to have accomplished… except they are not my dream project. They’re sneaky ways of procrastinating while having some part of myself be gosh darned proud of checking them off my lists.

I can mop the floors, do laundry, go grocery shopping, and make a cake. I am not finishing the chapter. I plan Christmas, or plan a vacation, or plan a meeting. I am not writing my book. I write another short piece. Ship an article to a customer. Call my brother, email my friend, walk the dog.

These are all great accomplishments! But, I am not moving my characters, plot, or theme forward. Here’s the irony: I’m procrastinating by writing this handbook on the challenge of finishing.

The completion of the above tasks is, as I said, laudable and necessary sometimes. However, we (I) need to be aware. I must be mindful and know when I’m off the path to finishing what I most want to finish. The BIG thing. The thing I was put here to do.

Oh, and don’t forget, being a “perfectionist” also serves as procrastination. It keeps us from shipping. It keeps us in the “fun” of “fixing.” It’s safe. We are convinced that we can make it perfect if we work hard enough. Perfect doesn’t happen very often. It’s a lovely idea, but the pursuit of perfection can be our worst enemy. Watch out and be extra conscious of the time you spend proofreading, changing a color in a painting, chiseling that last micrometer off the sculpture, or editing the scene in a movie. You may be an artist, or you may be dawdling. (Don’t you love that word?)

Time and Overload

The secretary to the president of the firm says, “I’m SO busy!” The president of the firm with 20,000 employees says, “I’m SO busy!” They’re both busy. Artist, author, and longtime podcaster Debbie Millman says, “Busy is a decision.” That means we choose how our time is spent, and we elect what we work on at any given moment.

“I have a job,” you say. “I have bills.” How many people have jobs that keep them barely ahead of the bill collector, or just ahead of bankruptcy, whatever their pay?

“Money is something we choose to trade our life energy for,” from Vicki Robin, Your Money or Your Life. The things we choose to do are our “busy” things.

Some people give up stressful jobs to preserve their mental powers for their art form. I cannot tell you how many people I’ve met at the Trader Joe’s checkout counter who are artists, musicians, writers, and painters that ‘just need a little money so they can do what they love.’ The decision comes with sacrifice. 

You do not buy brand new cars, or you decide on a smaller house and trips to discount grocery and shoe stores, and other lifestyle shifts.  If lowering the financial bar saves mental stress, and allows the freedom to create, it may be worth downsizing. Then, the decision to be busy is a decision to be busy with creativity. You reduce your cerebral load to embrace the you that is you.

Prioritization

First things first. Nothing else matters as much as this thing you want to finish. Nothing will get in the way. Start. Continue. Finish. 

Some critical concepts come to mind here.

      1. Time management
      2. Time blocks
      3. Saying no
      4. Desire
      5. Discipline
      6. Grit
      7. Rewards
      8. Consciousness
      9. Clarity
      10. Focus

For many of the above ideas, there are applications to help you. Time management must have a few dozen apps, but for creatives, there is nothing like two- or three- hour time blocks to accomplish your creative output. Ten minutes here and there may work for some people (I know published authors who write on their 30-minute lunch breaks), but this is especially hard. Diving into a big project before you recommence is often a 30-minute process by itself.  Do the best you can to create time blocks by using better time management.

“Saying no” may come in the form of an app like “Freedom,” which shuts off all internet, email, and other distractions from your computer, mobile phone, etc.  Or, just say a polite “no” to the coffee date or free flying lesson.

Desire, discipline, and grit are interconnected. Having the desire means being motivated—wanting beyond all else to finish the piece or attain that goal or knowledge, milestone, etc. The only way to get there is through discipline. Practicing every day. Writing every day. Learning, painting, creating, every day—even when the output sucks, you’re tired, you’re sick, you’re making no progress, and no money —and you have no friends and no fun. The trick here is grit.  Sticking with it. For more information, check out the TED talk on grit by Angela Lee Duckworth.

Rewards are controversial. Some folks think the work is the reward. Others say rewards help you keep going forward. It’s very personal. Maybe one person needs new shoes another can get by with a Starbucks latte. Consider the idea of a reward for reaching a milestone.

Consciousness and Clarity go hand in hand. To be conscious of your every action of the day, the question to ask is, “Is this the best use of my time right now?” OR, “Am I on task for the work I want to finish?” The second concept, clarity, helps us be not only clear but honest about the time and energy we spend. We may be busy, but we are not accomplishing anything.

Focus helps us avoid distractions. It’s becoming a lost art in today’s social media, 24/7 interconnectedness. The idea of freeing ourselves from internet and phone connections is useful, as in the “saying no” choices, but beyond saying no, we must say yes to staying in the flow of our work. For writers, it’s keeping our butts in the chair; for musicians, it’s staying the course with the instrument, the musical score. It is being in the moment. Meditation practice helps with this. Many creatives—and even sports people and entrepreneurs—swear by meditation. Try it.

Don’t Know How!

Hah. I thought I knew how to write. But writing a whole book (fiction or non-fiction) is an entirely bigger ball of wax than writing an article, or website copy, or emails, for gosh sakes.  What made me nuts was thinking about all the people who have successfully written books. They had done it. Why couldn’t I? Something was wrong with me. It must be easy, or all these people wouldn’t have published a book. Right?

Let’s look at the numbers. 

Per the bibliographic information company Bowker®, there were about 305,000 print books published by traditional publishers in 2013.  The non-traditional publishing sector print output was 1.1 million titles for a total of about 1.4 million titles. Sound like a lot? Here’s what’s interesting: There were about 315 million people in the United States in 2013. Approximately 80% were adults. That would mean that .55% of adults (approximately 252,000) in the U.S. published a book. It is not 55%. It is not 5.5%. It is .55%, which is about 55 adults out of 10,000. It’s a small number, and one can say that publishing a book is a big deal.

Not being able to overcome the challenge of finishing is probably one reason. The other might be they do not know how to do it. Or, they don’t have any interest, of course. However, one survey said that 81% of all adults think they have a novel in them.

If you want to finish a book (or anything for that matter) and don’t know how, then take a class. Read a book on writing a book or doing whatever your dreams tell you. Join a critique group. Take a workshop. Go to a conference. Free is good, but sometimes you get what you pay for. Either way, not knowing how certainly hasn’t stopped some people! There are some crummy books out there. But we should not let not knowing keep us from finishing something. Let’s look at that Neil Gaiman quote again.  How else will we know? 

* * *

Thought # 4

What Are You Afraid Of?

Check your assumptions.

Take a look at this spidery thing. Maybe take some notes to understand the source of your fear of finishing.

Fear

* * *

Thought # 5

How to Finish

Pssst . . . You are worth it!

You know your fears now. Look at some ways you can overcome your fears and finish your life’s work. Add more notes to help you overcome your fears.

How to Finish

Thought # 6

Open to the Universe of Possibility

Feel joy

Am I an expert on finishing? Heck, no. I’ve finished a few things. That makes me dangerously smug and complacent. The reason for this diatribe is to provide myself a Kick in the A** (KITA) to move from midpoint to endpoint on my next project. I am a little stuck.

Mostly, though, I wanted to let people know the surprising joy I felt on finishing the first little book. And then another, bigger book. I think everyone deserves to feel that joy.

Here’s one last trick. One of the podcasts I listened to said to write down an affirmation 20 times every day for a month. Here’s an example. “I __________(state your name) am a _______________ (give yourself a title like famous painter, world-class, published author, or highly-respected filmmaker).” Note: Do not use want to be or wish to be. Use the present tense “am.” The Universe likes this. She told me so.

Write your affirmation, and wait for the magic. My last book was a result of this exercise. Power of suggestion or universe of possibility: which is it?

It doesn’t matter. It worked for me. Try it.

* * * Feel the joy of finishing. It doesn’t get much better than this. * * *

 

References and Further Readings

Getting Things Done by David Allen

As a Man Thinketh by James Allen

How to Stop Worrying and Start Living by Dale Carnegie

Tribe of Mentors (and almost any book ) by Tim Ferriss

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

Your Money or Your Life by Joe Dominguez and Vicki Robin

The Magic of Thinking Big by David J. Schwartz, Ph.D.

The Art of Possibility By Rosamund Stone and Benjamin Zander

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Copyright Information

The Challenge and Joy of Finishing

Kathryn Atkins

Copyright © 2018 Kathryn Atkins

The copyright holder can be contacted through this website: http://www.WritingWorld.biz.

Published in the United States of America

By Writing World, LLC

Adolescence. Again.

“. . . I’m the bear standing in the woods with a bullseye on his chest . . .”

My late sixties present me with the most ridiculous angst I’ve felt since I was sixteen. I am no longer a child of forty, and I am not an adult of eighty. Thus, I am an “adolescent” again. Why does it come up now? It dawned on me (after my 50th—there, I said it—high school reunion, for God’s sake) that at this age, we are older, but we are fighting oldness. Gray hair is dyed, colored, and maybe highlighted; straightened and softened to disguise the crinkly, wiry, dry mass that passes for hair. Why don’t I have the soft, pretty kind like my mom did? Dunno. I’m sure it’s because my hair, an enemy of over six decades, does this because it has its own devious mind. My hair knows exactly what irks me.

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERAI have a target on my forehead. I feel like I’m the bear standing in the woods with a bullseye on his chest if you’ve ever seen that cartoon. It’s the target for anti-aging marketers to spot me from 10,000 feet. They don’t need for me to wear the target, though. It’s written in the sneaky wrinkles around my eyes and mouth, and the other ill-mannered houseguests with stupid sunglasses that appeared on my neck and cheeks one day when I wasn’t paying attention. They didn’t have the courtesy to leave.

So, it’s not just the cosmetics products folks; it’s also the dermatologists and estheticians that swear their methods for finding the fountain of youth surpass the others’. For all the Botox treatments, eyelifts, ear-lifts (yes, they have those), and nose jobs, there are face creams and treatments to use between or instead of the unnerving, daunting “cures.” (I would share my chemical peel photos with you, but you’d probably run screaming for the Halloween bar. Yes, I had one. Why? Because I’m still in my adolescence, of course, experimenting as adolescents do.)

Since we’re talking, I thought I might share more nice perspectives to cheer you up. You may be happily getting Botox, chemical peels, and other fine facial procedures to try to fool the calendar, but I’m going to burst your bubble. Are you sitting down? Here goes: There are some telltale signs of advancing age that cannot be removed. As one of my “good” friends said, “You just have to look at someone’s hands to see if they’re old.” Thanks. Thanks so much. I needed that. I have tried to hold my hands above my elbows during pictures to keep from having those lovely blue veins pop out on the back of my hands. Sometimes, though, this is not a good strategy. As in when you’re playing the piano. Or maybe you’re doing a cooking demonstration or giving a knitting lesson. (People still knit. By hand. They do.)

More perspectives: (Spoiler alert.) Hanging, crinkly skin. Yes. Even though we go to the gym, do our due-diligence with weights, on machines, and at endless classes, we are stuck with crinkly skin that hangs off our healthy, osteoporosis-free skeletons if we’re lucky. Yes, we put on lotion. Yes, we tone and stretch. We are limber from yoga. Our lungs are aerobically healthy. Our butts are holding their own underneath. However, the skin that keeps the rest of us in has an un-ironed look about it.

So, when you’re a teenager, you’re dealing with zits, braces, and big ears. The difference is that as a teenager, the zits eventually disappear, the braces come off, and somewhere along the way you grow into your ears. As I age, my wrinkles will not disappear. In fact, they will multiply. Like rabbits. My teeth will get thinner. And my ears AND nose, longer. My hands? More gnarly. (Great word, right?)

What? Get over myself. This is a first world problem, you say? Well, yes, but it’s real to me. Adolescence. Again. Merde! I didn’t like my teen years when I was experiencing them, and I thought I was done. I’m back in them again. And I’d like to think I’m above it all! “I got this,” I say to my face in the mirror, the unrelenting mirror. “Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who is that ancient person in the shawl?” The mirror is no help. No help at all. Her best advice is to turn off the lights. Would that all rooms were dark!

I look around me at the people with gray hair. I compare. Oh, that’s dumb. At least I’m not that old, I say to myself. But my next thought is: I will be there soon. I saw a young woman today. OMG. “I used to look like that,” I say. Well, that’s nonsense. I NEVER looked like THAT. Who am I kidding? She was model beautiful. Why do I make this comparison? This thing called aging —even healthy aging, where I’m dancing flamenco and walking miles and doing yoga —is taking too much of my mental energy. It robs me of creativity. It stifles my serenity.

So as with my teens, I know that eventually, the between-ness will pass. I can achieve the next stage and relax into it—gracefully, happily, peacefully. That makes sense. If we fight the force of nature, we tend to carry an aura of angry (I hear it’s a mustard color), which by itself can make us look older and feel worse. (Who wants to look like mustard?)

I suggest that you read Atul Gawande’s Being Mortal. It’s an homage to living well even as it describes the terminal nature of our lives. We are lucky if we get to experience old age before we die. Dr. Gawande says it better, page 141. “The battle of being mortal is the battle to maintain the integrity of one’s life—to avoid becoming so diminished or dissipated or subjugated that who you are becomes disconnected from who you were or who you want to be.” I’m going to embrace the idea of maintaining my integrity by defining “a good day” in my terms and attempting to attain that. Every day. I will not worry about adolescence. Terrible twos. Teens. Twenties. Middle age. They’re stages, each with their challenges. This aging thing is just another stage. Maintaining my integrity is the goal. That’s all.

Published!

GMSTTW COVERThis is my book. I wrote it because I had to put my self out. Be out. These are pieces of me (they’re always called pieces, whether a piece of music, art, or writing) that assure me I was here. I never thought of that before, but it’s true. Creatives leave these little breadcrumbs like Hansel and Gretel.  Do they (we) then have a way to find our way back to ourselves? Does an architect leave a piece? No. They leave big things. Whole things like buildings and subdivisions. Are those pieces? Maybe. Engineers leave bridges, waterways, and aqueducts and dams and things. Doesn’t matter. They see edifices in their minds and build them. Creatives see music and art, and we write it, paint, or draw it. Then, we share it. Sometimes we perform it.

I could say my kids “prove” I was here. Or that I have photos that say, “I was here.” But I’m not sure of that. Some of the photos were taken when I was too little to remember. Was I really there?

My family should be pleased to know I was here. Hah. And they may see themselves immortalized in these pages, too. While many of the stories are pure fiction, some are versions of events that happened with the names of the characters changed. I wonder if they will recognize themselves.

That’s it. The book is available from Outskirts Press, on Amazon, and also on Barnes & Noble.

Now on to the next creation. I do hope some other (not family!) people will read this book and like it. Themes, lessons, and laughter titter through the pages, yes. But mostly I’m glad I wrote it. And published it. Just. For. Me. In. The. Wind.