My inner critic returned and was fired up to hammer me with my imperfections this week. HE knocked me back into reactive space, where I yelled for my kids to get ready and eat and be content if we didn't go to a Jungle Java after school. I wonder how I ever got rid of my questioning self for the time I did.
As I watched the movie "Her," I was struck by the main character's desire to hop into a fantasy world, where a computer could meet his perceived desires, know him, flatter him, love him, and how much I do look with anticipation to my own phone, to a imaginary message, a new pair of running shoes, the fitbit, athletic clothing stores, a new story I could create or a life inside Facebook that is better then my physical presence amongst needy and desperate people (mainly myself).
In "Her," the computer tries to read the characters everything and be a perfect lover. On a blind date with a real woman, they both drink a lot, then the lady tells him how to kiss, "less tongue," she keeps saying. Then as they consider what to do, she begins to doubt his long term commitment, saying, "You aren't going to be one of those guys who doesn't call in the morning?" Going back to a computer was a relief, since the reality of a real person seemed impossible. The guys real wife was hopeless, because she couldn't live with him (or him with her?). There was such a sad empty feeling to it all. The pattern of this movie resonates, fantasy, projection of that imaginary scenario on reality and then the panic that it is not possible. I'm not in control of you, the weather, amn't enough to satisfy myself.
I want a cultural revolution! My google friend (he works for google) lives without air conditioning, manages with one old car, walks to work wearing is granddad's long coat and drives home to New Jersey to see his family. My version of his life is my family all huddling around our wood stove, canning and storing food for winter and being together.
I am reading a book for my neighborhood club, called Astrid and Veronika, where two women have time and space and one another, except it's so dark! The two women's histories are horrible, one murders her infant, the other loses her love and then miscarries, a father abuses one and then forces her to marry a horrible man. The man takes over her families farm and says after their first night together, "It's all mine now, you know. Everything you can see through that window. All mine." Her response is "There is nothing her that belongs to you. . . Nothing." And then they are married for 60+ years. Everything bad happens and the ladies in this book both seem so stuck under it's weight. I know the point of the last 70 pages and that they have each other, that they find some reason to be themselves, but it's dissatisfying to experience them being miserable and alone and I can't believe they will figure it out without help! Everyone feels more evil for having lived in relationship with hatred and disappointment about not getting to the fantasy life.
In my mom's group, we are sitting in the topic of fear. The teacher last week told me she appreciated that I was sitting on the edge of my seat, and fully invested! Standing in front of a large group of women, she shared the real ugliness in how we can parent our kids in our own disappointment or frustration about how they should be. We say the wrong things and just thinking of it, makes me feel my own failings. As I am exposed through her story, I see a bit more of the dark part of parenting in my own strength, parenting to protect my kids from everything, fear of losing my identity, my words or lack of words, of this time. This week the teacher said it, "We need Jesus just as much as our kids." It is funny how hopeful that feels! We are in a reality that features an amazing God who literally came into our space to be God to us, our kids, in the midst of the mess.
I told a second grader today about Jesus coming into our space and he laughed and said, no way. Yes way! "Here, a baby, a child," I said. He started doing the, "did he go to the bathroom, pick his nose, take bathes, eat with a spoon, drive in a car, live in a house?" I said Yes to some of those and no to others, but marveled in the fact that he was here and to blow our minds further, that he still is. The kid said the inevitable, "But we can't see him," and I mentioned the trinity to which my kindergartner responded with, "Yes, it's complicated." It's is a great complication, because I can't buy the fantasy anymore.
I live in my imperfections, in light of Christ.
David and I are reading The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe and when we sat in the moment after Aslan died, his face went pale. He looked at me, confused. He kept thinking Asland would fight and beat the evil guys that were hearing at him. His real dead body, tightly bound and lifeless, confused us. I didn't spoil the punch line for him, but watched the lion lie cold on the stone table, the evil queen conquering and then heading into her triumphal battle with anyone who sided with this dead king. The mice come and start to nibbling and their is a loud cracking as the table splits in two, and Asland is no longer on it. He is alive. It is the hope I have, walking into this next minute, hour, relationship, vision for my work and life. Asland is on the move and I can walk beside him!
Wednesday, February 05, 2014
Friday, January 17, 2014
My Inner Critic is either in Florida or Jail for the Week!
My mom loved mysteries. She would go to our favorite used book seller, Mrs Beverly Potter at the Title Page back then in a little apartment space behind the main strip of stores, stacked and stuffed with finds. I would go an imagine myself a reader, buying books I did not read, but pretended I would. I am always surprised when I do finish anything, which is more often now (though I still tell myself I won't or don't). The critic in me says, you aren't a reader, or a writer, so why pretend. At this, I go back to Dave Eggers Critic Essay, because I love it! I also want to live in the wake of his initiative towards doing and being and following what feels relevant and alive in anyone's story. I also sit with Anne Lamott's "Shitty First Drafts."
This week, I have instituted a habit or practice in regards to my faith project around my inner critic. I sent him to Florida or Jail, I'm not sure, but either way he will have plenty to judge there, while I give myself the benefit of ideas, dreams, and assume positive intent within myself no matter what. This means when I begin to question if I will write anything good, or be likable to others or frown in the mirror (as it is midday and I have not touched my hair), I decide to laugh about it just being quirky me. I can get dressed if I decide to now, but whatever I do is ok.
The truth I love reading and I am beginning to revisit my writing and what matters to me. I do have stories in this moment that matter. I just finished a novella called "Sorry, Wrong Number," by Lucille Fletcher and Allan Ullman that deals with a couples life and death in its last five hours. The husband, Henry marries Leona, a multi-multimillionaire, but he wants this idea of having much more of his own real money to prove himself to everyone. He deals drugs and makes good money, but keeps gambling it away in hopes of making much more. Then his wife pretends to be deathly ill, as her control over the facade of a happy life crumbles. In the end someone in New York City might be murdered at 11:15 pm. She could put the pieces together and survive it, she could tell someone her husband hired the hit man to get her money, but that would shatter the 10 year dreamy marriage story. In the end she can't move (you are trying to lift her and make her get out of her bed), can't yell out the window (all you want is for her to make a loud noise), so she lets her facade become her end (sorry I guess I told you the ending).
But my choices are quite different. I want to jump out of bed at 6:30 AM and read my bible. I keep going to bed thinking, I can take tomorrow off, but I wait up without an alarm and don't want to keep sleeping. I am running and breathing and relating and feeling possibilities. For today, I am grateful for new habits and am contemplating what other experiments I should add into my life project!!!
This week, I have instituted a habit or practice in regards to my faith project around my inner critic. I sent him to Florida or Jail, I'm not sure, but either way he will have plenty to judge there, while I give myself the benefit of ideas, dreams, and assume positive intent within myself no matter what. This means when I begin to question if I will write anything good, or be likable to others or frown in the mirror (as it is midday and I have not touched my hair), I decide to laugh about it just being quirky me. I can get dressed if I decide to now, but whatever I do is ok.
The truth I love reading and I am beginning to revisit my writing and what matters to me. I do have stories in this moment that matter. I just finished a novella called "Sorry, Wrong Number," by Lucille Fletcher and Allan Ullman that deals with a couples life and death in its last five hours. The husband, Henry marries Leona, a multi-multimillionaire, but he wants this idea of having much more of his own real money to prove himself to everyone. He deals drugs and makes good money, but keeps gambling it away in hopes of making much more. Then his wife pretends to be deathly ill, as her control over the facade of a happy life crumbles. In the end someone in New York City might be murdered at 11:15 pm. She could put the pieces together and survive it, she could tell someone her husband hired the hit man to get her money, but that would shatter the 10 year dreamy marriage story. In the end she can't move (you are trying to lift her and make her get out of her bed), can't yell out the window (all you want is for her to make a loud noise), so she lets her facade become her end (sorry I guess I told you the ending).
But my choices are quite different. I want to jump out of bed at 6:30 AM and read my bible. I keep going to bed thinking, I can take tomorrow off, but I wait up without an alarm and don't want to keep sleeping. I am running and breathing and relating and feeling possibilities. For today, I am grateful for new habits and am contemplating what other experiments I should add into my life project!!!
Monday, January 13, 2014
Christ's Guts and My Guts
My pastor preached on Philippians 1 this week and hit the verse, "God can testy how I long for all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus." He then said that the word affection, translates from Greek as guts, bowels, or innards. The word, "guts," made me think about my blog, and my mission in getting at the guts of self, God and other. I would add to this a desire to experience beauty and learn how to love profoundly.
A VERY popular acquaintance of mine came over for an Insanity workout in my basement and talked about how her aggressiveness has made her successful in the most unusual sports and jobs. She is non-stop action and new starts, popularity, small business and I get overwhelmed just thinking about being in relationship with her.
As I considerer the work of loving, I'm terrified at the notion of small talk, selling my smiles, advertising my words, myself as something another would want to spend time on. Last night I dreamt I was a side character in a TV drama and I becomes stressed by how to act off camera, for fear people would dismiss met. In the dream that followed, I gave advice to a good friend who felt guilty about making super hero accessories (arm bands, and head pieces and add on patches) and hating herself for it. I told her she should listen to her gut, but also know God gave her gifts and wants her to enjoy what she loves.
I watched Sandra Aamodt's TED talk on "Resolve to Never Diet Again," and one thing she said was that there are bits in the brain that regulate eating to help us stay in a range of a weight (fluctuating 10 to 15 pounds). A second thing she said was that just like walking and reading and things we do so subconsciously, if we learn to eat as a response to hunger in a similar way, our brains are free to focus on other work.
As a part of my own faith experiment, I would like to practice elements of faith in such a way that they become muscle memories, to allow the sitting down with God to be less of a struggle so that I can be natural in my living in Christ.
Three actions in my Faith Project are these:
1. Have a list of people to follow in matters of faith, whose voices resonate with guts, beauty, quiet and/or living truthfully in culture: Berne Brown, Marilyn Robinson and Jill Peraez Baumgaertner. Read and look up what is current in their thinking and work.
2. Examine the reasons I believe in God, through stories and reflection on my faith.
3. Memorize verses/prayers that express my hopes/goals in identifying with Christ.
(plus the one mentioned in my prior blog post)
*I can check off each day the work I do and consider its effects at the end of the month.
A VERY popular acquaintance of mine came over for an Insanity workout in my basement and talked about how her aggressiveness has made her successful in the most unusual sports and jobs. She is non-stop action and new starts, popularity, small business and I get overwhelmed just thinking about being in relationship with her.
As I considerer the work of loving, I'm terrified at the notion of small talk, selling my smiles, advertising my words, myself as something another would want to spend time on. Last night I dreamt I was a side character in a TV drama and I becomes stressed by how to act off camera, for fear people would dismiss met. In the dream that followed, I gave advice to a good friend who felt guilty about making super hero accessories (arm bands, and head pieces and add on patches) and hating herself for it. I told her she should listen to her gut, but also know God gave her gifts and wants her to enjoy what she loves.
I watched Sandra Aamodt's TED talk on "Resolve to Never Diet Again," and one thing she said was that there are bits in the brain that regulate eating to help us stay in a range of a weight (fluctuating 10 to 15 pounds). A second thing she said was that just like walking and reading and things we do so subconsciously, if we learn to eat as a response to hunger in a similar way, our brains are free to focus on other work.
As a part of my own faith experiment, I would like to practice elements of faith in such a way that they become muscle memories, to allow the sitting down with God to be less of a struggle so that I can be natural in my living in Christ.
Three actions in my Faith Project are these:
1. Have a list of people to follow in matters of faith, whose voices resonate with guts, beauty, quiet and/or living truthfully in culture: Berne Brown, Marilyn Robinson and Jill Peraez Baumgaertner. Read and look up what is current in their thinking and work.
2. Examine the reasons I believe in God, through stories and reflection on my faith.
3. Memorize verses/prayers that express my hopes/goals in identifying with Christ.
(plus the one mentioned in my prior blog post)
*I can check off each day the work I do and consider its effects at the end of the month.
Friday, January 10, 2014
Happiness Project
Today is January 10th. I have been waiting for a month to get back to normal, to writing hours, to a routine that incorporates reflection and revelation. My boys are both in school right now, husband working a regular day and me, feeling frantic. I sit in Roos Roast's nest of a shop with journals, books two New Yorkers (I will not read), and I'm struck by how difficult it is to direct my mind; to intention myself into anything.
I have loved listening to Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project, almost feeling like I am doing all the cool things she describes. I feel happy in the realm of possibilities she describes doing herself.
Increase energy, check.
Obtain order, check.
Love your husband better, check.
Structure my writing more efficiently, check.
Do something hard, check.
Yes YES YEEESSSSS PLEASE!!! I think. She has a simple sheet for tracking goals, ways to start new projects like happiness blogs and the like. But as days of January pass, I feel less able to broach her next set of intentions, because I am distracted and I have not committed to anything of the first three months.
My therapist said recently that with chaos comes sloth, passivity, entropy, lack of centering, no self. The scholars would say the ultimate quest is towards profound love. That can be achieved through ordering and experiencing beauty and focusing in the knowledge of how God relates to us, and thus we to him and others. Profound love.
I wonder about relating to myself, the true me, outside of all those faces I try to hide behind, as one sees so brilliantly presented in the movie American Hustle. The faces I cling to in being helpful, in saying yes to pleasing, in not exploring what I know to be true, what I really desire, how I can love, make me chase my tail in games with people, to the point of exhaustion.
I wonder how to engage with others in a lasting way that allows me to be myself. I look for formula for connection with someone, such as, A. Catch up on what is going on with them, B. offer an affirmation, C. seek their opinion on something, repeat. Put this on a goals list and check off to see how my experiences with people grow?
The truth is I know the true answer and avoid it. It is in ordering myself with God. Sitting and sharing my heart and waiting to hear his response, his nudging. I told my therapist what I needed to do was wake up earlier and spend time with God. I have been saying this for years. My therapist suggested I wake up a half hour early every other day and to compare those with the days I don't, to see if there is a difference. So that is what this week is will be, Sat, Mon, Wed, Fri, Sun, Tues, Thurs are early, the other days late. I am fighting the urge to wake up 3 hours early to do everything I "should do," which includes writing, running, God, and getting ready for the day. But that creates an impossible senario of a 4 AM start time and a large sleep deficit and honestly missing the focus of God in the mix. So this experiment begins tomorrow and will last 2 weeks. I will use my check-in box from Gretchen and see what happens.
I have loved listening to Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project, almost feeling like I am doing all the cool things she describes. I feel happy in the realm of possibilities she describes doing herself.
Increase energy, check.
Obtain order, check.
Love your husband better, check.
Structure my writing more efficiently, check.
Do something hard, check.
Yes YES YEEESSSSS PLEASE!!! I think. She has a simple sheet for tracking goals, ways to start new projects like happiness blogs and the like. But as days of January pass, I feel less able to broach her next set of intentions, because I am distracted and I have not committed to anything of the first three months.
My therapist said recently that with chaos comes sloth, passivity, entropy, lack of centering, no self. The scholars would say the ultimate quest is towards profound love. That can be achieved through ordering and experiencing beauty and focusing in the knowledge of how God relates to us, and thus we to him and others. Profound love.
I wonder about relating to myself, the true me, outside of all those faces I try to hide behind, as one sees so brilliantly presented in the movie American Hustle. The faces I cling to in being helpful, in saying yes to pleasing, in not exploring what I know to be true, what I really desire, how I can love, make me chase my tail in games with people, to the point of exhaustion.
I wonder how to engage with others in a lasting way that allows me to be myself. I look for formula for connection with someone, such as, A. Catch up on what is going on with them, B. offer an affirmation, C. seek their opinion on something, repeat. Put this on a goals list and check off to see how my experiences with people grow?
The truth is I know the true answer and avoid it. It is in ordering myself with God. Sitting and sharing my heart and waiting to hear his response, his nudging. I told my therapist what I needed to do was wake up earlier and spend time with God. I have been saying this for years. My therapist suggested I wake up a half hour early every other day and to compare those with the days I don't, to see if there is a difference. So that is what this week is will be, Sat, Mon, Wed, Fri, Sun, Tues, Thurs are early, the other days late. I am fighting the urge to wake up 3 hours early to do everything I "should do," which includes writing, running, God, and getting ready for the day. But that creates an impossible senario of a 4 AM start time and a large sleep deficit and honestly missing the focus of God in the mix. So this experiment begins tomorrow and will last 2 weeks. I will use my check-in box from Gretchen and see what happens.
Monday, December 02, 2013
Running Up a Big Hill
There is a buzz in the back of my head making me feel like I should be chasing my tail. I did this week, as I drove to Chicago, back to Troy, home to Ann Arbor where others joined me and busied myself with the preparation of food. I even dropped a pecan pie and watched the glass base shatter. My three year old stood over me, saying, I want to eat it. To be honest, I considered trying to salvage a section just for myself.
It is Cyber Monday, Nano month is ended. I don't know what to do with myself in my free hour for the week. If you need anything, now is the time to pick up the phone, dial 818.4694 and ask me for a favor. "Yes, please," I will say to avoid the real work of writing goals, partnering with Christ in something bigger then my coffee mug, my feet pounding pavement for another 10 mile run, my long list of Birthday parties, Christmas presents and neighborhood commitments.
What I want to do is draw a bare tree in ink washes. Felt little animal heads I can mount on wood (as they have in this months Anthropology catalogue shown here). Drink latte's all day without feeling caffeine's dizzying effects. I suppose a massage would be nice as well. I have lost connection with myself, with my Chapel sanctuaries, with my words on a page, with myself present in the dialogue with anyone else.
I am at risk of falling into the abyss of regret, just considering the work undone, blank MFA applications, half started NANO. But I don't want to live in the rear, to look backwards, to see my shadow. Rather, I want some brilliant new mind, me living right now.
There is this poem sitting on my coffee-shop table that I love, with the following lines:
I’m tired . . .
of how the old beggar
makes me think that
rowing across the river is
somehow richer, more serious than,
the center of a pomegranate…
then later
I want life’s ragged way
of getting along, the wasted
afternoon and empty morning, the
sloppy kiss. I want to stagger
along between innings. I want
the burnt toast, the forgotten note,
and the lost pillowcase, the dime
novel, and the Silly Putty of it all.
As I ran up a half mile hill in Barton Hills Saturday morning, trying to keep my eyes on my friend always just ahead, I decided that life is all about hills. It is running up something with no foreseeable top. I taste a bit of iron in my mouth, I see green bushes to my right, and I live within creation during this step. There is an energy in focusing on making my legs push off. I want to be in my penduluming arms and let their momentum propel my chest towards lasting hope.
I pray that my hill could be a great one, ever reaching higher and a way to experience myself in God's world, with whatever upward grade he provides, trusting that I can enjoy the muscle burn in this step.
It is Cyber Monday, Nano month is ended. I don't know what to do with myself in my free hour for the week. If you need anything, now is the time to pick up the phone, dial 818.4694 and ask me for a favor. "Yes, please," I will say to avoid the real work of writing goals, partnering with Christ in something bigger then my coffee mug, my feet pounding pavement for another 10 mile run, my long list of Birthday parties, Christmas presents and neighborhood commitments.
What I want to do is draw a bare tree in ink washes. Felt little animal heads I can mount on wood (as they have in this months Anthropology catalogue shown here). Drink latte's all day without feeling caffeine's dizzying effects. I suppose a massage would be nice as well. I have lost connection with myself, with my Chapel sanctuaries, with my words on a page, with myself present in the dialogue with anyone else.
There is this poem sitting on my coffee-shop table that I love, with the following lines:
I’m tired . . .
of how the old beggar
makes me think that
rowing across the river is
somehow richer, more serious than,
the center of a pomegranate…
then later
I want life’s ragged way
of getting along, the wasted
afternoon and empty morning, the
sloppy kiss. I want to stagger
along between innings. I want
the burnt toast, the forgotten note,
and the lost pillowcase, the dime
novel, and the Silly Putty of it all.
As I ran up a half mile hill in Barton Hills Saturday morning, trying to keep my eyes on my friend always just ahead, I decided that life is all about hills. It is running up something with no foreseeable top. I taste a bit of iron in my mouth, I see green bushes to my right, and I live within creation during this step. There is an energy in focusing on making my legs push off. I want to be in my penduluming arms and let their momentum propel my chest towards lasting hope.
I pray that my hill could be a great one, ever reaching higher and a way to experience myself in God's world, with whatever upward grade he provides, trusting that I can enjoy the muscle burn in this step.
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