Cirque du Malaise

One of the things that is emphasized over and over in The Artist's Way is how we have to get past the tactics that our parents and other early critics used to condition the innate creativity out of us. In this week's chapter we did an exercise called "Early Patternings" to quote/unquote try to excavate what happened to our poor, abused early artist.

I'm extremely well behaved about reading all the chapters, following all the rules, and doing every single task. However, the "early patternings" stuff simply doesn't resonate with me.

As far as my early artist goes, there weren't a lot of scathing critics. My parents—both being young hippies and aspiring artists themselves—weren't exactly the types to look down on creativity. In fact, a lot of my earliest memories were about doing artsy things with my parents. We didn't have any money, and we lived in a severely rural part of New England, so most of our entertainment was self-made.

They sent me to a communityWaldorf-style school when I was 3. They (tragically) let me and my brother dress ourselves from the time we could walk. They indulged my harebrained delusions of becoming a ballerina. They didn't blink an eye when I said I was going to go to art school and major in pottery.

Early on in the process of doing The Artist's Way I wrote this letter to my mom. I have been wavering on whether or not to send it. Judith doesn't really like the mushy stuff, and she's pretty private. So if you too don't like the mushy stuff, and you don't want to be a part of me outing my mom, better stop reading now.

Judith was 27 in this picture. That's right, 11 years younger than I am now.

Dear Judith

I remember being very young and sitting at the kitchen table coloring with you. You always encouraged us to do creative things with our time instead of watching TV or playing with stupid plastic toys. We were constantly undertaking projects like making our own Christmas tree ornaments or baking cookies or painting murals on the walls of our rooms. At some point you brought home an old piano that someone had been getting rid of, and we all took turns really sucking at playing it.

Your own creativity was always an inspiration to me. You made clothes; you gardened; you cooked; you quilted; you made jewelry; you had that awesome Quaker-esque weaving loom that took up half your bedroom.

I am so grateful to have grown up in a home where creativity and art was encouraged and the consumer bullshit was kept to a minimum.

And beyond that, thank you for sending me to Syracuse, for being supportive of my decision to go to art school and to get a degree in photography and ceramics. Thanks for not being the kind of parent who encouraged or demanded that I pursue a more "practical" career. You've never once given me advice to do anything other than what I am already doing, and while it has taken me quite a while to find something I actually like to do, I appreciate your patience and your occasional financial support over the years.

If I could have one wish it would be to see you get back to your own creativity and re-embrace your abundant talent and passion for making things. I know that it's your calling.

Love,

Joslyn

This week's Artist's Way chapter was about turning my old boring story into a proactive new plan.

And in a moment of synchronicity (something we Artist Way savants are always watching out for) I was complaining to a friend who I haven't seen in ages and she said, "Oh shut up, your story is so boring!" (Thank you Amy, love you!)

My story IS boring. To myself most of all. I think we all feel that way, on some level.

The trick is to figure out how to shift it.

The particular story that Amy was referring to is my story about how I am always so poor, never going to have any money, whine, cry, complain. Every time I hear myself say "Oh I wish I could, but I can't afford it," I want to roll my eyes at myself. I can think of a handful of times this week alone that I've said those words.

The thing is, I really can't afford it. It's not just crazytalk that I'm making up for attention.

But there has to be a better way to approach this story. Maybe it's true that I am resigned to a lifetime of struggling around money. But I could stand to have a better attitude around it.

In an effort to shift my vision (thanks for that platitude, Walter)—and out of another task we did this week in the Artist's Way where we mapped our jealousy issues (good times)—I am working on having a different attitude.

So next time you ask me out to dinner, instead of saying "Oh I wish I could, but I can't afford it" please expect me to say "I already have some soup on the stove at home. Maybe next time!"

And check me if I don't.

Twelve weeks ago I embarked on a monogamous relationship with myself, and I am pleased to report that this relationship is only getting better with time. Have you ever wished you could find that perfect partner, the one who likes all the same things as you, the one who always wants to do exactly what you want to do, when you want to do it… the one who totally just gets you?

Good news. You already have that person in your life. It’s you.

Over the last twelve weeks of The Artist’s Way, I’ve taken myself on at least one date a week. And we’ve had a lot of fun. We...

1. Spent an hour wandering around the Botanical Gardens in Golden Gate Park in winter, enjoying the dormant plant life while blasting Yo Yo Ma on our iPod headphones
2. Took a creative writing workshop at Green Gulch Zen Center and wrote some stories, and picked up some freshly-baked-by-monks bread
3. Spent the afternoon kicking around Fairfax, wrote some letters by hand at a not-a-Starbucks, and went to see Avatar in 3-D (incidentally, 3-D glasses over regular glasses is a really hot look)
4. Sold a gold necklace and used the cash to buy new plants at Home Depot, then spent an afternoon repotting them and sprucing up the house
5. Went to see an award-winning play at an underground theater and sat right next to the playwright
6. Went rock and flower hunting and bushwhacking in Tennessee Valley, and then came home and pressed the flowers in my dictionary and arranged the rocks in a bowl
7. Checked out a free pass to the De Young Museum (love you, Mill Valley Library) and geeked out to psychedelic Amish Quilts
8. Took a yin yoga and skin scrub-making workshop with the lovely Kelsey Riley of Naya Organics
9. Dropped into an author talk at Book Passage and learned about the history of Buddhism from the mouth of an “expert"
10. Planted a baby herb garden to devote endless hours of squandered love and overprotection to
11. Ran around San Francisco in the middle of the night installing renegade street art (Okay this one I did with Vanessa, but it was a special occasion and besides, Vanessa is simply another side of myself.)
12. And lots of other mad creative things like making decoupage dreamboards, stealing myself a bouquet of flowers out of the neighbor's yard, learning to cook lots of new things, journaling, journaling, journaling, journaling like a maniac, reading novels, rearranging the elements of my Maggie B., drawing on my chalkboard wall, making spice blends, making bath salts…

The best part of The Artist's Way? When you realize that there is creativity in everything you do.

I’m starting to wonder how I ever had time to date someone else.

I have a nasty habit that stems from my phobia of confrontation and my fear-based 6 personality. When someone in my life is bugging me, I find it very challenging to go straight to the source. Instead, I tend to act out sideways by bitching heavily to my cadre of besties.

I rely on them for their opinions, their backup, and their support. But this weekend, I realized that I am committing a sort of spiritual self-violence by not simply trusting my own judgment.

Actually, this is something that I've known in the way back of my mind for a very long time. But awareness doesn't always bring immediate change, sadly. This week—already Week Eleven of The Artist's Way—I came up against a powerful instance of synchronicity in the form of a blood pressure-raising confrontation with one of my very best friends.

Basically, she wanted to know why I didn't just come straight to her when I was having a problem with her. Instead she suspected that I was complaining about her behind her back.

She was right. I was.

At the end of every Artist's Way week, we do a check-in, and one of the questions is, "Have you noticed any issues that are significant for your recovery?" Well, this is a big one.

Not coincidentally, we just started in on the Metta (Loving Kindness) practice in my Dharma course. With Metta practice, your responsibility is to practice compassion and unconditional love toward absolutely everyone. In the world. In theory, that is.

It's a practice, and obviously not something that's possible for us mere mortals in every moment. But, at least during the twenty minutes you are meditating—and ideally beyond—you practice practicing it.

When my friend busted me for being a sideways complainer, I realized that I've been doing her, and myself, a great spiritual disservice by not practicing Metta with her.

So, here's my commitment: from here on out, I'm going practice going straight to the source when I have something to say.

You can consider that a declaration.

This week was about workaholics, and figuring out if we are one. I didn't need to read a chapter or do any journaling to solve this one. I'm not. Nope, that's not something I've ever been accused of. My mom is a workaholic, and so is my brother. I got my dad's genes. We like to sleep late. And we're good delegators.

This week was also about noticing how, now that we're at Week Ten of The Artist's Way (wow), things have indeed shifted. I took inventory, and was pleased to note some positive changes over the last few months.

1. I haven't had to rescue a cat out of a tree in quite a while, thank you Jesus.
2. I have developed a quasi-successful amateur meditation practice.
3. I'm fully engaged in mindful eating these days. In fact, I haven't had processed sugar or wheat in almost two weeks.
4. I've been experimenting with fierce and unwavering sobriety as a pathway to mindfulness.
5. I've been spending more time outside.
6. I've been reading a lot.
   

   A dreamboard I made this week.

I've also been indulging my frivolous creative side as if it's a fragile child that needs a lot of attention. I took a cue from Vanessa and started making all my gifts. That's been fun. For me. Maybe not so much for my poor friends who are now getting homemade salt scrubs and repotted cacti from me on their birthdays.

And most importantly, I haven't been giving myself a hard time when I forget to meditate, or "accidentally" eat wheat, or indulge in the occasional other sort of vice.

And I guess I've been feeling more creative, especially in regard to writing. I spent some time this week creating the following three new pages for this blog:

• Words I like
• Words I don't like
• Books I love

Appreciate feedback, always.

For my artist date this week I made a miniature herb garden for my back deck.

Yesterday was the vernal equinox—the first day of spring.

As a real wildwoman of a healer I happened to meet this weekend usefully noted, “Winter is hideyhiderton time, but spring is showyshowerton time.” In other words, the time when it all comes to light. The days are longer; the crocuses are blooming (and the poppies and the irises, out at Tennessee Valley!); the animals are coming out of hibernation and acting crazy… and so are we.

According to the Christian calendar (which was so usefully and not so coincidentally built around nature’s own calender), we’re coming right up on the time of Christ’s resurrection. That’s right, Easter. Resurrection is a powerful symbol this time of year. And this week’s Artist’s Way chapter came right on time.

This week, we had to read back on our morning pages thus far and note any revelations, insights, droning incessant complaints (check), and what odd. Wow was that humbling. Here are some things I think (and write) about pretty much daily.

1. My weirdo bad dreams about tidal waves and people I love turning into monsters.
2. I need to get better at speaking with conviction.
3. I'm pretty much obsessed with getting enough sleep.
4. Loneliness and fear are big troublemakers in my life.
5. And more things that I am, believe it or not,  slightly too embarrassed to share.

It reminds me of a statistic I once heard about how 99% of our thoughts are thoughts we’ve already had before. Only that rare brilliant 1% is ever a new thought.

Part of the point of doing exercises like this is to learn how to put it all behind and start again. Resurrection, Phoenix-rising-from-the-ashes, this winter didn’t kill me… it indeed made me stronger.

And I’ll leave you with everyone’s favorite Anais Nin quote, that I myself was reminded of at the radical healing circle whatchamahoosee I was invited to:

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

So true, isn’t it? I adore Anais. 

A friend of a friend sent an email to all her friends informing them that she had been called to India and would be leaving abruptly.

Now, when she said "called to India", she didn't mean on the telephone.

She meant that she had been CALLED to INDIA.

Get it?

Major eyeroll.

It's this kind of 'tude in the yoga world that makes me want to renounce spirituality forever and go back to being a bitter smug atheist.

But as it happens, this week's Artist's Way exercises mainly revolve around asking for guidance. Or, more specifically, asking oneself for inner guidance.

The thing is, if I had the answers, I would have told them to myself a long time ago, but I am trying to play along and sit quietly with my so-called intuition and see what it comes up with.

Here's what my intuition came up with this week:

You get the idea.

In the spirit of playing the game, I did go to two count them TWO really hard yoga classes with Rusty this week, and I really did try my very hardest to have a good yoga attitude.

In synchronicity news, I'm starting my Buddhist class at Spirit Rock on Wednesday, so I'll be enlightened soon enough, and then I'll know all the answers.

And I had one of the best acupuncture sessions of my life with the lovely and amazing Rebecca Rapaport Ness. I cannot say enough good things about this woman and acupuncture in general. I don't know if it was something she did, where I was at in my day/life, or the half clonapin I took just before the session, but I could have never imagined being so very relaxed with sharp needles sticking out of my head just behind my ear.

Which is funny, because the other theme of Week 3 is synchronicity, and as it happens, one of my clients had just been talking to me about her passion for documenting fence painting (she's a well-known garden designer). So, I was happy to be able to take these shots and send them to her.

Mission accomplished.

Our assignment this week was to not read. Sounds asinine. Pretty much is.

(I obviously had a bad attitude about it.)

The idea of not reading is to stop cluttering your mind with the endless hours of meaningless information flow in order to open up some right-brained space for creativity.

I get it. My reading habit can definitely be a bit distracting at times. I can get really mired down in the responsibilities of staying on top of Facebook, Twitter, personal email, the news, the celebrity news (very important), movie reviews, weird Craig's List ads, multiple concurrent online Scrabble games, etcetera. In fact, I usually spend a good hour or two every morning getting all that stuff out of the way before I even think about work. Ironically, I like to think of it as my "creative process".

Alas, apparently I'll have to think of something else constructive to call it, because it turns out I am just as creative without it.

The analysis:

This may be the hardest thing I have ever denied myself of. I had no idea how addicted I was to reading. And I'm not saying that's a bad thing. I'm a writer, so reading is kinda healthy and good for me, professionally and spiritually.

On the one hand, these outlets are ways for me to channel my ADD and stay on the computer, when otherwise I would be constantly all over the place and never get anything done. On the other hand, they do fill my mind with a lot of useless information. Depending on your definition of useless.

The experience itself:

The first thing I noticed was how empty I felt without anything to read. I was sad about it. I missed words. I felt like I was being deprived. No—I felt like I was being psychologically tortured.

I made a list of all the things I could do instead of reading. I wrote it in huge letters on my chalkboard wall. And then I found myself reading it over and over again, until I caught myself at it and realized I was using it as an excuse to read something.

In conclusion:

I learned to read when I was four. That's 34 years of reading, so far. (I'm also very good at math, clearly.) Reading has been my salvation and refuge for most of my life. I'm not about to give it up. But it was a good practice to experience life without it for a week.

I'll have my book back now. Thanks.

About every five years I decide to embark on a mission to get through The Artist’s Way.

I never finish it. But this time, I’m going to. This time, I’ve got my besties around me, and we’re going to DO THIS.

It’s all a part of my distract-myself-from-the-harrowing-truth-of-reality plan for 2010. Between my current “realistic health kick” (going strong, holla), The Artist’s Way (which lasts for the next 12 weeks), the writing workshop I’m going to take at Green Gulch Zen Center next weekend, and the 10-week Buddhist course I’m starting in February (at Spirit Rock), I ought to be good.

I know I sound like a freak. I sound like one of those people who is always doing something for fear of ever having to spend five minutes alone with themselves. And I will admit that may be a little bit of what’s going on for me right now.

I took this photo in Peru in 2006. It was a desolate rainy day in the Sacred Valley, but so cozy inside the bus. Rain is quite lovely when experienced from the right perspective.

Then again, I did spend all last Sunday by myself. I spent the morning reading on my lovely hand-me-down makeshift-cushioned couch (thank you Anna Fischer). I took a field trip to the library and renewed my library card and took out a book called Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (which I obviously chose sheerly for the title). I went to a matinee of a movie no one else would ever want to see with me, for good reason—The Lovely Bones. I took Christy Brown’s transcendently amazing yin yoga class at YogaWorks (a place I hate to promote because I know from inside experience that they really only care about your cash money, but Christy is the real deal and, in my opinion, the most underrated yoga teacher in the greater SF area).

It was really quite the insular, peaceful, calming rainy Sunday.

The Artist’s Way instructs you to go on what’s called an Artist’s Date once a week. The rule is, you have to do it by yourself, and you have to do something outside of your normal box.

So, I’m greatly looking forward to blocking off the next 12 Sundays to date myself. One of the things I forgot that's so  wonderful about being single: getting to spend time with the only person in the world who likes to do exactly what I like to do, all the time: ME.