proud beginner

The Art of Adulting

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I have been working on the art of being an adult. What does being an adult even mean? To me it means autonomy, taking responsibility, and paying a lot of bills.

In some ways I’m doing a fine job of adulting. I pay my bills (mostly on time), make my own decisions (after much consultation), and cook my own meals (occasionally). I still, however, do not have a washer or dryer and cart my laundry to my parent’s house every few weeks. I sleep on a futon and ignore my dirty dishes until I can’t use the sink faucet. So I’d say it’s about 50/50 right now. I may act like an adult but I live like a college student. And you know what? Right now, it works for me.

Note: This piece was originally published in April but, due to user error, it showed up as a page rather than a post. The author would like you to know, she no longer sleeps on a futon. She now has a mattress on the floor.

Unstopping the Block

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As of this Sunday, I will have completed my second time through The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. Once again I feel my creative blocks falling away. I believe it is much easier to write than to not write. I have realized the amount of time and energy I put into not writing becomes productive and fulfilling when I use it to write.

It sounds simple when I write it out but aren’t the simplest ideas often the most profound? Mind blown.

If you want to know more about The Artist’s Way, here’s the link to Julia Cameron’s website: http://juliacameronlive.com

Proud Beginner

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I was talking with some people recently about being a beginner. I have always been a champion of the idea that you can start anything at any age. There’s a quote I love that says:

Question: Do you know how old I’ll be by the time I learn to play the piano?

Answer: The same age you will be if you don’t.

However, I do believe the single hardest thing to be a beginner at is running. Every time I begin running (once every six months or so), it is the most uncomfortable and physically painful experience of my life. Inevitably I pick the wrong clothes – my shirt rides up, my pants fall down. My lungs feel like they’re about to give out at any moment and I think my heart may explode. I feel like everyone who drives by is gawking at me like “whoa, check out that chick with the bright red face who’s somehow tangled her headphones in her ponytail.” I can never breath when I done and I always develop a week long, hacking cough. Yet I still keep trying, every six months, because I really do want to be a runner.  So despite the horrendous wardrobe malfunctions and physical trauma, I am a proud beginner.