things just got real

Truths

By

Here’s the truth – writing a book is hard.

To quote The Princess Bride, “Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

The same can said for writing a book. Writing a book is pain, anyone who says differently is probably trying to sell you a sure fire formula to writing a novel in a week or some other nonsense like that.

But here’s the other truth, writing a novel is one of the most amazing, incredible, fulfilling things you can do. So yeah, I’ll keep writing. Even when I’m pretty sure I’ll delete the whole thing later.

Otherwise how will I get all these characters out of my head?

Thank god for readers and editors, one of whom pointed out that I accidentally renamed one of my characters Bret Michaels instead of Brett Jacobs part way through the manuscript. How embarrassing would that have been? Also definitely the wrong vibe for our lovable hero.

Off Roading For A Few Days

By

For the past few days I have been on a therapist prescribed Staycation. In my last session I told my therapist I was feeling anxious and exhausted after the holidays. Every time one of my friends or family asked me to do something (fun things, things I’d normally enjoy), I’d get a wave of anxiety and a gut feeling that I needed to say no. My therapist reminded me that after periods of intense energy outpour, such as the holidays, I needed to recharge. Being an introvert, that meant I needed time alone. So she wrote me a prescription for at least two days off from social interaction of any kind.

There were some guidelines for this Staycation:

  1. I would practice suspension of judgement.
  2. I would practice mindfulness.
  3. I would do most to all of my twenty coping skills (everything from drink lots of water to exercise to deep breathing).
  4. I would not talk to anyone.

I told my family and some of my friends I was unavailable for two days, buried my phone in the laundry basket, took the clock off the wall, and practiced calming my frazzled nervous system.

The first day I had a few moments of panic. I’d remember approaching deadlines and calls I had to return and events I had to attend. I got into a real panic over the Christmas cards I hadn’t sent out (who ever gets those out on time anyway?).

The second day I settled into it. Last night I decided to extend my Staycation two more days because I could. Because it was helping, a lot.

What I’ve Taken Away:

  • I love yoga. It’s yoga classes I can’t handle.
  • Life can be fun, adventurous, meaningful, and whimsical. It’s not all struggle and strife.
  • Mindfulness is hard. I find it easier to be mindful when I’m physically doing something – cleaning, walking, painting.
  • I am really addicted to my phone and I don’t want to be.
  • The present moment, without the past or future to cloud it, is kind of amazing.

I encourage everyone to try this, even if only for a few hours or a day. Do things that feed your body, mind, and spirit. Things that recharge you and heal you. This staycation didn’t cost me anything extra. I actually got more done than I normally would and I felt better doing it. My personal goal is to do thing every few months.

Emotion Like A Destiny’s Child Song

By

Note: This is a post I wrote a few weeks ago. I won’t deny it’s validity by saying it reads like an angsty me teenager (though it does). I wrote it because I felt I could try to explain what was going on with me at the time. Now I’m posting it as a way of sharing where I’ve been these past few weeks. If the emotional stuff is too much for you, never fear, the comedy versions coming out later today.

Today I am sad and out of sorts. It has to do, in part, with these things:

  • Tomorrow my friend is going to put down her long-suffering dog. This is a dog I’ve known for years, who I used to live with, who I’ve pet sat for on many an occasion. I’m stopping by tonight to say goodbye but how do you begin to say goodbye?
  • People keep telling me there’s a song written about me. They’re thinking about “Cecilia” by Simon and Garfunkel. I know because people have been telling me that and singing to me most of my life. I am sad that they can’t read my name tag properly. I am sad that they’re trying so hard to connect but are going about it all wrong. I am sad because I don’t have the energy to correct them or care that they’re wrong. I respond to Cecelia. How sad is that? It’s not even my name.
  • I’ve been getting pretty sad and worked up about fictional characters lately. I love fictional characters, love them so much it hurts when the book is over or the character dies.

Mostly I am just sad. As in the depressed kind of sad. Sometimes I consider myself a high functioning depressed person. Sometimes I call it mild depression.

The drugs make it so I feel generally a little better. They also make it harder to cry. Like there are tears constantly building up behind my eyes but they won’t spill over, they just build and build until I am so upset I can’t help myself. Sometimes I wish I could cry more or better or whatever.

It’s this ache in my chest. It squeezes my heart, trying to squeeze out all the emotion. But the only emotion I have, the only one that is there, is sadness. It squeezes and I feel more sad and still no tears.

Living with depression is like that. There are good days and bad days, ups and downs like whoa. The middle ground is an illusion we don’t know about anymore.

The Traverse City Film Festival

2 Comments / By

Every year since it started in 2005, I’ve made it to at least one film at the Traverse City Film Festival. Pretty cool, huh? And for the past few years I’ve come away with a prevailing idea to ruminate on and possibly do something about. Perhaps these will turn into stories or books someday, perhaps activist movements or social media campaigns, who knows.

This year I was thinking about celebrity. I saw the Amy Winehouse documentary “Amy.” It perfectly exemplifies the destructive power of celebrity. I felt sad, not only about the tragedy of her life and death, but about the way she was hounded, slandered, and spewed across every single media venue there is. We are brutal to our celebrities, augmenting their every mistake, chastising their every misstep. Is it that we want to bring them down to our level? Do we find some sick fascination in reading about their downward spirals? Personally I think it’s nothing short of tragic that every child star ends up rehab and that their struggle with addiction is plastered across the tabloids at the grocery store check out.

I saw a headline the other day that speculated whether Jennifer Aniston was pregnant or whether she’d made a bad wardrobe choice.

Ouch.

I don’t know what to do with this yet. But I want to open the conversation.

The Things We Never Say

By

I am a big proponent of being open and honest with our words. I am all for free speech and authenticity and sharing. There are, however, certain things that aren’t said for a reason. They aren’t said because the only possible outcome will be to hurt another person. It’s not a good reaction/bad reaction situation. It’s just going to hurt.

What I’m talking about is asking a woman if she’s pregnant.

I was at an event just a few weeks ago wearing an outfit I didn’t feel comfortable in. I wanted to look professional but hadn’t had time to change so I was worried about how my shirt was a little too short and my pants kept falling down a tad. I wasn’t relaxed. Another person, a person I had to be courteous and attentive to because it was my job to be, came up to me and asked me if I was having a baby.

I immediately felt shamed. My face turned red, I hunched over, I wanted to run away. “No,” I said quickly. I was turning my class ring, the one I always wear on my right hand, because I’d read a story about a woman who turns her ring three times before answering, as a way of thinking instead of reacting. The woman asked me if I was married. I said no again, still furiously turning my ring. She persisted, asking me if I was looking for a husband. At this point I wanted to punch her. Instead I said not really and turned my back, effectively closing off the conversation. What else could I do? I couldn’t pull her aside and tell her she was insulting me or tell her to shut up and leave me alone. She was a VIP for the event! All I could do was busy myself with something else and hope she left me alone.

I will probably never see that woman again. I will probably never have the chance to tell her she hurt me. All I can do is share the experience, write about it, and let it go. There are some things we never say because they are shaming and insulting. I’ve shared the one that affects me on a not infrequent basis because of the way I look.

Next time you see a woman with a belly, please remember that it might just be a food baby and keep your mouth shut.