ground fog by marsh in winter

Not loving it. But something has kept me from painting over it.

Sometimes when I am creating, I go too far, keep poking it, keep messing with it, and end up messing it up and losing whatever was special. In painting, I often wish I had stopped a few layers earlier, back when it felt more open. Or I regret moving from the truly abstracted to the semi-representational.  That is nearly always the kiss of death since I have no skill at rendering. In this painting, I screwed up the trees, I knew what I was after, missed, and was unable to lift the paint back off and begin again.

In writing, I had a long piece that I rearranged after a workshop by an editor. She spoke of the importance of jumping into plot, and I panicked. By re-aranging, I totally screwed up the organic, slow, unfolding pace that was central to the piece. It will never be a nail biter, but it wasn’t meant for that or that audience. And now I know I have to unscrew it before I can move forward.

Interesting to think about other things that might benefit by going back a few paces… and consciously raise sensitivity to being more aware when things maybe should be left alone for a bit even if they are not quite done…

Nothing worse, for me, than wishing I could take that last ____ back. Undo only goes so far, and regret simply sucks.

taken with my phone

I am coming to like the fact that I never *quite* know what I am going to get when I use my phone camera, since there is a weird delay, a weird distortion, and it is always darker, fuzzier, grainer than I expected. So sometimes, I hold it up and away and take an image just to see what I get. Somehow taking away my expectations by not even looking makes a bit of room for some happy surprises.

Gets me thinking: what other things might my expectations/plans be inhibiting? what might I be feeling less-than about because it did not match my preconception or vision, when, maybe (just maybe) viewed independently of the wish, maybe (just maybe) there is value there, unexpected and unacknowledged delight, some sort of  happy surprise.

To create in a group, not necessarily the more obvious collaboration of writer/director/camera person on a single project, but to create around others, can be somewhat magical. There is energy in the gathering itself, in the shared intention. This is why I so much loved writing in a group for many years, why I loved (even though I felt other than) Squam Art Workshops, and why I love our virtual creativity gatherings, our Campfires. I am cooking up another one for March 23-15, near the equinox, so mark your calendars!  It is a weekend of shared creative intention, of creating knowing that others are out there too.  It is virtual, so you don’t need to be anywhere or really, anywhen. I’ll be sending out an invitation soon. If you’re not already on the mailing list and would like to be, leave a comment or send me a quick note  icantwhistle  at  yahoo dot com

In support of my own creative experience on a more regular basis, I have subscribed to several mailings. One lovely one arrives every Monday. Another comes every day.  Little reminders, gentle nudges, not to lose track of what is important in the face of all that is necessary in any given moment.

This came today from “The Universe”, and I wanted very much to share it as soon as I read it:

“It’s not from the known, but the unknown, Kate, that creativity and inventiveness are born.

Turn away from the predictable, cliché, and reliable. Brave the void where the darkness is greatest. Trust the quiet, find the stillness, feel the calm. Then steadily think, speak, and move as if you were led. Behave as if your vision were clear. Anticipate the emotional rush that will come with your triumph. And as if by magic, as you raise your pen to write, you’ll find the words have already been summoned, flooded in light that was there all along…” © www.tut.com

Gleaning solace and energy from the unknown, and, oddly, in the void? What a wonderful (new) non-panicked way to approach the state of not knowing!

Photobooth + colored pencil effect + 9:24pm +tiredkate

Funny how the dark felt like a way to hide a little, kind of a way around delving too deeply for tonight’s post…

and then, during the photo, there was an unexpected flash and I was more exposed than I thought.

]]> http://wishingstone.wordpress.com/2012/02/19/portrait/feed/ 1 wishingstone http://wishingstone.wordpress.com/2012/02/18/bravery-anyway/ http://wishingstone.wordpress.com/2012/02/18/bravery-anyway/#comments Sun, 19 Feb 2012 01:56:27 +0000 Kate http://wishingstone.wordpress.com/?p=470 ]]> I was thinking today about how usually when I am trying something new that is somewhat public, it is not when I am at my most confident, my most pumped up, my most energized, but when I am in time of crisis, transition, or other crossroads that has left me feeling depleted, undermined, unsteady and uncertain.

Soon after the onset of the Big Job Erosion of 2010, I was rather desperately looking for direction, inspiration and, really, work- and I really wanted to do something different. I had some ideas, but they were new and unformed, untested… but they also were ideas that felt like the right direction. But, each time I had an opportunity to talk about my ideas, I sounded unsure, inarticulate, and a bit beaten. I was scared and I sounded that way. My confidence was shaken. I knew that I would be entering into situations or fields that were new to me after being an expert in something for many years… and I was really fearful of failure, and that shook in my voice every conversation I had. And as such, the responses I got were uncertain and unenergized too.

Looking back, and, I suppose, looking ahead, I wonder, what if I had been able (superhuman and impossible) to enter into those same conversations with the energy and delight of a new opportunity and the exploration of new ideas? What would it be like to try something new from a position of power?

It is always easier to feel brave when I’m feeling strong. This is probably common. So, I wonder– how can I, how can we, create an environment for bravery when we are not feeling quite so strong?

***

I took a break from this blog entry to get off my proverbial butt and write an email that was scary. I think sometimes that it takes a running start for me, a retracing of other things like it, or outcomes that could have been different if I had put different energy into making that come true. Finally, something clicks into place and I just act as if I am brave (ish).

I often joke about my own process. It usually looks like this:

Avoid

avoid

avoid

avoid

distract

avoid

feel disconsolate

avoid

eat something naughty

and then after repeating the pattern over some period of time

run at it (whatever the it is that I’ve been avoiding) roaring with my arms waving.

So– how do you do it? How do you create an environment for bravery when you are not feeling quite so strong? Do you fake it? Remember past successes? Tell yourself the worst that could happen? Balance regret?  Channel someone strong? Sugar up and run at it and then sit breathless and sweaty and in a weird stew of elation and panic?

Today feels like change, clouds whipping by overhead, the sun feeling just a little warmer. Tree branches are moving.

And with this return of depth and motion, I got to thinking about stillness, and how, even when we are as still as we can be, we are in a million different kinds of motion: Blood, breath, neurons, eyes, thoughts, heat, heart…

We grow and change even as we are sleeping.

So, here’s to a day of non dramatic not cataclysmic perfectly ordinary wondrous miraculous change.
Sloughing and re-creating, exchanging breath and food for energy and action.

I invite you to spend a moment acknowledging- even if only for the span of one full breath- all these unseen and unconscious miracles of being.

If you could choose a sound bite description for your ideal job based on who you are, not necessarily who you know, or what you know, or what your education has been, or your official work experience… what might it be?

There’s a fantasy one I’ve carried for a long while:

Kate Johnson is a writer who lives in vermont.

But I now know that “writer” does not encompass all that I am or wish to be, and vermont can be a state of mind.

And there is also this whole other side of me that digs technology, grooves on the energy of smart people creating new things, loves jamming on ideas, problem solving, option making, looking for alternatives and ways to make things and people work well, and work well together.

So anyway, today, in thinking about how to reframe and re-aim my current work life toward something that feels whole, rewarding, sustainable, true, and potentially valuable, I came up with a “business” description that might be something like:

Intuitive Business Consultant and Executive Sounding Board, Specializing in Start-ups and Companies in Transition.

A rough draft, an interesting start. It is not incorrect, but does not resonate with the energy I want it to. But hey, beginnings need to start somewhere. Because I can’t help it, I think of Annie Lamott, and her shitty first drafts (from Bird by Bird).  And then remind myself that there is power in beginning to think about putting words to this bigger evolution, even if in this limited way.

***

I’m curious, if you could cast yourself free from most rational pragmatism, and digging deep into what makes you you, what might your sound bite be?

You may not know it right now, but you are doing important things. I know, it may feel like somehow you got on the wrong bus, or that you are being mistaken for someone else with different skills and different goals than the ones you imagine you have, but in reality, you are learning in every moment, learning things that will help you take yourself where you need to go.

You are learning that you will need to take yourself, that there is no express ride, no fairy godmother, no magic wormhole, no wood sprite, or fog-thick fantasy where you will wander in lost, and wander out found.

You are learning how to listen differently, to yourself and others. You are learning how to speak and when not to. You are learning to watch for bigger patterns and not just respond to minutiae.  You are learning flexibility and strength. You are learning how important it is to say no, and how freeing it can be to say yes, and how shitty it is when you say yes too soon, or no simply out of fear.  You are learning how to be new at something, how to suck at it, how to be open to not knowing.

You are learning to love in a wide open way that you have never experienced before. You are learning to trust, to lean into, to count on… you are learning that being scared about being interdependent does not mean you can pretend and not do it. You’ve already found yourself out, and realized in spite of fear, you’re in it too. That although you’ve already learned, you already know you would probably survive, you cannot imagine going back to just you.

You are learning to listen to your body, to the signals that come quietly before the shouts, the jammed gears, the smoking clutch.  You are learning that you need to take a different kind of care, and that requires a different kind of time, and a different kind of time means a different kind of allowance… you need to make room for taking care.  It cannot be interstitial.  It has to be as important as it is.

You are learning a lot about what you don’t like, and a lot about what you do.  You are learning to pay attention to energy shifts and balances, what brings energy, what saps it. You’ve already made a huge leap this year into awareness of the cost of self inflicted conflict. That each moment needs to have clarity of attention and that split attention is acutely and nearly instantaneously depleting.

You are learning about the skills you have that are independent of field. The ones that just are– the katestuff that you may be able to reframe into a useful package to help feed your family and your self.

You are learning so many things that are laying groundwork. You may not know for what yet, and that is ok. You are learning, in fact, that not knowing is ok. That you can feel your way towards whatever is next, and have faith that somehow all the pieces you are collecting, all of the yeses and the Yeses and the YESes will amount to something tangible and satisfying and real.  That your gifts will be useful and helpful and of the kind of value you may not be able to imagine just now.

You are learning to imagine an energized life, one with confidence and quiet joy. You are learning to imagine how active a roll you will need to take in avoiding the leg traps of old behaviors that keep you small, keep you quiet, keep you wounded.

You are learning to stop and look, stop and think, stop and listen. Remembering things you knew, and then unknew.

You are learning, I know it feels you are learning too slowly, or in a way that feels circuitous and non-linear, but you are learning what it takes to feel good. And you are remembering, not always and not easily, but you are remembering pieces you’ve put aside or away.

A few years from now, your landscape will be different. It will be more gentle and less thorny. You will be able to see a little farther,  and have more faith when the fog comes in that it is simply time to reconnect, gather in, re-imagine and reaffirm.  You will be stronger than you think. You are now, but you can’t quite know that.  You’ll see though, and it will simply be true.

You will realize how much there is in every moment that can be used for bliss. You are realizing this, but you forget and re-remember. You will forget and re-remember a million million times.

But this I know, this you know: you were made for joy. You feel it in everything when you can. There is nothing quite like fireflies or snowflakes or the moon. There is nothing like chocolate or the right shoulder, or clean sheets or hot showers.  There is nothing like lying on the floor and feeling that sort of connected with whatever that earth energy is that holds us just strongly enough so we don’t fall off.

You will learn to reconnect more easily.  Have faith that you will.

and I’ll be waiting here to welcome you.  We’ll have fun, I promise.

with love, and more appreciation that you can know for all that you are doing, and all that you are being and all that you are becoming. Without you there would be no me.

Namaste

your future self

I began, erased, began again. The way I usually write is to Write. I write. I hardly ever edit.

But, I tell myself, this kind of big blank is not surprising after a long day, work, driving, busy-ness.

But, I tell myself,  I saw so many beautiful things today– a million different kinds of ice. Ice along the edge of the river. Iced over mill ponds with snow. Swamps with ice showing motion, where the ice melts just enough for flow, and then refreezes. Ice that reflected the sun in bright swaths. Ice that was dark. Ice that was light. I saw snow being made on the north side of a small ski mountain. I saw snowflakes on my car window, coming from a clear blue sky.

It is not as if there was nothing.

It is just hard sometimes to sit down and reconnect with things like that. To even remember the moments of seeing the sun slant through the woods….

So I am writing this to suggest to all of us to wait it out. Wait out the silence. Wait out the blank page. Be with it, uncomfortable as it may be, because, as my wonderful wildwords writing group knows so very well, writing about not being able to write is still writing. And painting with water still counts.