words for the process

without a doubt one of the best decisions I made this summer was to join a small group of lovely women from my class and go through the artist's way. it's been amazingly beautiful, challenging, refreshing, hard, and rewarding, and we are only through week 4 (out of 12). one of the things you are asked to do consistently is called morning pages, where for 30 minutes each morning you sit and write. you don't think or censor but just write what comes out. and don't read over it. don't do it perfectly. just write.

this week's chapter helped put words to what I've been noticing as I've been doing these pages recently, so I wanted to share some of the goodness. I feel like I'm writing more honestly, catching myself when I'm not as connected, and am being more specific with my words.

without further adieu, words from chapter 4:


Working with the morning pages, we begin to sort through the differences between our real feelings, which are often secret, and our official feelings, those on the record for public display. Official feelings are often indicated by the phrase, "I feel okay about that [the job loss, her dating someone else, my dad's death,...]."


What do we mean by "I feel okay?" The morning pages force us to get specific. Does "I feel okay" mean I feel resigned, accepting, comfortable, detached, numb, tolerant, pleased, or satisfied? What does it mean?


Okay is a blanket word for most of us. It covers all sorts of squirmy feelings; and it frequently signals a loss. We officially feel okay, but do we?


At the root of a successful creative recovery is the commitment to puncture our denial, to stop saying, "It's okay" when in fact it's something else. The morning pages press us to answer what else.


...As we lose our vagueness about our self, our values, our life situation, we become available to the moment. It is there, in the particular, that we contact the creative self. Until we experience the freedom of solitude, we cannot connect authentically. We may be enmeshed but we are not encountered.


Art lies in the moment of encounter: we meet our truth and we meet ourselves; we meet ourselves and we meet our self-expression. We become original because we become something specific: an origin from which work flows.

on home.

I was in Colorado last week. my second home, for two reasons. the first is that it's the longest I've lived anywhere besides Arizona, so even though when I'm asked where I'm from and respond with the AZ, Colorado's right behind in second place. Colorado is also the second place I lived during my time on this earth, and my earliest memories are there.

I had every intention on figuring out where our old house was and driving by it, and if I looked too stalkerish perhaps I'd ask the current owners if I could come in and sneak a peak inside. I also assumed we'd spend some time with our dear old family friends sitting on their porch admiring Pikes Peak, where the park next door is where I learned to be a baller. where John Kerr stood out there for over an hour one day and taught me how to shoot. particularly from the corner, saying over and over, "just get it right over the rim. don't look at the backbord. right over the rim." but alas, none of these happened, as time got away with us since I was also going up and back to Wyoming.

home's such a weird thing. where is home, really? each day, ok, well most days at least, I really am learning that home is within myself. I have felt swayed, confused, shattered at times moving my physical body around all the time to different houses and parts of the world. I'm not really sure "where I'm from", but what hasn't changed throughout my journey is me.

home is in me. there is safety and trust. courage, warmth. there is rage and anger, but even those things are okay. my thoughts are there, even the deepest ones that never even get verbalized. my fears are there - the ones that are huge and the ones that get smaller as time goes on and the courage part gets bigger. beauty is there, and strength.

probably these things all have different rooms in the home that is me. some are pretty well kept-up and clean. others I'm afraid to enter, it's been to long, there's clothes on the floor and who knows what else.

but they're all there, and even if I try to kick parts out they come back. they don't ever leave, this is what I'm learning. maybe they switch rooms sometimes as they grow inside of me, but that's my home. that's where I can rest, it's where you can find me. my feelings, my experiences, are of utmost importance and are always invited. they're not to be devalued or stepped on by me or anyone else. in fact they don't exist for anyone else, and aren't something for me to easily give away.

home is me, and thank God I'm on the journey of knowing it and caring for it.

on love.

yesterday I felt my little nephew kick in my sister's belly for the first time. this little guy is getting ready to come out. it was the coolest feeling - he's in there, he's alive, moving around and stuff. he can hear me. he's just chillin all nice and warm.

and IIIIIIIIIIIIIII... love the crap outta this guy. seriously.
and I don't even know him.

I don't know if he'll play basketball or football. if he'll hate cheese like his dad does. if he'll play an instrument or sing, if he'll like harry potter. I don't know if he'll like chipotle, but he better. I wonder if he'll be an extrovert, if he'll have friends, if he'll know how much he's loved. I wonder what he'll go through in his life. I wonder if I can take him to a baseball game one day. I hope that we'll be close, that he'll enjoy spending time with me whenever that happens. I hope I can read books to him and that he'll fall asleep while I'm holding him. I wonder if he'll keep my sister up all night. what subjects will he like in school? what is he gonna be when he grows up? I hope he wears sweater vests, those are so cute. I hope that he can come to know who he is, and rest in that.

every time I think these thoughts I am amazed at how much I love him, and he's not even here yet. I really don't know him. but it doesn't matter. I've got this affection, commitment for this little person I've never met. it doesn't really matter to me what he does or who he is. I love him. period. I'm for him. I'll fight for him.

...and how hard is it for me to have these same thoughts for myself? it's a battle. not quite so easy. but I'm learning so much already from this little one about love because of it. the little girl in me needs to be loved, cherished, held in her beauty and complexity just for who she is.

mmmm

last night I was going over to a friend's house for dinner and cards and was asked to bring dessert. my initial thought was root beer floats, but then since the weather was yucky again yesterday I figured I actually wouldn't mind staying inside and making something. then I had a thought.

in kindergarten for mothers day we were all asked to find a favorite recipe and bring it in to class so our teacher would put together a pamphlet of all of our favorites and we would give it to our moms. I don't think I had to think twice about my favorite: oreo ice cream dessert.

the bottom is an oreo crust, cookies n cream ice cream in the middle, with a chocolate layer on top.

 

I brought it last night, and it was a hit. surprisingly there's even a little bit left.

I'm gonna go eat it for breakfast now.