2011/365/090: Three Months

Well, it’s been three months since I started blogging daily here, and I’ve been pretty surprised at the discoveries I’ve made along the way.

First, writing daily really does contribute to living a more balanced life. In addition to the 500 or so words I’ve been writing here every day, I write my “morning pages” when I wake up. These cleanse the residual emotions from the previous day and give me a clean slate to begin anew. This constant writing has made a huge difference in providing clarity in my thinking and sharpening my focus on what’s most important to me.

Second, I have tried various approaches to the daily blog post, mixing it up with features on certain days every now and then. And, I’ve tried my best to not string together a series of deep or somewhat somber posts. In thinking of this site as a daily column (at times), I want my readers to keep coming back wondering what might be the topic du jour.

Third, writing daily has really helped me understand what’s most important in my life, simply because I have had to face certain subjects head-on. I have not been able to avoid the tough things, like the death of a firefighter or the ever-mounting struggles I see my students facing every day. By writing about these events when the emotions are still strong within me, I have no choice but to make some decisions about how I feel about them and what I might do with those emotions.

I have no plans on halting the daily posts. They may change in format as we approach the summer months, but that’s all part of writing authentically–it’s a constant evolution and discovery that is both fascinating and terrifying at the same time.

Thanks for following along, folks, and dropping a comment or two along the way. Here’s to the next three months, and all that they may bring…

as always……………..rvw

2011/365/089: Moving Hoops

Earlier tonight, in my EDUC 301 class at Towson U, two of my student-colleagues presented their I-search journeys with the rest of the class. Both were outstanding models for the others to follow. What made them especially interesting were their links to teaching, the arts, and fulfilling someone’s definition of “success.” We were asked to rate ourselves (scale of 1 to 10) on how successful we felt our lives were. The good news is that nobody said 0–3, but nobody said 9 or 10, either. Clearly, as our presenter pointed out, we were all in the midst of a pretty enduring journey.

Even earlier in the day, one of my high school students got the bad news that she was not accepted into the school of her choice, despite playing all the right games, getting all the good grades, and jumping through all of the right hoops.

Her reward for tirelessly spending her high school life working 20 hours a day, week after week, month after month on all the things that exceptional college candidates do?

DECLINED.

In the end, she feels, none of it really mattered at all. I’m sure that, if she were to rate how “successful” her life was at this moment, she wouldn’t necessarily be debating the finer differences between an 8 and a 9 rating.

My heart breaks for her, as she made a decision long ago to play the game and do what she thought the colleges wanted her to do. What she’s realizing now is that it might just be better to go through life doing fewer things better, and let the college acceptances and full-ride scholarships fall where they may.

The same can be said for all those writers out there who are going through all of those hoops, attending those conferences, sending their neatly creased SASEs in the mail with their crisp manuscripts on eggshell-white 68-pound paper. They spend so much time writing by the rules and editing to someone else’s specifications that they forget about who they are as a writer, a person, a voice that is supposed to be unique and stand out as something no one else could ever possibly do.

They go through all those hoops, and maybe they get lucky every now and then. But chances are good that they’ve gone so far trying to please anonymous editors that the muse has long since left them.

Very sad.

My colleagues tonight did a good job in reminding us that we are who we believe we are. We cannot be wooed by the moving hoops that tell us who we should be or how we should act.

Just write, and I promise you–the rest of it will all fall neatly in place in time.

 

2011/365/088: Walkin’ Man

There’s a quote by Henry David Thoreau that has been in my head these past few days (actually, there’s been a lot of his words with me lately). Thoreau wrote, “Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk with love and reverence.”

In my younger years, I had experienced this transcendence on several occasions, mostly when I was hiking along the Appalachian Trail or spending time in Assateague. Lately, I’ve begun to experience that same transcendence (well, shades of it, anyway), where my walks around Towson are shifting from a tough exercise to a mindful saunter.

I think the key to Thoreau’s quote lies first in the word, “pursue.” We all know how tough any walk can be, either literal or figurative, when we resist or even fight what we are trying to do. Too often, we are fighting against ourselves, and this can be a dangerous thing when we have no line of defense to fight it.

Enter the second part of Thoreau’s quote, where he suggests we walk “with love and reverence.” These two defenses will pull you through any resistance or fight, as long as they are genuine and authentic. If the walk is in good faith, then love and reverence will pull you through every single time.

I struggle with this every day, especially now that I am fully immersed in this diet/exercise transformation. It is almost as if a part of me is afraid of the success I am beginning to experience, and it is doing its best to lure me away from all that is healthy, good, and right.

I will keep Love and Reverence close to me at all times along this path I pursue, and I know that great things are possible with such focus. Yes–It is a very narrow path, and there are unexpected twists and turns that tempt and test me along the way, but the steps I take are genuine.

May you find your path or keep walkin’ along at your natural pace, and enjoy the enlightenment that each step may bring you!

 

2011/365/087: Thoughts About Those Weekend Shows

photo: rus vanwestervelt; guitarist: sean liverman

I alluded to this weekend’s bookends of great memories and music in my post a few days ago, and so I thought I’d go into a little more detail about why Saturday was so special to me.

My son and I were fortunate enough to squeeze into the sold-out auditorium at Centennial High School on Saturday for the matinee performance of The Sound of Music. Over 400 Girl Scouts were in the audience as well, so it was a special performance for many girls who might now see themselves on the stage in the coming years. (After the show, some of the cast members met with a group of Scouts and talked about the show, acting, and being a part of a large ensemble.)

The show was magnificent, and it brought back a rush of emotions and memories that, quite honestly, I was not prepared for. The Sound of Music was one of my mother’s favorite movies. When I was kid, this movie appeared on television one Sunday evening each year (it was always shown a few months after The Wizard of Oz, my other favorite). Mom loved the songs–all of them, but I seem to remember that “Edelweiss,” “My Favorite Things,” and “So Long, Farewell” were a little more special than the others.

It should have been no surprise, then, that when I heard these songs, it was hard not to tear up a little at the memories of watching the musical with the rest of the family. My students were fantastic, and there was a sudden blend of pride in what they had accomplished with those emotions and memories from my childhood.

Of course, my own love for the stage only made things worse. I thought my days in theater were over, but maybe I was wrong. I felt the pull once more. . . .

Later that night, I joined some of my old friends from high school for an acoustic performance by a fellow Loch Raven alum. What made the evening even more special was that we were at Chops Restaurant in Jacksonville, MD, co-owned by yet another Loch Raven alum.

So here we all were, surrounded by alums, listening to great music played by an alum, and drinking and eating at a place owned by an alum. It just doesn’t get any better: sound-of-music bookends that did a pretty nice job of summing up my favorite things….

These folks have no idea how much they mean to me, and how much I treasure time with them, even if it is just a few hours every 6 months or so. I’m looking forward to seeing them all again in June, listening to Chuck and Sean play a little Garcia, and just enjoying the sounds of music and the friendships that are both timeless in their own right.

 

 

 

2011/365/086: What Is Your Story?

Before I begin with today’s post, I must apologize that I cannot yet write about yesterday’s “Applause, Applause” bookends that I wrote about last night. It seems my USB cable is plugged in some other computer far, far away from here, and I will have to wait at least a day to download the pictures from last night. It’s all good, though; it gives me time to get pictures from Sound of Music to make the post even more visually wonderful. 🙂 Thanks for your patience!

Now, on with today’s post: What’s Your Story?

In the last 24 hours, I have been surrounded by stories, which have stirred the muse within to touch on more personal stories that I keep meaning to bring to life on the page–both real and imagined. Yesterday (at the theatre watching Sound of Music) and last night (with old friends and listening to great music), I found myself saying, over and over again: “Have you ever thought about writing all this down and sharing your story?” Most people give me looks of merging emotions: hope, fear, trepidation, excitement. It’s not that they don’t want to; it’s that they don’t know how to.

I find this to be the most common roadblock to people using writing to share their stories with a larger audience. All of the feelings of insignificance and inferiority (“Who would want to read my story? It’s not like I’m famous or anything.”) are symptoms, I think, of that fear of failure and that lack of knowledge about the process itself. There is a great gap between throwing your thoughts down on paper and actually publishing them.

One positive outcome of the digital revolution is the ease with which somebody can share their stories with others through self-publishing. Blogs are free and easy to set up. It’s just a matter of sitting butt in chair and writing that takes the greatest amount of work. Everybody else has taken care of the technical stuff that used to bog us down.

If you are thinking about taking it to another level, though, and putting your experiences out there with a largely unknown audience, then you need to take OFF your creative hat and put ON your business hat. There is a definite process and structure in place for you when you are at that stage. For now, though, none of that matters. What matters is that you see the importance in telling your story.

Your life may be important to several different groups. Your kids or family members might be interested in seeing the world through your eyes. Those yet born in your family (grandchildren and other relatives) will be fascinated with “knowing” you, even though they may never meet you or have the desire at such a young age to ask you important questions about you and your life and how those experiences are important to them.

Other groups might be just as interested. I am doing research right now about the Ma/Pa Railroad that ran through Maryland and Pennsylvania in the 1930’s, and personal testimonials are absolute gold to me. These folks had no idea whatsoever that I, or anybody else, for that matter, would be fascinated by their travel diaries. Their words, though, are the backbone of my story for some of my characters. I would not be able to preserve this piece of history and report it accurately in my work of fiction had it not been for their efforts to put it all down in writing AND make it accessible to me 80 years later.

My brother Rob is writing a book about his experiences as a caregiver, and it will benefit thousands of readers, most of whom he will never even meet. He can’t be bogged down by that, though. Sometimes, we must have faith in the possibility that our words will be beneficial to others, and we may never even know it.

My blog is no different. There are times when I don’t get any comments or “likes” on Facebook for the daily posts; it’s discouraging only because I don’t have that affirmation that people are reading my blog. Last night, though, a good friend told me that one of my earlier posts, “I Believe in You,” had a strong impact on her. Her kind words reminded me, all over again, that I cannot be worried about knowing who is or is not reading my entries. What I write today might not have an impact on another reader for another few months or maybe even years, if at all.

If I don’t put it out there, though, in the first place–then I am depriving everybody from ever having that possible experience or reaction. It’s a terribly selfish thing to think that nobody will ever care or ever want to read what you have to say. Just tell your story. I promise you: Somebody will care, and somebody will benefit greatly from your words.

I am encouraged by the number of people who have come up to me and said that they have started a blog after reading my posts. Keep it up! And remember, never beat yourself up about the frequency of your posts. Write as often as you can with no regrets. We will all benefit anytime you contribute your thoughts and experiences with the masses–if not today or tomorrow, then certainly at some point in the future.

2011/365/085: Applause Applause

It is late, and I cannot go to bed without posting on this, day 85 of my yearlong blogging adventure.

What I have to really say, though, will have to wait until tomorrow.

I’ll give you the tease….

The day’s bookends were both high school related, from seeing Sound of Music performed by our students at Centennial, to ending the evening watching friends that I went to high school with perform live at a restaurant/bar, owned by another friend who went to Loch Raven in ’83.

These bookends, filled with applause, are brewing inside of me in wondrous ways, and I cannot wait to post a lengthy piece early tomorrow about the significance of this day.

I leave you with this: Tonight, I saw friends that matter more to me now than I could have ever imagined 28 years ago when we went to school together. These relationships that we build, at any age, are what we make of them and what we choose to treasure.

I do not take for granted a single one of these people. I am blessed to have them in my life today, and I am ever-thankful that, all these years later, we have found a way to understand that life and love and these relationships transcend the heavier things that can weigh us down from time to time.

Love to all. More in the morning. I cannot wait. ❤

2011/365/084: Haiku

Budding life trees freeze

While storms of snow grow closer

My guitar weeps still.

2011/365/083: Tough Days

These are tough days.

My classes at school are challenging me in ways that I’ve never been challenged before. I have two incredibly talented production teams that are learning a great deal about real-world issues with money, marketing, and publishing. My English class is toying with writing that I want to showcase on a national level as they work on developing multi-voice creative nonfiction works performed in a reader’s theater structure.  That’s all good, though–just tough.

My exercise/diet program that I started on March 4th is kicking my butt every single day. I’m reaching the first transition, though, where I am feeling a real change in my weight, my health, and the way I carry myself. It’s also making me think more lucidly, and I am sleeping better at night. It’s tough physically, but it is good.

My time is being reprioritized to helping Amy cook our dinners at home, to writing pieces targeted for publication, to working out on a daily basis, and to spending more time with our children. That means less time for some other things that have been important in my life. The reprioritization has been tough, but necessary and good.

My entertainment time has been shifted dramatically, away from the television (we killed cable three weeks ago, away from satellite radio (we killed Sirius in January), and away from talk radio (thank goodness). My music and entertainment choices are done carefully now, with purpose, and they are fostering a more creative and productive life that is both positive and contributing to the larger community. The shift away from mainstream entertainment has forced me and our entire family to miss out on the mass-public discussions of tv shows and other pop media, which has been tough–but it has brought us closer together as a family, and that is good.

These are tough days, and I am grateful for what good is coming from such changes and challenges. My faith is strong that we can continue along this journey, living a better life, choosing to face the things that distract us from balanced living and strike them from our routines and lifestyles. I know the road is long, and variations of “tough” will really test me. But for this moment, this time in my life, I feel confident as I take that step forward, toward that new challenge that awaits me.

 

2011/365/082: Thunderstorms

I don’t think that I have ever taken for granted the power and energy of a good thunderstorm, and some of my strongest childhood memories are associated with the rain.

We owned a cabin along the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania, and our family would spend most weekends there. The cabin was a retreat for us all; we had fishing, hiking, and plenty of exploring. It was our getaway from the Baltimore scene, and I always looked forward to taking the 41-mile trip north to spend a few days in the woods.

For some inexplicable reason, it also seemed to rain at least one day during each visit. My mother and I would sit out on the screened-in porch and watch the storms roll over us while we taped them on her portable cassette player. In the early spring storms, the last rush of wind that would push the storm over the Susquehanna and toward the northeast would always be followed by the incessant chirping of the spring peepers.

The late-summer storms always seemed so much more intense–angry, even, for the mighty clash between two fronts that refused to budge for the other. In some of these storms, the winds blew so hard, we felt a little vulnerable on the porch, with the sideways rain cutting through the screens at such forceful speeds. Still, we toughed it out as long as we could before finally heading inside. When the storm finally passed, we would survey the damage in the front yard–broken limbs and sticks everywhere. Kindling, we would say, for next-year’s fires.

And kindling it became. Dad and I would go around the perimeter of the house, collect all the branches, and take them under the porch to cut them to size for next year.

Today’s no different. The storms roll in, and we love to watch them or even go out and experience them fully.  I would hardly categorize any of us as storm chasers, but we do our fair share of “running” through storms with a little more than marginal intent.

Writer’s Tip: What weather event triggers strong emotions in you? Bring one of those events to life on the page (or in the comments section herein) and reflect on whether you’ve held on to those feelings during those events. Enjoy writing!

2011/365/081: A Cry For Help?

Photo: Loni Ingraham, Towson Times

As I was making my usual rounds of the online news sources this afternoon, I stumbled across this story and picture that, at first, disturbed me. This statue of the Virgin Mary has stood just about a mile from my house since I can remember. I have passed it nearly every day in the last 18 years, and it has become a personal reminder of my own spirituality, helping me keep my focus on what’s really most important in my life.

Friday afternoon was no different. When I drove by the statue to take my daughter to her gymnastics competition, I passed the statue and reflected on how the area around her once looked before the church cut back all the brush surrounding her. Although I liked it better with the statue protected by the natural canopy, I have to admit that its bold and unobstructed appearance makes it more prominent, albeit a little intimidating.

All that changed when I saw this picture.

Between 24 and 40 hours after I drove by the Virgin Mary on Friday night, somebody pushed over the statue and, presumably, stole her left hand.

I’m not Catholic, but that doesn’t matter. It’s the desecration of a religious icon that, at first, bothered me.

Sometimes, when people do malicious acts like this with intent, they fear something or are lashing out against something. Either way, it’s the sign, I believe, of a strong inner battle that is raging within. We are often conflicted with varying messages we get about religion, spirituality, faith, and even prayer.

Perhaps this was a plea for help, a distress call, if you will. I can only hope and pray that this manifestation will bring some much-needed help and relief for the individual or individuals responsible. It’s easy to be angry when something like this happens, but it’s not personal. Persecution brought on by fear and confusion has been happening for a long, long time. We can only pray that their cries for help are answered, and soon.