Meet the Enemy Part 7: Taking Stock

Note: This is the last installment in a weeklong intensive, with one or two exercises per day (which are bolded). Please, if you follow this series in full or part, share your valuable experience and reaction to the enemy. And of course, good luck!

I’m back in the same cafe, typing this more slowly than usual because last Saturday night I accidentally slammed my right index finger into a car door. Feeling ridiculous and also quite worried, I visited the ER. No broken finger bones, thank God, just the chance of losing a fingernail. They wrapped it up thick in gauze and told me to keep the injured digit above my heart for the next 48 hours. Naturally the next step was buying lots of ice cream with my roommate. I walked around the store, amplified finger held high, perpetually on the verge of pontification. I commanded aisle six. I recognize this constantly sore and wagging finger. It’s the enemy’s trademark gesture.

Over the course of the next week, Seattle succumbed to snow. The whole city shut down while the people of Capitol Hill tested the sledding capacity of such diverse objects as actual sleds, pizza boxes, air mattresses, cookie tins, and blow up dolls. I was home much more than usual, marveling at the stretch of quiet time. I reserved a corner of my attention for my index finger as it slowly started to heal. Bathing, brushing my hair, dishes, putting on a sweatshirt, daily life is a little more tender with this injury.  I’m reminded constantly of the enemy which gives meaning to its presence.  Watching out for it is helpful; in this time my psyche has shaken loose a few major assumptions and I’ve found myself writing differently, more slowly but with more freedom.

This is powerful stuff.

I take stock. I write three pages, front and back, repeatedly finishing the line What I’m noticing now is… Afterwards, I take a highlighter to it, noticing what hold interest, what holds power.

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Meet the Enemy Part 6: Harboring

Note: This is the sixth installment in a weeklong intensive, with one or two exercises per day (which are bolded). Please, if you follow this series in full or part, share your valuable experience and reaction to the enemy. And of course, good luck!

I’m writing this in a coffee shop. The man across from me just asked the woman beside me if it was strange that he was polishing his shoes.

Stirring her coffee with a long, plastic straw she looked up. “Yes”, she answered.

“Would you rather I not do this here? He asked.

“Yes, she replied. “I’d rather you do that at home.”

“I was anxious to do it”, he explained.

“Oh, were you”, she replied.

“Yes”, he asserted.

“Well, you asked me and I answered”, she retorted. “Do what you must”, and she returned to her knitting.

Oh the things I might do, if it weren’t for the enemy. They’d be so much worse than polishing my shoes. I can think of a few things I wouldn’t do, too.  For starters, I’d never get out of bed when I was tired. In fact, I’d never get out of bed at all.

You see, without thinking too much about it, I believe that without the enemy I would be useless and unlovable and impractical and dead. So I’m very loyal to my enemy.

It’s time to consider this belief.

I fill one page, front and back, finishing this sentence over and over. What’s right about harboring my enemy is… I fill another page, front and back finishing this sentence:  My experience without the enemy is… 

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Meet the Enemy Part 5: Combat

Note: This is the fifth installment in a  weeklong intensive, with one or two exercises per day (which are bolded). Please, if you follow this series in full or part, share your valuable experience and reaction to the enemy. And of course, good luck!

It’s the very cliché of hypnotism. It might as well be swinging a stopwatch in front of my face. It might as well have a mustache with curled up ends.

“You are getting very sleepy”, it whispers. “The sky is gray. The insides of your eyes are also going gray. Noise from the room is seeping in, inside your skull. Inside and outside jumble together. You are crumpled and soft. I am the only voice you can distinguish.”

I sink into the red pleather couch.

“You are listening very close to me. I have something important to tell you, something true.”

Dramatic pause. I’m fully collapsed.

“This thing you are writing sucks”, it announces. “It sucks for many reasons. Give up now. Drink more coffee or whatever. Anything. Just stop.”

Shut up, I write. I’m f*&%ing writing right now.

As artists, one of our fundamental aims is to counter the enemy’s agenda. And of course, we are the enemy. We’re here to stay and so is it and so we must learn to defend ourselves against it.

I open my notebook to two adjacent blank pages. I dedicate one page to the enemy. I dedicate the next to my own defense. Both pages, as well as the very act of writing, will be threaded through with observation. I write an attack. Underneath it, I note how that feels. I write a defense. Underneath it, I write how that feels. I fill the front of the two pages. Then I look them over. I notice that my defenses consist of explanations. I notice I don’t like it. Why should I explain myself to the enemy?

I open my notebook to a fresh page. I write down a concise message from the enemy. Underneath it I write defenses that aren’t explanations. They are short things, things like “Stop!” “I don’t need you!” “F*&% off!” I fill a page. That feels better.

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Meet the Enemy Part 4: Agenda

Note: This is the fourth installment of a weeklong intensive, with one or two exercises per day (which are bolded). Please, if you follow this series in full or part, share your valuable experience and reaction to the enemy. And of course, good luck!

Growing up, my grandma often cared for me. I remember one morning she crashed our ’66 bug into a redwood at the bottom of a hill. I started to cry. She observed me, than informed me of a study. Apparently, someone once decided to document the reactions of hungry babies. Some babies screamed, my grandma said. Some babies cried. Some babies attempted to solve the problem by hunting for a breast. “I always thought you were a problem solver”, she said. “But here you are crying, and crying won’t help.” Here I am indeed. Two decades after the fact and I take for granted that, when a problem occurs, I should focus exclusively on solving it.

The familiar is easy to take for granted, but in naming it, we enable ourselves to see the power and peculiarity of it. This is an effective way to expose the enemy because:

The enemy is defined by its agenda. And.

Its agenda is to keep us within the familiar.

The enemy is just a crude guidance mechanism, made by and for a child who had no real knowledge of how to navigate this world. It interferes with art. It interferes with anyone who wants to live a life with freshness and vitality; it interferes with anyone who would like to admit the great and mysterious unknown.

It’s no longer needed.

I spend two full pages, front and back, repeatedly answering these questions, one right after the other: What does the enemy tell me? When did I first receive this message?

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Meet the Enemy Part 3: Recognition

Note: This is the third installment of a weeklong intensive, with one or two exercises per day (which are bolded). Please, if you follow this series in full or part, share your valuable experience and reaction to the enemy. And of course, good luck!

I know that the enemy is more than just judgment or an overzealous editor. For instance, there’s that gray fog that comes over me when I get nervous about teaching and tell myself that after eight years, I’m not allowed to be nervous about teaching. Or there’s that bloated feeling I keep getting, like physically bloated, right after I’ve spoken highly of myself. There are even certain compliments I’ve paid myself. Things like I may be plain, but at least I’m not tacky. Or it’s good I didn’t say anything. Silence is elegance.

I spend a page, front and back writing from the line “I recognize the enemy in…” I include my emotions. I include my body. Afterwards, I reread what I’ve written, highlighting lines that interest me.


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Meet the Enemy Part 2: Habitat

Note: This is the second installment in a weeklong intensive, with one or two exercises per day (which are bolded). Please, if you follow this series in full or part, share your valuable experience and reaction to the enemy. And of course, good luck!

When I was a freshman in high school, I learned which girl the boy I liked was smitten with. I found her picture in the back of the yearbook–a full color, studio shot. She had a stylish bob. My hair was wild. She had earrings all the way up the sides of her ears. I had rhinestone studs that I took out before soccer games. She had curves beneath her blue sweater. Beneath my hand-me-down tee shirts, I was still waiting for puberty to pay off.

I decided she was better than me. Naturally. Like, a better, more valuable human being. And when, every now and again, I’d forget how repulsive I was, I’d open up the yearbook to remind myself. I did this long after I’d stopped liking the boy. I did this after graduation.

The enemy lives in comparison. The enemy lives in judgment.

I fill one page, front and back, writing from the phrase: I judge myself when…
  A new page for a new phrase: I judge others by… 
One final page for this last phrase: I’m judged as…” Whenever I get stuck, I return to my line.

Posted in Announcements, Beliefs, Challenges, Courage, Definitions, Experiment, Inquiry, Insights, Lessons, Practices, Productivity, Relationships, Series, Well Being | 9 Comments

Meet the Enemy Part 1: Taking Stock

Note: This is the first installment of a weeklong intensive, with one or two exercises per day (which are bolded). Please, if you follow this series in full or part, share your valuable experience and reaction to the enemy. And of course, good luck!

I’ve come, reluctantly, to accept that we actually are, can be, our own worst enemy.

I’m sitting here writing this, waiting for the tea to boil. My computer is tottering on top of stacks of papers and books. I’m thinking. I’m thinking that these pants are unflattering. I shouldn’t have to borrow lounge pants from my roommate. I haven’t written anything coherent in months. My hair is greasy. I’m lazy. When will this stone roll off my heart? The water is boiling. I should go grocery shopping. I should eat something besides quesadillas. I can’t even make proper quesadillas. Anyone who knows what I’m thinking will hate me. I’m thinking that I should be more available. I’m thinking that I am a child. I’m childish. I’m thinking that I’ll never change. I’m thinking I never have changed.

Clearly I’m under attack and it’s time to meet the enemy.

I begin by taking stock, writing for two full pages, front and back, from this line: “What I’m noticing now is…” I write down whatever comes, be it weather or worries, but I make sure and give special consideration to what is happening in my body, since it actually is located here and now. Whenever I get stuck, I return again to the line. What I’m noticing now is…” 

Posted in Announcements, Beliefs, Challenges, Courage, Definitions, Experiment, Inquiry, Insights, Practices, Series, Well Being | 4 Comments

29 Ways to Nurture Friendship

This list is lifted directly from John M. Gottman’s book, The Relationship Cure. I haven’t changed a word. One reason I haven’t is that I trust Gottman’s take on this subject, more than my own. Gottman is a doctor of psychology and more importantly, he has spent the last 40 years actually researching relationships. I, on the other hand, have not been alive 40 years. I have, however, been alive long enough to notice that, other than art, friendship is what gets me through. And that every relationship boils down to a particular kind of friendship. So here’s Gottman’s verbatim list of actions that nurture our friendships. 

  1. Ask “How are you?” in a way that shows you’d really like to know.
  2. Listen to their stories and jokes (even if you’ve heard them before).
  3. Return the things you borrow.
  4. Say “thank you” for favors.
  5. Offer spur-of-the-moment invitations to coffee, dinner, or drinks (but don’t be hurt if your friends can’t come).
  6. Accept spontaneous invitations when you can. (But don’t feel guilty if you can’t make it.)
  7. Ask for advice, but don’t fel obligated to take it.
  8. Ask friends if they’d like your advice before you offer it. If they say yes, share your wisdon. Don’t be disappointed when they don’t do what you suggest.
  9. Know when what you’re asking for is too much.
  10. Ask your friend about his or her childhood. Listen.
  11. Remember his or her birthday with a card or a gift.
  12. Nod in agreement when your friend says good things about his or her spouse or lover.
  13. Notice and say positive things about your friend’s children.
  14. Ask your friend about his or her dreams, goals, and visions. Listen.
  15. Offer compliments.
  16. Accept apologies.
  17. Ask your friends about their life stories. Listen.
  18. Ask you friends about their parents. Listen.
  19. Tell them it’s okay to call anytime.
  20. Let them off the hook when they say, “I can’t do it. I’m exhausted.”
  21. Drive them to the airport when they’re going away on a special journey or a difficult trip.
  22. Let them be as upset as they need to be.
  23. Support their efforts at health improvement.
  24. Encourage their efforts to build skills, learn more, become more.
  25. Offer to help out when your friend is stressed.
  26. Ask for help.
  27. Let them help you.
  28. Monitor your friend’s well-being, and be there in good times or bad.
  29. When you lose track of each other over time, try to pick up where you left off.
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Year’s End Benedictions: 2011

Note: This is an updated repost. Year’s End Benedictions have become a tradition with me–please join!

I find New Year’s resolutions fascinating–several of my obsessions converge in them. Tradition–The creation and maintenance of shared ritual is so powerful.

  • Culture–Culture shapes us and of course, we shape it. How we participate in tradition is part of this.
  • Goals–It seems to me like having goals is an attempt to control the future. I would love to control the future.
  • Time–I never understand the shape of it. Though I live inside it, I can’t picture it at all. Dealing with the year as one unit imposes structure on something so… baffling.
  • Dreams–making resolutions is one way of dreaming up possibilities.

So I should love New Year’s resolutions. But I don’t. Here’s why:

1. They don’t work. Most of the time anyway. It’s true.

2. They’re oversimplified. The coming year will unfold with more richness than we can anticipate.

3. They can wall us from experience. In resolving to change ourselves, there’s often a kernel of rejection. We think our lives aren’t good enough. That we’re not good enough. We shore up our energy to transform a life we are depriving ourselves of.

4. They’re not timely. Once, when I heckled my Grandma to write her autobiography, she replied “Readiness is coming”. I knew just what she meant and stopped bugging her. Readiness may not be here yet, despite the creamy new pages of our calendars. Creation has other, more subtle stages than Ready, Set, Go.

Of course, readiness may be yours right this minute. It may magically coincide with the traditions of our culture. If so, fun. But either way I suggest a new New Year’s tradition: Year’s End Benedictions.

I found this word when looking up synonyms for gratitude. A benediction is also a prayer that typically comes at the end of a mass–it’s a finale. It also means good wishes and to invoke blessing. It’s an action and an attitude and a present all at once.

It’s also really easy to do.

List what is worth celebrating about the year you’ve had. I’m aimed for 12. What was amazing? What, through your efforts or through simple good fortune did you receive. What did you receive from misfortune? What firsts did you experience? What lasts? What did you learn?

If it’s not too personal, please share it here; we can celebrate together. Here are mine:

  1. I released my first single on iTunes. For the cover art, I dressed up like a painting, something I’ve dreamt of doing for a long time.
  2. I lived my first full calendar year in Seattle.
  3. I recorded and released my first album. It’s a song cycle. Making a song cycle fulfilled another dear dream of mine.  
  4. I got an official website for my music
  5. I made three new, very dear friends.
  6. I committed to an instrument.
  7. I went to Indiana for the first time. Indianapolis Indiana. It was for music and it was my first time traveling out of state and time zone for a gig.
  8. I accompanied a burlesque dancer for the first time.  
  9. I got my first album review.
  10. I did my first interview.
  11. I wrote Shadow of an Aeroplane, Outside, and Come On Now
  12. I was in my first band
Wow–what a year! Enough about me, please, tell me what 2011 brought you
Posted in Inquiry, Joy, musings, Practices, Refinements, Rituals, Time, Traditions, Well Being | 4 Comments

Shift into Winter: Six Steps

It’s a pretty day.  Sunlight is backlighting big soft clouds, and the shadows are purpled and crisp. I’m sitting by a fire, drinking tea, and my heart is finally quiet. Time to make a shift.

As we entered fall, we inquired into autumnal symbols together. It wasn’t as fancy as that sounds–one of the inquiries was “what do you like to eat right now?” I’ve been planning to lead a similar inquiry for each season this year. The only problem is that we’re coming upon winter now and winter symbolizes death. Over and over, when I research it, hoping for a different answer, it’s death, death, death. And death doesn’t seem like a topic one should choose.

Still, here it is. Death as symbol. Symbolic death.

My mind goes to funerals. Funerals are the earliest recorded rituals–it seems death has always demanded acknowledgement. One can imagine, in part, that this is out of necessity. Eventually bodies rot. Something had to be done. But the minute we started putting flowers in the grave (300,000 years ago, Iraq) it went beyond physical necessity. It became about something else.

“The idea of the earth as mother and of burial as a re-entry into the womb for rebirth appears to have recommended itself to at least some of the communities of mankind at an extremely early age…” said mythologist Joseph Campbell. Basically it’s the cycle of life. Hakuna matata and all of that.

So it’s time to look at endings. They can be hard. Here’s how I’ll orient–come join me! I’d love to hear whatever is comfortable to share.

1. Observe. What is ending this season? I suggest keeping it to three things or less.

2. Get practical. What needs to be done? What loose ends does this leave? Who can you ask for help? What is your time frame in accomplishing this? Can you make it longer?

I need to register a publishing company.  I want this done by the end of the year. I guess I could make it by the end of January. Done. 

3. Be Gentle. As you tie up loose ends you may need to be particularly gentle with yourself. What are three easy ways in which you can be kind to yourself in the meanwhile?

I can drink even more tea. I can soften my expectations, day to day. I can soak myself in Epsom salts when I’m lonely or cold. 

4. Honor. What will you miss about what is ending? How can you celebrate that? Celebrate comes from the latin celeber, which means populous, crowded. Can this celebration in any way be shared?

I can include more image on my site. 

5. Feel. With this loss, there is empty space. Many of us resist emptiness, so it’s particularly useful to linger here a moment. Sense into your body and note, what do you feel?

I feel butterfly lilac softness above my sternum, floating on the surface. I feel my pelvis sunk heavy into this couch. I feel an empty holding in my stomach. 

6. Take stock. Your life is different now. What space does this loss open in you, in your creativity, schedule, budget, home, and heart?

Space to present in outrageous and avant garde ways. Space to create curriculum based off my own experience and philosophy. Fridays. Space to be more self reliant. Space to reconnect. And a narrower space around promotion–which is space to be more focused.  

Oh, and by the way. I found one other symbolic meaning of winter. In Persian culture this solstice is called Yalda, which means birth. Conception occupies a place both empty and full. The place we are in right now.


Posted in Inquiry, musings, Practices, Rituals, Series, Time, Traditions, Well Being | 4 Comments