Every Day is Saturday

Finding Joy in the Here and Now

Jun 11

Onward and Upward!

by Every Day is Saturday

Hot Air Balloon

I had lunch yesterday with someone I’ve known for many years. We used to be co-workers at a company where he was much farther up the food chain than I was, but things change and people move on, and in the time since we’ve both left that company we’ve become friends. In the past few years my friend has had his share of struggles, both personally and professionally, but now, after hanging in there and trying new things and generally toughing it out, his patience and perseverance have been rewarded. He has landed a fantastic job with a great company, right here at home. I am so thrilled for him – it’s wonderful when you see a friend who has been going through so much in life finally, finally catch a break. And what a break! It’s an awesome opportunity, and he will be amazing, I just know it.

Listening to my friend tell me about his new job and in turn telling him about all the great things that are happening in my professional life made me realize how far we’ve both come. Also this week, at the request of a couple of friends, I posted a short description of my journey, since apparently I haven’t been very forthcoming about what’s going on with me professionally. I summed it up like this:

After I was laid off (almost 4 years ago now! Amazing!) I looked for another job in my field to no avail. It didn’t take long for me to decide that I really didn’t want to go to work for someone else again anyway, so I’ve been pursuing self-employment ever since. In that first year I established ATB Meeting Design, promoting myself as someone who is a value-add to any company’s existing meeting planning team as I specialize in content development and general session production. I have had a few clients for ATB, but I realized that it’s very difficult to be on my own doing what I’m doing. In addition to ATB, in 2012 I formed How We Work with a partner; it was a project born out of our mutual interest in the “workplace” conversation. We made a valiant attempt to get it off the ground, but I think we aimed too high at first, and were ultimately unsuccessful. It’s still around, dormant at the moment – but who knows?

About the time that HWW was winding down, a new project came up with one of my nearest and dearest friends from my former job. She and I and three other former colleagues put together the new company, Moventus (www.moventusgroup.com), which is a full service, globally-based event planning company. We are focused geographically on opportunities in the Middle East and Asia (my friend is in Dubai, and we have two other colleagues in Hong Kong). We officially launched last September, and we already have several clients, one of which is the Industrial Asset Management Council. We are supporting the IAMC’s international events; since the first of the year we’ve planned events in Singapore, Munich and Birmingham, U.K. We are actively pursuing other clients and continue to reach out to our network.

I’m happy to report that after a long struggle and a couple of unsuccessful attempts, I am working with a group of people I love doing work I enjoy. It’s paying the bills, too, and I have every expectation that Moventus will continue to grow.

These two events – lunch and the writing of this post – were incredibly uplifting. I feel so happy to be where I am now, moving confidently into the future with the support of great friends and family around me.

I also want to tell you about this other thing that’s happening. Those of you who read my blog might remember the post called “The Disappointment Trap” from a few weeks ago. In it, I talk about how I stopped wanting things, and how I think that’s ultimately been bad for me. The “thing” I mostly stopped wanting for fear of being disappointed is to travel. I love traveling, and it was the aspect of my former job I missed the most. Well, I started actively wanting to travel again, and since I made that decision, the most incredible things have been happening:

  • I’m flying to Portland, OR today, all expenses paid, to attend a meetings industry trade show as a “hosted buyer”;
  • I am putting together a one-day symposium for a dear friend on Long Island, New York, and I’ll be headed up there to run it next month;
  • I got a call from the executive director of a real estate association inviting me to moderate a panel at their upcoming conference in Boca Raton – again, all expenses paid; and
  • I will be going to Dubai in September or October for a week of strategy sessions with my partner and possibly a gig (we just got a request for a proposal for an event there in October that, if we get it, I would help manage).

The last few weeks have been absolutely incredible. It’s like the floodgates have opened! I can’t tell you for sure that just wanting to travel has brought all of this about, but I do believe that if you put good thoughts and feelings out there that those are returned to you. You have to be open for new things to enter your life.

I also want to point out that this week is the one-year anniversary of this blog. Which is amazing to me. I never thought I would still be doing this a year later, but here we are!

So, Thank You to everyone who reads my little missives each week and to those of you who have reached out to me with your love and encouragement. It means more to me than I can possibly say. Here’s to Onward and Upward!

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photo credit: messycupcakes via photopin cc

 

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Jun 3

What Really Matters

by Every Day is Saturday

 

 

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This past weekend my friends at the dance academy needed help with their spring musical, so I found myself (once again) in charge of the body mics. I did the same thing for them a year ago; at the end of every year the children’s musical theatre class puts on an hour-long production. It wasn’t Phantom of the Opera, but the kids had fun and I enjoyed keeping my hand in the game, so to speak.

While we were setting up, my friend the director and I were talking about the show and all the things that needed to happen to make sure it ran smoothly. At one point during a discussion about the best distribution method for the prop doughnuts my friend looked at me and said “It’s not a big deal, but it’s important.” I replied “If we didn’t think it was important we wouldn’t do this.” That exchange made me think about what’s really important, and I’ve decided that what I think matters probably isn’t what a lot of people think.

I’ve decided that what’s important, what really matters in life, isn’t necessarily the big things. I’m not saying that making a big impact on the world in a positive way is not a completely worthwhile goal to have – it is. If you get a chance to change the world for the better, take it! It’s just that most of us don’t get the opportunity to do really big things very often. Most of us have ordinary lives, where the impact we can make on the world around us is limited to the people directly in our sphere of contact – our family, our friends, our neighbors. So if that’s the case, the little things become much more important.

What are the little things? To me, it’s how I always try to smile and be pleasant to everyone with whom I come into contact – the cashier at the grocery store, the waiter at the restaurant, the lady at the dry cleaners, they guy behind the deli counter. I know it sounds Pollyanna of me, but I can’t help but think that these folks deal with the public all day, and probably get the brunt of our collective bad mood, so if I can make their day a little more pleasant by being nice, which costs me nothing, then I will. That’s a very little thing, but I like to think it helps someone every now and then.

Another “little thing” is the quality of the focus that I give to my work. All of my work, no matter what it is. It is as important to make sure that the child actor’s microphone is on and at the proper level when they sing as it is to draft an email communication for a client as it is to take my time over these blog posts. Everything I do deserves my full commitment and attention, even if it’s just balancing the checkbook or mopping the kitchen floor. The love you give away to these activities imbues them with positive energy, ensuring that they come back to you kindly.

Life mostly happens in the trenches, where the rubber meets the road, down in the nitty-gritty – or any other cliché you can think of that means where the little things are. It’s in those small, every day opportunities we get to make the world a better place, even if it’s just the world we can see right in front of us. What I’ve found, though, is that if you get into the habit of paying attention to the little stuff, when the bigger stuff comes along you’re already used to being kind and focused and thoughtful. Some people call it “mindfulness” and I think that’s a great word. It’s a habit of seeing everything as important and acknowledging that on some level, it all really does matter.

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Photo by Amanda Taylor Brooks (c) 2014

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May 27

A Week of Friendship

by Every Day is Saturday

Friendship

This is one of those times when I’m struggling to find something to write about. As I’ve turned this past week over in my mind it’s tempting to say that nothing important happened; I can’t think of a single insight, or deep thought, or new idea I’ve had since my last post, and no major life-changing events have occurred to give me fodder for my weekly post. But that doesn’t mean that the events of this past week are any less important than when I have big news to share, or some emotional breakthrough to tell you about.

This week was all about enduring friendships.

On Wednesday afternoon I joined over 100 alumni from my high school chorus to sing at the funeral of our school’s founder. This man was one of the most genuinely humble people I have ever known. The school he started and nurtured since the 1960’s is his legacy, and it is an impressive one. To be able to show my gratitude to him for the incredible gift those years at that school have been to me was truly an honor. It was also an opportunity to share, once again, the pride and joy I feel as a part of the great choral tradition at that school. I was a member of the A Capella Chorus my Junior and Senior years of high school, and the bond of shared experience between all of us who moved in and out of that group over the years is indescribable. I wish I had the words to explain what it’s like to stand there, looking at our 82-year-old director (whose passion and commitment to us and the music is undiminished), seeing the love and pride on his face as our voices rose and blended, but there are no words for it. It is pure emotion, and it was all I could do to keep the tears at bay. I am so grateful to have this in my life, past and present, and I embrace every opportunity I get to sing with this group, because I am so aware that each time may be the last. And I know that everyone who stood up there with me felt exactly the same way, so as we sang the final few measures of the Hallelujah Chorus we weren’t just singing to honor the dead, we sang to celebrate each other and to acknowledge what a privilege it is to know the power of that bond we feel.

After the service was over I went to meet a group of former work colleagues. These friends are the core of the team that I worked with at my last job, and I have incredible memories of the struggle we went through, the hard work we did, and the fun we had. It was wonderful to be together again, and to talk about old times. For me, it’s always good to be reminded that even though my time there came to an abrupt and unpleasant ending, these colleagues became my friends and I cherish them to this day. That is a great gift, and the joy of it obscures all of the negative feelings I once had about that period of my life. I’m so far removed from it now that I mostly just remember the good things, and being with that group made me grateful again for those years.

On Memorial Day yesterday my husband and I got together with a group of friends that haven’t all been in one place in a very long time. We’re connected to each other in different ways, and many years ago we would gather for game nights and other random reasons. Then children came to some of us which put an end to the adults-only evenings, and it’s been years since everyone has been together. Yesterday it finally happened, and it was fun to see the next generation playing and enjoying each other’s company as much as their parents do.

So, yes, nothing “important” happened this week. I just spent a lot of time with people I love, being grateful all over again for the abundance of friendship I have in my life.  It’s overwhelming and humbling. It may not seem all that important, but for me, there is nothing I value more than the love I get from, and give to, my friends and family. Thank you all.

photo credit: godutchbaby via photopin cc

 

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May 20

The Disappointment Trap

by Every Day is Saturday

Disappointment

If there’s one lesson I’ve learned too well over the last few years it’s how to avoid disappointment.

The journey of self-employment is a near constant cycle of hope and rejection. I can’t tell you how many times over these past four years I’ve been encouraged about something that has happened – an exciting conversation with a potential client, positive feedback from mentors about the direction and scope of what I was trying to achieve, actual interviews that I walked out of totally convinced I was going to get the gig – only to be disappointed when it didn’t come through. I learned, like so many people learn, to stop wanting whatever it is that I’m pursing so that if it doesn’t happen I won’t feel so devastated.

This seems like good advice, and you hear it a lot. I’ve reduced or eliminated a lot of pain over the years by teaching myself to not want things. That piece of business? Yes, it would be great, but you know, it’s probably not going to work out, so I’m not going to think about it. That trip? Yes, I’d love to go to that place on business, but I’m not holding my breath. These are the kinds of things I’ve said to myself to spare my feelings, and they work. I’ve gotten really good at not getting my hopes up.

There’s something else here to think about.  The advice about not getting your hopes up is usually accompanied by the assurance that if you don’t, when something good does come through, it’ll be a wonderful surprise. That has certainly happened – some things I wrote off did actually come together. You think I’d be more excited about it when it happens, but it’s anti-climactic: “Oh, wow, ok. I got it. Great! Now, what’s wrong with it?” I have so trained myself to be disappointed that when something good does happen I can’t allow myself to enjoy it.

I’ve decided that this is a big problem and I don’t want to live this way anymore.

This decision is, of course, loaded with emotional risk. If I start wanting things again I’m sure to be hurt and disappointed. It’s inevitable. But I think I know now the price I’ve paid for emotionally detaching myself from the pursuit of what I want – I’ve lost  a lot of my former passion. I’m having to work hard to muster the enthusiasm required to build a business, which is a recipe for disaster.

Now, understand, I’m not totally disengaged – anyone who knows me knows that. I’m just not inhabiting my life as fully as I am capable of doing, and by holding back I’m cheating myself and everyone around me. So I’ve decided to risk my heart again, to want things, knowing I will be hurt. Instead of trying to avoid disappointment, I’ve decided I’m going to go all in, all the time, and if I get disappointed I’ll just get better at accepting it and moving on.

Living is risk. Loving is risk. But if you don’t take the risk you most definitely won’t reap the reward. And the reward isn’t necessarily achieving the thing you want – it’s the joy that comes from knowing you’ve given everything you have pursing your desires. You leave it all on the field, on the stage, in the meeting, on the canvas, on the page. That’s what’s real. That’s where the love is. That’s where you’ll find me.

photo credit: Scott Ableman via photopin cc
 

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May 13

Give it a Rest

by Every Day is Saturday

Joey Sleeping

When I worked as a stage manager one of the things I did was to help actors memorize their lines. Mostly I threatened them with bodily harm if they weren’t off book by tech week, and that usually did the trick (I’m only half kidding). But through working with actors I learned a lot about how people learn, and absorb information, and make connections with words and ideas. I discovered that there was one surefire way to help someone struggling to come up with the right words at the right time: put down the script and walk away. Go to a movie. Read a book. Go to dinner with your best friend. Sleep on it. Do anything to take your mind completely off of the words you’re desperately trying to memorize. Give your brain a rest. If you do that, it’s amazing what happens – in a few hours and with no strain the lines will appear in your mind (well, usually anyway).

This working from home thing is a constant struggle for me in some ways. Mostly I get paralyzed when I don’t have a grip on what needs to be done in what order, because working for myself gives me more choices about what I do and when than I’ve ever had before. This is a good thing when I need to go to the grocery store, or do some laundry, or help my husband with his computer in the middle of the day. It’s bad when I’m trying to do things that aren’t necessarily connected to a deadline; I tend to put things off if I don’t feel that they are pressing. So those things start to pile up, and I begin the downward spiral of inactivity breeding guilt, which results in more procrastination, until all forward motion comes to a screeching halt.

That’s when I need to get the hell out of Dodge.

I know that walking away from my laptop is sometimes the most effective thing I can do to get me going again. Sometimes I get to actually go out of town. Sometimes I can find other ways to distract myself, but it’s hard to do when I know the thing is just sitting here, making me feel guilty for not checking my email every five minutes. It’s a vicious cycle.

But I did get a break this weekend (my sister and I went to visit my mother for Mother’s Day), and I’ve come back re-focused and ready to go. I’ve gotten more done in the last two days than I managed to accomplish all of last week (at least that’s what it feels like). And the marketing initiative for the event planning business that I’ve been toying with finally became clear, and I’ve actually written some things down.

Other stuff happened, too. I got a message last week from a long-lost connection, a friend really, looking to touch base. We had an amazing conversation, and when I got off the phone I felt like I could leap tall buildings again. When I get un-stuck it seems as if the energy I lost all comes back to me bearing gifts.

Y’all don’t know this, but this is my 50th blog post. I am very proud to have hit this milestone; when I started the blog I thought it would be a miracle if I managed to post anything at all after the first few. But here we are. I might post 50 more. I just need to make sure I walk away every now and then.

 

 

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May 6

Looking Back, Looking Ahead

by Every Day is Saturday

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For some reason this week I became determined to rescue the pictures I had saved on my old iPod. I say “rescue” because I had tried in the past to figure out how to get them off of it, but was unsuccessful. These are pictures that are saved nowhere else; when I loaded them onto my iPod originally I suppose I moved them instead of copying them, and they’ve been there ever since. I don’t know why I became so determined to get to them, but I was, and eventually I did it. These pictures are extremely important to me – the one at the beginning of this blog post is the only picture I have of me on the Great Wall of China, so you can see why I’d want to make sure I had it somewhere I could get to it.

I have been privileged in my life to have traveled to some amazing places. As you can see I’ve been to China; my husband and I spent ten days sightseeing before I my work thing in Beijing started, and the experience of being on that wall is something I’ll never forget. I’ve been to Hong Kong and Macau as well, which are technically in China, but are so very different from the mainland. I’ve been to Singapore and to Mumbai, India. I’ve been to Australia, where I discovered a heretofore unknown talent as a rock wallaby spotter. There’s nothing like standing in the dark silence of the desert outback, 300 miles from the light pollution of any city, looking up at the incredible field of stars and finding the Southern Cross waiting there, just like in the song.

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Rock Wallaby – do you see him?

I’ve been to Europe and to Great Britain (England and Scotland anyway). London is possibly the best city in the world. I haven’t been to all of them of course so I can’t really know for sure, but I’ll bet it’s on up there. Berlin sizzles with energy. Rome is the Eternal City – ancient and new at the same time. Venice is the most romantic place on Earth. And Jerusalem is the center of the world; if you don’t believe me, go see for yourself.

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The Old City, Jerusalem

The United States is chock-a-block with the amazing and wonderful. I adore Chicago – it’s a big city that still thinks about itself as a small town, or that’s how it felt to me. New Orleans is a treasure – totally unique and intoxicating, it seduces me every time I go. We have it all in this country – mountains, beaches, swamp, prairie, desert. The Grand Canyon is everything they say it is. Mt. Rainier looms over Seattle like an ancient god. The sound of the loons across the lake in Maine will stay with me forever.

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The Grand Canyon

For a long time after I stopped traveling I didn’t allow myself to think about my trips, for fear it would make me sad. I don’t feel that way anymore. In fact, for the past week or so I’ve been consciously conjuring up not just images, but sense memories – sound, smell, touch, taste – from the places I’ve been. I can feel the cobblestone streets of Rome under my feet. I can smell that very distinct odor that is nowhere but Mumbai – spice and sweat and poverty and new money. I can hear the afternoon call to prayer in Jerusalem. I can taste the freshest fish I’ve ever had in Hong Kong. Instead of making me think about what I’m missing, these sense memories are giving me the gift of not just remembering my trips, but reliving them.

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The Taj Mahal Hotel, Mumbai

We get told a lot that we shouldn’t look back, that we shouldn’t live in the past. I think that that’s generally true – if we look back too much we can’t see where we’re going and we tend to stop moving forward. But we shouldn’t be afraid to think back on the things in our lives that brought us pleasure, or made us happy. I am grateful for the wonderful experiences I’ve had, and thinking about them has added to my sense of gratitude. And, for the first time in a long time, I’m conjuring up these sense memories as a way of visualizing myself again in these places. I can see myself, not my past self, but my present self, on the escalator in the Piccadilly Circus tube station in London, headed down to the train platform. I can see myself standing in front of the Coliseum in Rome. I can see myself in a vaporetto on the Grand Canal in Venice, on my way to Murano to see the glass blowers. I can see myself in the crowd at Uluru in Australia, waiting for the setting sun to change the color of stone and sky from bright orange and blue to violet, gold, and purple.

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Uluru at sunset

I want to go back to these places and to visit so many I haven’t seen yet. I’ve never seen the emerald green of Ireland or the whitewashed houses in Greece. I’ve never seen the Pyramids of Giza or the Sphinx. But I will see them one day. I know I will. And then I’ll have those new memories of sights and sounds and smells to take me back whenever I want to go.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

All photos by Amanda Taylor Brooks (c) 2014 .

 

 

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Apr 29

Getting Over the Rainbow

by Every Day is Saturday

Rainbow in the Clouds

Last week I read Paulo Coelho’s book “The Alchemist”. It’s one of those books you hear about; people post quotes from it on Facebook, it’s on lists of “important books”, that sort of thing. I got it for my Kindle in a one-day sale on Amazon because I wanted to know what the fuss was about. Turns out, it’s an allegory about a shepherd boy who finds the courage to live his dream. He takes a winding path, and sometimes gets sidetracked and almost gives up more than once, but in the end he lives his “personal legend”. I can see why it’s popular; it talks about following your heart, which is of course what we all know we should be doing. It talks about how when you do follow your dreams the universe conspires to assist you. This is a theme that I’ve thought about and written about before, and I still find it attractive. It’s a lovely idea, that if we finally decide to do what we know deep in our hearts we are supposed to do with our lives and our gifts, that the way will open up in front of us. I’ve been testing this theory for a while now, and I’ve learned a few things about this promise of cosmic help.

The help is out there all right, but make sure you want it ‘cause it doesn’t come cheap. There are things I know now that the great ones don’t tell you up front about following your dreams. It isn’t just a matter of following the yellow brick road. The flying monkeys are real, and you should understand what you’re getting into.

These guides to a better life don’t always tell you what it means to turn your back on everything you used to hold dear. They don’t tell you that you will most likely have to suffer heartbreaking hardship and loss. They don’t tell you that following your dream means that you have to be ruthless in your desire to leave the past behind. Sometimes they mention that the people you are closest to will, in a misguided attempt to help you, try to get you to give up and take the well-worn path instead. What they fail to mention is the terrible anxiety that not taking your loved ones’ advice causes them – in effect, following your dream often means causing pain to the people you love the most. Getting over the rainbow is at times a harsh, uncompromising way to go.

In the story the shepherd boy encounters hardships, and there are times when he must show great courage in the face of real danger. I doubt the pursuit of most peoples’ dreams would find them in the middle of the desert facing down warring tribes of Bedouin, but make no mistake – there will always be trouble. There will be people who actively root for your failure. There will be people who, out of jealousy or just plain evil, will find ways to sabotage your journey.

The biggest challenge, though, happens between your own ears. It’s a constant struggle between doing what you know you’re supposed to do, and doing what is easy. It is a fight, every day, to either work on your dream or to spend one more hour watching television. It’s hard. That’s the price for getting what you want – you have to pay for it with your whole heart.

I suppose that’s why I’m so agitated. Every day I see my old life becoming less and less important to me, but I want my new life to spring forth from my head fully formed, like Athena from Zeus. That’s not going to happen. The work has to come first. The achingly slow, emotionally charged, demanding, confronting, terrifying work. I am astonished at my audacity, to think I deserve to be who I want to be. But I’ll only be that person if I earn it by giving myself to it without reservation. If I love my vision of what my life could be, the person I know I can be, and I pursue it without restraint or hesitation, I must believe that it will happen. I want to be fearless. I’m not there yet, but I’ve come a long way – and I think I can see it from here.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

photo credit: Leo Reynolds via photopin cc

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Apr 22

Do you want the Good News or the Bad News first?

by Every Day is Saturday

Disney World

Recently someone said to me “Bad news hits you in the gut right away, but sometimes it takes good news a while to sink in.” It’s true – I seem to accept bad news immediately, even to the point of acting on it before I have the whole story, but I’m reluctant to believe good news when I get it. Why is that?

I’m pretty sure I didn’t come here this way; I seem to remember believing it when my parents gave me good news, like when they told me that we were going to Disney World. I don’t recall my seven-year-old self looking at my father skeptically and saying “Are you sure? Disney World? Really?” I just jumped up and down screaming with delight.

So I must have lost it somewhere along the way, the willingness to immediately believe it when something good happens. As I’ve aged I have not only become reluctant to believe that something good has happened, but I have also learned to readily believe it when I hear that  a bad thing has happened or is about to happen to me. Of course, as an adult I know how to sift through the facts before jumping to conclusions; I am famous for not believing much of what I’m told and practically nothing I read, so I might not fully accept the bad news right away, but what I will do is have an emotional reaction to it. Depending on how secure I’m feeling at the moment the bad news hits, I will either immediately freak out or calmly accept it as fact. Rarely can I hear bad news and not have a visceral reaction, especially when I’m feeling vulnerable to the whims of forces beyond my control.

Why is it so much easier to believe that things are going wrong than to believe that things are going right? I’m not a pessimist, but I do think I dwell on the disappointments in my life more than the joys. It’s something I’m working on, but I know I’m not alone; according to some reading I’ve done we humans are much more likely to obsess about what we’ve lost or what we might lose than we are to focus on what we have gained or stand to gain. It’s our nature. We hate to lose, and even when we win we don’t really enjoy it, because, you know, eventually it’s all going to go away anyway, right?

I don’t walk around waiting for the other shoe to drop, though I did for a long time. My financial situation has become less precarious, which makes it easier for me to focus more attention on the good stuff in my life. But I do still expect to be disappointed. I think it’s how I insulate myself; if I’m prepared to be let down, then the actual event should be less traumatic. I don’t know if that’s true but it’s how I’ve approached most situations in my life – jobs, clients, relationships. I have just recently become aware of the extent to which I do it, and to realize it’s not the best way to live my life.

I’m sure I will continue to get bad news; that’s life. What I’m trying to do now is to stop anticipating it. Bad things happen to everyone. Good things happen, too. I’m trying to keep focused on the good things. It doesn’t mean that I won’t be disappointed now and then, but if I consciously dwell on the good things I figure I’ll be happier in the meantime.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

photo credit: Express Monorail via photopin cc

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Apr 15

A Slice of Heaven

by Every Day is Saturday

Augusta National Sunrise

Last week my husband and I attended the Friday round of The Masters golf tournament at the Augusta National Golf Club in Augusta, Georgia. Those of you who don’t like golf will probably be tempted to quit reading now, but I want you to know that this little piece isn’t about golf at all. I don’t play golf myself – I have mediocre hand-eye coordination – but my husband loves it.  I started watching tournaments on television with him when we were dating (because that’s what you do in a new relationship), and I found to my surprise that it captured my attention. Specifically, it was the 1996 Masters that got me hooked; the famous meltdown by Greg Norman that gave Nick Faldo his third and final green jacket was as epic a story as any I had ever seen on stage or in the movies. I fell in love with Augusta National and with The Masters then, and I have remained in love all these years.

Which is why it’s such a big deal that for the past five years (because of a friend’s generosity) we’ve have the chance to go to The Masters for one of the four tournament days. I have come to anticipate our annual trip as much as I ever looked forward to Christmas morning as a child. It has become my second favorite day of the year.

There are many reasons why I feel this way. First, the course itself is stunningly beautiful. It is astonishing how perfect it all is – the fairways look like lush carpeting, and the greens look like pool tables. The flowering shrubs and trees all over the course fill your sight with bright colors and your nose with sweet scents. You can hear the birds singing in the tall pine trees when the crowds go silent to allow a player to putt. Some people might be put off by the engineering feat it takes to achieve this level of perfection, but to them I say, “Pppttthhh.” It’s gorgeous. It feels like a holy place, and all of us who are fortunate enough to experience it in person are truly blessed.

But even more than the impact of the sheer physical beauty of this outdoor temple, there is a sense that as soon as you walk through the gates you’re somewhere else. Somewhere slightly apart from the “normal” world. Somewhere better. It starts when you find out that you are not allowed to bring a phone of any kind onto the course. Think about what it would be like if you got 40,000* people together in the same place and didn’t allow them to check their email, or post anything to Facebook, or Tweet, or make work calls, for an entire day. Just let that soak in for a minute. What would happen?

Well, I’ll tell you. What happens is that people start noticing what’s around them. They suddenly have the time and the interest to strike up conversations with complete strangers about a variety of topics. Instant friendships explode and fade like fireworks all day, everywhere.

And then there’s what for lack of a better term I’ll call the “culture” of The Masters; the respect for the golf course and the other attendees that is so pervasive it’s shocking. An example: if you bring folding chairs into the course and you place them in a particular spot somewhere on, say, the 15th green, you can leave them there confident that no one will take them away or even move them. Most likely no one will sit in them, either, until you stop wandering around the course and settle yourself down to watch the action in the spot you have claimed. The first time this process was explained to me I was amazed – how is it possible that no one would come along and, finding your chairs unoccupied, not move them so as to make room for themselves? They don’t? Really? No, really???

Yes. Really. It’s almost unthinkable, but it’s true. The same people who, on the “outside”, would most likely cut you off in traffic, or jump the line ahead of you at the grocery store, or whatever – these same people leave your stuff alone.

Not only that, they clean up after themselves and other people (which doesn’t happen a lot, but it happens). Augusta National has an army of workers whose job it is to pick up trash on the ground, but I’m telling you I’ve seen as many patrons picking up litter and putting it into trash cans as the people who have been hired to do it. There is a sense of community and shared responsibility under those pine trees the like of which I have never experienced as an adult. The closest thing I can equate to it is how my friends and I took care of our college theatre; it nurtured us, and we loved it and looked after it. But that was a small group of friends in a small college. This is a massive crowd of complete strangers, but even so, everyone seems to instinctively know how to behave. Of course, Augusta National does things to encourage this sense of loyalty.

Like most sporting events in restricted access arenas or stadiums, you are not allowed to bring food in to Augusta National Golf Club. But instead of gouging people by charging outrageous prices for the food there, they do the opposite. The most expensive sandwich on the menu at Augusta National is $3.00. You can get a pimento cheese sandwich and beer for less than five bucks. And you get to keep the plastic cup it comes in, if you want. Also, if you need to make a phone call, Augusta National has banks of phones you can use – for free. Since they won’t let you bring your phone in, it’s like they say, hey, here you go, we got you covered. How fair is that? And don’t get me started on how nice the restrooms are kept. As a patron, you feel more like an honored guest in someone’s home than a spectator at a sporting event.

So, yes, I think heaven must be at least a little bit like Augusta National during Master’s week. A beautiful place where you are free to roam around, drinking in the awesomeness of nature. A place where everyone is kind, and patient, and generous, and friendly. A place where you feel welcome and safe, where the pace of life is slower and there’s nothing more important to do than to strike up a conversation about what a beautiful day it is with the person sitting next to you.

Yes, this must be heaven.

*this is an estimate – Augusta National doesn’t tell

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

photo credit: lisapeck224 via photopin cc

 

 

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Apr 8

Finding My Voice

by Every Day is Saturday

GACS Chorus 1985

A few weeks ago a guy in my writer’s group told me my novel was coming along well – the story was flowing smoothly, the characters were developing nicely – and he thought I should interject more of my “voice” into the writing. I was so pleased and flattered by his comments; it’s the kind of feedback any aspiring writer wants to hear. I also agreed with him. I’ve been feeling the novel is going well (as far as it has gone anyway, which really isn’t that far), and I shouldn’t be afraid to interject more “me” into it. However, having embraced the idea of putting more of my voice into my writing, I’ve been struggling ever since about not only how to do it, but also with figuring out what my “voice” sounds like.

Which struggle, if you know me, sounds crazy.

Am I wrong about that?  I mean, I’ve always been the kind of person who is pretty clear about who she is and what she thinks, right? My personality isn’t some great big mystery, is it? I hardly go around hiding who I am. I may try to soften the impact because I’m afraid of steamrolling people I don’t know, but that’s a losing battle – my “voice” is a loud one, no matter what I try to do to tone it down.

So why am I having so much trouble finding my voice in my writing?

Part of me thinks that my voice is already there – I mean, it’s my writing, isn’t it? My perspective, my sense of humor, my wants and desires, hopes and dreams – it’s all in there. This blog has also helped me to find my voice. It’s about being authentic, and truthful. So what’s the secret sauce that’s missing in the novel?

In an attempt to discover the answer, I decided to read other people’s writing to see if I could discover what gives them their distinctive voices. I’ve been working through Earnest Hemingway’s short stories, I picked up Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City, and Neil Gaiman’s Ocean at the End of the Lane and American Gods. I’m not sure I’m any closer to an answer than I was when I started, but at least I’ve been entertained.

Hemingway isn’t without poetry, he’s just concise. Every word he uses is on purpose, direct, meaningful. Maupin is charming, and owes his success to his deft handling of his characters – they jump off the page and immediately offer you a coffee, a cocktail, or a joint, depending on who they are. Gaiman has an amazing ability to take you into alternate realities – realities that could be just under your nose – in a way that you willingly hop on his carousel without a backwards glance. I am now sufficiently familiar with these writers that I could probably identify their writing from a paragraph or two – a literary line-up.

Is that what a writer’s voice is? That thing (whatever it is) that makes them immediately recognizable to their readers? Do I have that? I don’t know. I suppose I’m not in a position to judge – that would be up to the people who read my work.

As much as the idea of finding my voice intrigues me, I am also wary of the trap I could fall into so easily. A trap that says I have to put on a persona to make my writing interesting. It is true that I often feel as if the regular me and the writer me are two different people, which is apparently quite common. Margaret Atwood, in her wonderfully insightful book “Negotiating with the Dead: A Writer on Writing” says this:

“What is the relationship between the two entities we lump under one name, that of “the writer”? The particular writer. By two, I mean the person who exists when no writing is going forward – the one who walks the dog, eats bran for regularity, takes the car in to be washed, and so forth – and that other, more shadowy and altogether more equivocal personage who shares the same body, and who, when no one is looking, takes it over and uses it to commit the actual writing.”

The trap is the belief that the “writer” in me is someone entirely different from myself, like a character I made up instead of the person I become automatically when I sit down to write. The writer in me is a different version of me – more thoughtful, more particular, more willing to entertain wild ideas – but it’s still me.

Here’s another thought. Of course every artist goes through the process of finding their “voice”, but I’ve recently had the epiphany that even singers must go through it as well. I used to think that the singers you hear on the radio just sang the way they did effortlessly; they obviously work with vocal coaches and are generally more knowledgeable about singing than the average person, but their voice was their voice and that was that. Now I think that’s wrong – singers must go through the same process as writers or painters or actors – the process of uncovering their authentic voices. This thought made me realize that I never gave myself a chance to be good singer (I was a decent one, once, but that was all) because I never loved my own voice. I wanted to sound like what I thought I should sound like, not like what I really sounded like. So when I failed to sound like what I thought I should sound like I gave it up. I’m sorry I did that now; I could have enjoyed that part of my life so much more if I had accepted who I was and not tried to be something I wasn’t. I thought my authentic singing voice was inferior to my ideal. Maybe it was, but because of this belief I never gave my own voice a chance to truly be heard.

All of this has led be back to where I started, which is that I can’t get hung up on trying to be something I’m not. I have to trust that I will discover what I need to know about myself as a writer through the act of writing.  Trying to define and interject my “voice” into my work is, I have decided, a potentially dangerous waste of time. I now believe that instead of chasing my voice, if I keep working at it and being patient, like all things worth having, it will come to me.

P.S. I’m the one in the top right corner.

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Thanks for reading my blog!  If you want to know more about me and my journey, check out my book “Everyday is Saturday” on Kindle.  The book is part diary, part memoir, about the first year after I was laid off from my dream job.  I think it has something to say to anyone who is struggling with change.

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