How did I not know about this guy: Parker J. Palmer?
I've just discovered his book The Courage to Teach--only now after all the wrestles I've had with this very matter. Where was he my first day of teaching at Duke when, as I later learned, the students and I had received different starting times for the class and I thought for the first fifteen minutes that all but two early birds had dropped out already?
This book has been out for 11 years, and going by Amazon ranking, appears to be quite in demand still. Well, Parker Palmer, Peggy Payne is on her way (to read you.)
For others: Palmer is located at his Center for Courage & Renewal. Or see his 3 minute video about getting over the feeling of powerlessness and seizing your "Rosa Parks moment in life."
His other books include:
To Know As We Are Known: A Spirituality of Education
Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation
A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life
And more...
Note of interest: he spent 11 years living in a Quaker community.
Where I finally ran across his work was an old O magazine.
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Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Monday, December 01, 2008
Pink Courage
The magazine Pink has a highly specialized set of blogs on its website. Aimed at women, but there's wisdom here for anyone. Note: Wake Up Inspired, and The Courage Expert. Also blogs on such subjects as Romance, Style, PR and Copywriting.
Manage Yourself is currently exploring a particularly interesting question: "How do I know when I'm limiting myself?" I think I am. And I think it has to do with the vestiges of a sort of rebelliousness: writing just a tiny bit "difficult," as a sort of playing hard to get.
Anyway, Pink has some good resources for the courage and boldness and creativity seeker.
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Manage Yourself is currently exploring a particularly interesting question: "How do I know when I'm limiting myself?" I think I am. And I think it has to do with the vestiges of a sort of rebelliousness: writing just a tiny bit "difficult," as a sort of playing hard to get.
Anyway, Pink has some good resources for the courage and boldness and creativity seeker.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Terrorism in India
What has happened in Mumbai -- the attacks at hotels, train station, other sites -- disturbs me in one way that I'm not hearing mentioned in the interviews I've seen.
This dreadful assault is getting worldwide attention, apparently because there have been foreign victims and because the site is a world financial center.
But there have been many other outbreaks of communal violence, in India and elsewhere, that did not register more than a flicker on the world media screen.
I wrote about one of those rounds, which occurred in the Indian city Varanasi where I was living to research my novel Sister India.
Those events became part of the novel. Taking notes and writing are probably my major coping mechanism.
The street fighting broke out about a week and a half after I arrived, and the city of a million people was then shut down in curfew for 24 hours a day for most of the next two weeks. All businesses closed. Everyone to stay inside.
A bomb blew up an apartment building about a kilometer away from my flat. I could hear gunfire from my rooftop patio.
I had flashbacks for two years after my return about a grisly incident in a nearby street that I hadn't even witnessed, but only read about. A rickshaw full of Hindu women was hacked to death. I couldn't stop myself from re-imagining it.
But no foreigners were involved. I was in almost no danger, because being neither Hindu nor Muslim, I wasn't a target. And the news was barely a flicker back in the USA.
I can only imagine what it was like to be holed up in the Taj (where I once spent a few days) while terrorists were hunting people to shoot, with a special interest in those who looked like me.
Even so, it feels wrong to me that events of similar magnitude stir so little outrage when the targets aren't American. I do understand press coverage that focuses on a local angle; but I don't like that an event becomes a global outrage more often when well-heeled foreigners are involved.
(An aside: the most elegant party I have ever attended was a night-time torchlit reception in the gardens of one of the homes of the Oberoi family of the Oberoi hotel that was a target of these attacks. It was on my first visit to India in the late 70s with the Society of American Travel Writers.)
I am grieved by what has happened, hated seeing the grand old waterfront Taj ablaze.
And want, for whatever good it does, for every random violent death to get the same indignation.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
This dreadful assault is getting worldwide attention, apparently because there have been foreign victims and because the site is a world financial center.
But there have been many other outbreaks of communal violence, in India and elsewhere, that did not register more than a flicker on the world media screen.
I wrote about one of those rounds, which occurred in the Indian city Varanasi where I was living to research my novel Sister India.
Those events became part of the novel. Taking notes and writing are probably my major coping mechanism.
The street fighting broke out about a week and a half after I arrived, and the city of a million people was then shut down in curfew for 24 hours a day for most of the next two weeks. All businesses closed. Everyone to stay inside.
A bomb blew up an apartment building about a kilometer away from my flat. I could hear gunfire from my rooftop patio.
I had flashbacks for two years after my return about a grisly incident in a nearby street that I hadn't even witnessed, but only read about. A rickshaw full of Hindu women was hacked to death. I couldn't stop myself from re-imagining it.
But no foreigners were involved. I was in almost no danger, because being neither Hindu nor Muslim, I wasn't a target. And the news was barely a flicker back in the USA.
I can only imagine what it was like to be holed up in the Taj (where I once spent a few days) while terrorists were hunting people to shoot, with a special interest in those who looked like me.
Even so, it feels wrong to me that events of similar magnitude stir so little outrage when the targets aren't American. I do understand press coverage that focuses on a local angle; but I don't like that an event becomes a global outrage more often when well-heeled foreigners are involved.
(An aside: the most elegant party I have ever attended was a night-time torchlit reception in the gardens of one of the homes of the Oberoi family of the Oberoi hotel that was a target of these attacks. It was on my first visit to India in the late 70s with the Society of American Travel Writers.)
I am grieved by what has happened, hated seeing the grand old waterfront Taj ablaze.
And want, for whatever good it does, for every random violent death to get the same indignation.
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Saturday, November 29, 2008
Family Cooking Adventures
I believe I mentioned that I, a non-cook, was venturing to make the turkey dressing for the family gathering this year (rather than buying my assignment.)
Here's how the project shook down. I stirred stuff up and cooked it and it was bad: no taste, weird texture. So I tore it up and added milk and some spices and whizzed it all up with a mix-master and cooked it again. Then packed it up for the trip to the coast.
The final product was better. Edible. Would have been good except for the fake bacon bits I threw in, which sort of dominated. Well, no one complained.
However, my ten year old nephew Tucker produced a triumph. His assignment was corn pudding (he likes to cook.) I didn't know who'd made what or that any of the kids had cooked anything, and said at dinner: "Who brought this?" It was phenomenal...inspired. The kid has a talent.
Talent or not --and both of those situations were represented-- I think Tucker and I were both pretty bold. For a ten year-old boy to produce a work of art in the form of a casserole...or for me to take a shot at something non-store-bought for the occasion both strike me as venturing outside the ordinary. And we all had a good time.
Hope your Turkey Days were good.
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Here's how the project shook down. I stirred stuff up and cooked it and it was bad: no taste, weird texture. So I tore it up and added milk and some spices and whizzed it all up with a mix-master and cooked it again. Then packed it up for the trip to the coast.
The final product was better. Edible. Would have been good except for the fake bacon bits I threw in, which sort of dominated. Well, no one complained.
However, my ten year old nephew Tucker produced a triumph. His assignment was corn pudding (he likes to cook.) I didn't know who'd made what or that any of the kids had cooked anything, and said at dinner: "Who brought this?" It was phenomenal...inspired. The kid has a talent.
Talent or not --and both of those situations were represented-- I think Tucker and I were both pretty bold. For a ten year-old boy to produce a work of art in the form of a casserole...or for me to take a shot at something non-store-bought for the occasion both strike me as venturing outside the ordinary. And we all had a good time.
Hope your Turkey Days were good.
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Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Charming Persistence
Having trouble getting yourself moving? Have a look at this wee newborn elephant's first efforts to stand.
Also, note to writers of books: novelist Bill Henderson has a good three-part post on getting an agent.
And Happy Thanksgiving!
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Also, note to writers of books: novelist Bill Henderson has a good three-part post on getting an agent.
And Happy Thanksgiving!
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"Fear Less. Live More."
What caught my attention was an ad for a Lincoln in an old New Yorker. Standing beside the car in the picture was a twentyish woman, radiantly beautiful, an athlete, doing her stretches. Then I noticed her legs: one was metal.
Sarah Reinertsen is the first woman to complete the Hawaii Ironman triathlon with an artificial leg. This race involves 112 miles on a bike, as well as long stretches of swimming and running.
In the sky of that stirring picture was a quote: "Don't ever give up...Not once. Not ever. My dream is to do extraordinary things every day."
Sort-a puts any holiday pressures into perspective, doesn't it? (Of course she may at this moment be totally wrecked over trying to deal with a turkey.)
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Sarah Reinertsen is the first woman to complete the Hawaii Ironman triathlon with an artificial leg. This race involves 112 miles on a bike, as well as long stretches of swimming and running.
In the sky of that stirring picture was a quote: "Don't ever give up...Not once. Not ever. My dream is to do extraordinary things every day."
Sort-a puts any holiday pressures into perspective, doesn't it? (Of course she may at this moment be totally wrecked over trying to deal with a turkey.)
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Monday, November 24, 2008
Thanksgiving Stuffing
Usually for potlucks, I choose the lucky pot at Whole Foods on the way to the event.
This week, for unknown reaons, I'm going to cook my own Thanksgiving pot. My assignment is stuffing for twelve. I found a recipe that is perfect for those who have issues with authority (or simply crave creative latitude): one third of any combo of the items on list A, with two-thirds of any combo of items on list B. Stir. Bake.
I actually have some curiosity about how this will turn out. Will report.
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This week, for unknown reaons, I'm going to cook my own Thanksgiving pot. My assignment is stuffing for twelve. I found a recipe that is perfect for those who have issues with authority (or simply crave creative latitude): one third of any combo of the items on list A, with two-thirds of any combo of items on list B. Stir. Bake.
I actually have some curiosity about how this will turn out. Will report.
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Sunday, November 23, 2008
Boldly Generous
Two friends yesterday offered to give me professional feedback on my 394-page novel manuscript and get back to me in a couple of weeks--never mind that the holiday frenzy is cranking up. And they both refused my earnest offers of cash or kayaks. (They could get a couple of good kayaks for the going rate on what they're doing.) I am wowed and overcome. And feeling grateful (see gratitude dance) to the several folks who have been generous with their support of this book.
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If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Older and Bolder
Went to a surprise party last night for a friend turning fifty. As I am six weeks from sixty, I was marveling at her youth, at the wealth of time ahead of her.
A few years ago, when husband Bob turned sixty, my mother, then eighty, said, "You tell him I've had twenty good years after sixty so far. I love the "so far." Now she's eighty-six and still a party animal.
I'm trying to figure out what to make of aging. For a while, it was just dry skin. Then it became really dry skin, etc. Emphasis on etcetera. But the age of sixty has connotations.
It gives me the impulses to speed up and to slow down. I think I probably alternate.
Maybe it's possible to age without a strategy, just by keeping on pedaling as usual and noting what does or does not change.
This morning I was considering the awfully expensive skin cream Stryvectin. I've already decided to celebrate by taking a one-month sublet in Manhattan next October, which will likely also be good for business. (New York has always been my Plan B life, so I'm going to fit a collapsed version into one month.) I may have other lives I need to fit in soon. Interesting to think about. Aging both stirs and requires an extra dollop of boldness.
(I googled "turning sixty" and turned up 352,000 sites. Many highly verbal people have thoughts on their experience at this moment. Here's another writer's..)
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A few years ago, when husband Bob turned sixty, my mother, then eighty, said, "You tell him I've had twenty good years after sixty so far. I love the "so far." Now she's eighty-six and still a party animal.
I'm trying to figure out what to make of aging. For a while, it was just dry skin. Then it became really dry skin, etc. Emphasis on etcetera. But the age of sixty has connotations.
It gives me the impulses to speed up and to slow down. I think I probably alternate.
Maybe it's possible to age without a strategy, just by keeping on pedaling as usual and noting what does or does not change.
This morning I was considering the awfully expensive skin cream Stryvectin. I've already decided to celebrate by taking a one-month sublet in Manhattan next October, which will likely also be good for business. (New York has always been my Plan B life, so I'm going to fit a collapsed version into one month.) I may have other lives I need to fit in soon. Interesting to think about. Aging both stirs and requires an extra dollop of boldness.
(I googled "turning sixty" and turned up 352,000 sites. Many highly verbal people have thoughts on their experience at this moment. Here's another writer's..)
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Friday, November 21, 2008
He Does It His Way
Turning through an old Utne Reader last night, I came across a stunningly bold artist: Wolfgang Laib.
One site I checked him out on called him a Post-Minimalist. Never heard of that before, but I'm in favor.
What Laib does is take materials like milk or pollen or rice and use that organic life-generating stuff to create an imagethat's as simple as a rectangle or a cone.
The picture I saw last night was a large rectangle on a stone courtyard floor made of yellow-gold pollen that looked like a block of sunshine. I couldn't believe how radiant it was, and that it wasn't electrified. It glowed against the gray. (He collected every grain of that pollen himself, and that's an important part of his process.
He also makes glossy white surfaces out of milk on marble. Eerie-looking. Moon-ish.
Imagine telling your father that's what you're going to do when you get out of college. Or your spouse. Or your art dealer.
But it's astonishing work. Painter like the Luminists specialized in representing light. This guy seems to be working with the actual substance of light.
(I told husband Bob about him artist this morning. He murmured, "Jackson Pollen.")
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One site I checked him out on called him a Post-Minimalist. Never heard of that before, but I'm in favor.
What Laib does is take materials like milk or pollen or rice and use that organic life-generating stuff to create an imagethat's as simple as a rectangle or a cone.
The picture I saw last night was a large rectangle on a stone courtyard floor made of yellow-gold pollen that looked like a block of sunshine. I couldn't believe how radiant it was, and that it wasn't electrified. It glowed against the gray. (He collected every grain of that pollen himself, and that's an important part of his process.
He also makes glossy white surfaces out of milk on marble. Eerie-looking. Moon-ish.
Imagine telling your father that's what you're going to do when you get out of college. Or your spouse. Or your art dealer.
But it's astonishing work. Painter like the Luminists specialized in representing light. This guy seems to be working with the actual substance of light.
(I told husband Bob about him artist this morning. He murmured, "Jackson Pollen.")
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Thursday, November 20, 2008
Customer Courage
Just this morning I felt a stupid three-second waver while trying to find someone to sell me a used power supply for my not-new laptop. I was 40 minutes away from the one I'd forgotten and left at my office
I was browsing the Yellow Pages, and thinking: But what if I call the wrong place? Suppose I call a company that sells only giant networks for global corporations?
Well, so what if I do? As a British bus ticket vendor once said when I made a preposterous physically-impossible request out of geographic ignorance: "Oy loyk a giggle."
That's the worst that can happen. No need for three-second wavers.
This is a variation on retail therapy, when you go shopping to feel good. This is personal growth through shopping.
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I was browsing the Yellow Pages, and thinking: But what if I call the wrong place? Suppose I call a company that sells only giant networks for global corporations?
Well, so what if I do? As a British bus ticket vendor once said when I made a preposterous physically-impossible request out of geographic ignorance: "Oy loyk a giggle."
That's the worst that can happen. No need for three-second wavers.
This is a variation on retail therapy, when you go shopping to feel good. This is personal growth through shopping.
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Wednesday, November 19, 2008
A Spiritual Approach to Being Bold
For moments when a bit of originality, creativity, authenticity, or daring are needed, try this experiment. Try saying a genuine prayer--even if you're a nonbeliever.
I don't just mean a reflexive: Oh, God! Get me outta here!
I mean: Hello, God, could you join me in this endeavour? Here's what I need....(then be as specific as possible)
If you're a nonbeliever, you could substitute Higher Power or Best Self. Hello, Best Self, could you join me in this endeavor? (Note: Best Self is available at all times. Does not require weight loss to achieve.)
At the very least the meditative moment helps.
At best, the results are startlingly good.
Here's one to try out, if you doubt that. Next time you're about to enjoy an intimate moment with your partner, say a silent quarter-second prayer: Make me a more generous lover. The results could turn Bill Maher (Religulous) into a believer.
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I don't just mean a reflexive: Oh, God! Get me outta here!
I mean: Hello, God, could you join me in this endeavour? Here's what I need....(then be as specific as possible)
If you're a nonbeliever, you could substitute Higher Power or Best Self. Hello, Best Self, could you join me in this endeavor? (Note: Best Self is available at all times. Does not require weight loss to achieve.)
At the very least the meditative moment helps.
At best, the results are startlingly good.
Here's one to try out, if you doubt that. Next time you're about to enjoy an intimate moment with your partner, say a silent quarter-second prayer: Make me a more generous lover. The results could turn Bill Maher (Religulous) into a believer.
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Monday, November 17, 2008
Amy Poehler's Girl Power Adventure
Amy Poehler -- the Saturday Night Live star who played Hillary and Katie Couric to Tina Fey's Sarah Palin -- has launched a bold new venture. A web show called Smart Girls at the Party. It features young girls and aims to inspire young girls and is entertaining even if you, like myself, are not a young girl.
Poehler says the show is about "extraordinary individuals who are changing the world by being themselves."
The opening interview is with a ten-year old writer and "scooter enthusiast" named Cameron. A video clip shows Cameron doing her writing in a tiara.
I have seriously had in mind to get some sparkling headgear to wear while working on my fiction and once put a jewelled crown on my Christmas list of ideas for my husband; he said, "You'll have to get your own crown." I hadn't gotten around to it.
Amy and Cameron are encouraging me to get on with it.
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Poehler says the show is about "extraordinary individuals who are changing the world by being themselves."
The opening interview is with a ten-year old writer and "scooter enthusiast" named Cameron. A video clip shows Cameron doing her writing in a tiara.
I have seriously had in mind to get some sparkling headgear to wear while working on my fiction and once put a jewelled crown on my Christmas list of ideas for my husband; he said, "You'll have to get your own crown." I hadn't gotten around to it.
Amy and Cameron are encouraging me to get on with it.
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$500 House
It's on Hawaii-- in a town lyrically named Haiku--built by 22 year-old Chelsea Kohl with her partner Chelsea Heller. The story is in the November issue of Dwell magazine. (The story isn't yet archived online.)
The house is made of found objects including surf boards, a disassembled truck, phone poles, stairs from a sugar mill. One lovely mosaic-like wall is made of wine bottles and what appears to be cement. The bed of the truck with mattress and quilt forms a combination loft/double bed.
Awful as it sounds, it's delightful. A cottage from fantasyland.
It takes some gumption to build your own house from scratch. It's particularly so for twenty-something women. Even more so, when you're using bits of this and that and sticking with a $500 budget (the land belongs to Kohl's father Bill, who Google research suggests is a cottage architect.)
Kudos to all the creators of the Haiku House.
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The house is made of found objects including surf boards, a disassembled truck, phone poles, stairs from a sugar mill. One lovely mosaic-like wall is made of wine bottles and what appears to be cement. The bed of the truck with mattress and quilt forms a combination loft/double bed.
Awful as it sounds, it's delightful. A cottage from fantasyland.
It takes some gumption to build your own house from scratch. It's particularly so for twenty-something women. Even more so, when you're using bits of this and that and sticking with a $500 budget (the land belongs to Kohl's father Bill, who Google research suggests is a cottage architect.)
Kudos to all the creators of the Haiku House.
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Sunday, November 16, 2008
Using Facebook, Etc.
I just got a notice from MySpace that I must "use it or lose it."
They're referring to the MySpace page I acquired in a fit of connectedness a year or so ago. The result of that is being officially located in five social networks. (I paid someone to set me up.) I haven't done anything with any of them except to somehow double my presence on Facebook by accidentally creating a second version of myself, with separate sets of friends. And to get offers of friendship that I don't know how to confirm. And be reminded that I might know this other Peggy Payne who was at Duke the same time I was.
Eventually, I will hire a teenager to explain some of this.
In the meantime, I'm apparently out there snubbing people with unconfirmed friendships. I felt so bold when I signed up for all these networks.
Now I'm starting to feel the way I did the one time I set off on a jetski. Careening, and likely to aground any moment. (That's not me doing the triple axl in the video.)
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They're referring to the MySpace page I acquired in a fit of connectedness a year or so ago. The result of that is being officially located in five social networks. (I paid someone to set me up.) I haven't done anything with any of them except to somehow double my presence on Facebook by accidentally creating a second version of myself, with separate sets of friends. And to get offers of friendship that I don't know how to confirm. And be reminded that I might know this other Peggy Payne who was at Duke the same time I was.
Eventually, I will hire a teenager to explain some of this.
In the meantime, I'm apparently out there snubbing people with unconfirmed friendships. I felt so bold when I signed up for all these networks.
Now I'm starting to feel the way I did the one time I set off on a jetski. Careening, and likely to aground any moment. (That's not me doing the triple axl in the video.)
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Saturday, November 15, 2008
Blog Free
The tune that's running through my head is "Born Free," which is probably from my Peter, Paul & Mary days.
Blog Free, however, is my current set of lyrics. As I was just saying to one of my brothers on the phone, the cool thing about this kind of writing is that it's almost unlimited.
No editors. No revisions. No meeting market requirements. No deadlines. No need to stick to the subject.
Plus a conversation results.
It's like a pulpit without all the complications of a church. Or other similar comparisons. Free swim--I think I may like that one the best. (Note the chihuahua in the orange bikini.)
After more than 35 years of freelancing, to be able to just maunder around in language. Say things any which way. Well, it does good things for my lungs. I can feel the freedom physically.
Wow, what a pleasure this is.
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Blog Free, however, is my current set of lyrics. As I was just saying to one of my brothers on the phone, the cool thing about this kind of writing is that it's almost unlimited.
No editors. No revisions. No meeting market requirements. No deadlines. No need to stick to the subject.
Plus a conversation results.
It's like a pulpit without all the complications of a church. Or other similar comparisons. Free swim--I think I may like that one the best. (Note the chihuahua in the orange bikini.)
After more than 35 years of freelancing, to be able to just maunder around in language. Say things any which way. Well, it does good things for my lungs. I can feel the freedom physically.
Wow, what a pleasure this is.
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Friday, November 14, 2008
Puppy Cam
Who wants to be bold all the time? It would lose its zing.
Here's a nice break: a webcam watching a litter of puppies who are at the perfect age to be the ultimate in delightful. They were all asleep when I just peeked in, but stretching and shifting around and propping their heads on each other in a winsome manner. I'm not a huge fan of cute; I tend to prefer gorgeous and majestic and mysterious, etc. But these little guys are a don't-miss.
Note: I was tipped off to their location by the blog wowOwow, The Women on the Web. However, dog-people of any gender will enjoy this, I think.
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Here's a nice break: a webcam watching a litter of puppies who are at the perfect age to be the ultimate in delightful. They were all asleep when I just peeked in, but stretching and shifting around and propping their heads on each other in a winsome manner. I'm not a huge fan of cute; I tend to prefer gorgeous and majestic and mysterious, etc. But these little guys are a don't-miss.
Note: I was tipped off to their location by the blog wowOwow, The Women on the Web. However, dog-people of any gender will enjoy this, I think.
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Thursday, November 13, 2008
Authenticity and The Velveteen Rabbit
A charming and inspiring Youtube snippet from The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams Bianco, illustrated with watercolors, read by Meryl Streep, with music by George Winston: "he wished he could become real without these uncomfortable things happening to him."
A classic story--about love and authenticity and a little toy rabbit becoming real, "For a long time he lived in the toy cupboard...."
I'm guessing the author intended this story to be about love mainly--and the way appearances cease to matter. I think it also speaks strongly to anyone who ever lived in a psychic cupboard.
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A classic story--about love and authenticity and a little toy rabbit becoming real, "For a long time he lived in the toy cupboard...."
I'm guessing the author intended this story to be about love mainly--and the way appearances cease to matter. I think it also speaks strongly to anyone who ever lived in a psychic cupboard.
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Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Trying Too Hard! Too Much! Overkill!
Ever felt a trifle nervous on a new job? Told yourself, "Just act normal"? Or worse: "Be funny"?
If so, you must read: "I Am So Funny". "My brief and wondrous career at The Daily Show," Lauren Weedman writes, "consisted of making jokes about the Amish and trying to get Jon Stewart to love me."
Jon Stewart didn't come to love her.
I've become quite a devotee of The Daily Show during the recent campaign. Resolved to write for them or Saturday Night Live in one of my upcoming lifetimes. Weedman, though, did it exactly the way I fear I'd do it: by being so overwrought that she was alarming. But the trip was worth the story, at least if you're the reader and not her.
It's an excerpt from her book A Woman Trapped in a Woman's Body: Tales from a Life of Cringe.
It's killer funny. And a cautionary tale about trying way too hard.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
If so, you must read: "I Am So Funny". "My brief and wondrous career at The Daily Show," Lauren Weedman writes, "consisted of making jokes about the Amish and trying to get Jon Stewart to love me."
Jon Stewart didn't come to love her.
I've become quite a devotee of The Daily Show during the recent campaign. Resolved to write for them or Saturday Night Live in one of my upcoming lifetimes. Weedman, though, did it exactly the way I fear I'd do it: by being so overwrought that she was alarming. But the trip was worth the story, at least if you're the reader and not her.
It's an excerpt from her book A Woman Trapped in a Woman's Body: Tales from a Life of Cringe.
It's killer funny. And a cautionary tale about trying way too hard.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
Getting Rid of an Obsession
An excellent primer on stopping an obsessive thought is posted on Beliefnet, which is a great place to explore/talk about any sort of spiritual belief or doubt.
The ideas in the piece are familiar to me--but then I'm quite a student of obsessions and the stoppage of them. However, I don't recall seeing them so well condensed and assembled, also with pictures for each that are oddly persuasive.
Obsession can get in the way of boldness or of any movement at all.
Once I went to a party that reminded me of this. It was a birthday party held in a warehouse-like space that was already filled with an art piece. The art was made up of the old narrow single beds from a state mental hospital. They were empty and made up with white sheets, and all the air between and above them was thickly cobwebbed with black string. A terrific three-dimensional visual of what obsession feels like -- one aspect of it, anyway.
So the guests were given scissors and we cut down the net of obsessions. I have somewhere a picture of myself doing that. It was satisfying to do, and useful to remember: to do what's necessary to cut through that sticky stuff.
Added note: some obsessions, like a romantic yearning, we don't always want to give up hope on. Once when I was single I had one of those hanging on too long. My therapist said, "Cut it off." By which he meant giving up every hope or ambition. I said, "That's hard." He said, "As hard as my cutting off my own hand." I have to say, though, it worked, and was a lot less painful in the long run. It was time.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
The ideas in the piece are familiar to me--but then I'm quite a student of obsessions and the stoppage of them. However, I don't recall seeing them so well condensed and assembled, also with pictures for each that are oddly persuasive.
Obsession can get in the way of boldness or of any movement at all.
Once I went to a party that reminded me of this. It was a birthday party held in a warehouse-like space that was already filled with an art piece. The art was made up of the old narrow single beds from a state mental hospital. They were empty and made up with white sheets, and all the air between and above them was thickly cobwebbed with black string. A terrific three-dimensional visual of what obsession feels like -- one aspect of it, anyway.
So the guests were given scissors and we cut down the net of obsessions. I have somewhere a picture of myself doing that. It was satisfying to do, and useful to remember: to do what's necessary to cut through that sticky stuff.
Added note: some obsessions, like a romantic yearning, we don't always want to give up hope on. Once when I was single I had one of those hanging on too long. My therapist said, "Cut it off." By which he meant giving up every hope or ambition. I said, "That's hard." He said, "As hard as my cutting off my own hand." I have to say, though, it worked, and was a lot less painful in the long run. It was time.
If you like this post, please bookmark it on del.icio.us, share it on StumbleUpon, vote for it on Digg. Thanks so much.
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