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.



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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.



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Host/Hostess Anxiety

I find entertaining difficult, not while people are at my house, but in advance of the event. Has to do with cleaning up the house.

We live in a log house in the woods and have one large dog and one very-large dog with us in the house; both of them, bless their hearts, are shedders and one enjoys rubbing against furniture and appliances. And then my husband Bob --bless his heart too--uses the seats of chairs for storage areas.

I didn't suffer from hostess anxiety while I was single. And this is curious because I was and am what an English ex-boyfriend referred to as "a heap." If it was my junk, it was okay for people to see.

I opened a book this morning that has been useful for me: Daring to Be Yourself by Alexandra Stoddard. Saw a couple of things I'd underlined way back: "There is no need to be a nervous hostess. I feel comfortable when I entertain but only if I don't put on airs." and "Your guests want to experience your natural style."

But my natural style does not involve dog hair. But I've also come to realize: my heapish artist style did not produce the rustic house next to the pond, all of which I like very much. Bob (and his ex) were the creator of that. And I get more credit than is due. So maybe it all balances out. Or maybe none of that matters. (That's an idea I try on for size; actually I don't buy it.)

In any event, it seems to be my natural style to marry a guy who creates a wonderful woodland house where the leaves are now madly and brilliantly falling as well as the dog hair and piles of books. So that's the style that it's okay to show.



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Your Vote Counts: Winning by a GASP

In the little I did about campaigning, I was plagued and hindered by the thought that I wasn't doing any good for my candidate. Phone-banking--well, I did it, but at the same time I know I've never been persuaded of anything by somebody calling me from a campaign. Same thing with door-to-door canvassing.

However, when I look at the campaign group that formed and blossomed in my town in only the last weeks of the campaign, I'm convinced as never before that every single vote matters, and that every effort to help a voter get registered and to the polling place counts.

Here's the persuasive (to me) data: GASP began with ten women about six weeks before the election. By election night, there were more than a thousand: registering people to vote, cooking meals for volunteers, writing, making calls, and giving many thousands of dollars.

Then when the votes were in, North Carolina went for Obama, first time for a Democrat since Carter in 1976, by roughly 14,000 votes. Wake, where GASP was at work, went for Obama by about 15 percentage points. Had Obama led in Wake by only 12 points, Obama would have lacked the votes to win the state.

Though it cannot be absolutely nailed down, I am convinced that the 1,000 + women made the difference. Disclosure: I'm not even officially a GASPER, never went to the first meeting. But from now on, when doubts arise about whether my effort will help, I'm going to remember this, and do what I can.

Addendum: GASP is now looking at what their next effort should be.


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A Turning Point

Pivot is a move that has become familiar in my writing career.

Just when I think I'm done with something I learn something new that will make my book better or more marketable in some substantial way.

That happened once again yesterday in my writing group, led by Laurel Goldman.

Fellow member Joe Burgo was struck with a thought no one had had before that would make my writing more accessible to more people faster.

He seemed worried that he'd caused me a great inconvenience. But he's really onto something, and I worked three hours last night on the first page, making tiny non-objectionable changes that I think will welcome a reader faster, especially a more casual reader. (I'm now going to do that for a lot of other pages.)

It does go against my essentially reserved nature (I say that while blogging away, like a pop tart telling a TV reporter she's a private person.) And, if I may delicately say so, it pisses me off that I don't get to speak in the way that comes most naturally to me. I did enjoy expressing myself on that subject yesterday. Writers who match the zeitgeist get a lot more work done a lot faster and more easily. But this exercise seems to be part of my dharma, and so I carry on--and with some fresh interest.






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Toughness and Serenity

A hope I have for this new administration: that the uncommonly calm-seeming Obama will make it hip to be understated.

I have a stake in this. While I strive to be bold and clear, I'm naturally inclined toward saying things only once and none too loudly.

Now we have a leader who has managed this enormous political feat while seeming almost serene. In the last week, Charlie Rose asked of one of his guests: "Does he have any outrage?"

I very much admire the combo of leadership and calm.

See?! Soft-spoken does not mean wimpy.

A person can boldly step to the front of the free world without getting all rowdy about it.

I thought I'd seen someone else writing to the same effect, with the title "Born to Be Mild." But it was about a motorcycle.



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America the Bold!

I am happy! and grateful! at the election results.

John McCain was heroic, showed true leadership, in his concession speech. It couldn't have been more graceful.

Barack Obama--well, you know how I feel. He makes me so proud of my country. The only moment I thought he showed his own pride and joy last night was when he introduced his wife as: "the next First Lady of the United States." In a gut way, that was the moment that stirred me the most.

I know also that many are disappointed this morning, people who worked hard for McCain. Listening to him last night, I could understand why. I'm trusting that, as was promised last night, Obama will prove himself to you, that he will be your president too.



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Do the Right Thing and Vote

Sometimes when I've felt chilly in the car, I've reached over and turned on the radio. Not the heater, the radio. As if any knob would do.

Yesterday, with this important election day looming, I had a strong impulse, not to campaign, but to vacuum my car. On deadlline for one project, I've sometimes madly worked on another.

I picture a sort of free-floating urgency that thinks it will be satisfied by any action. But it's not true.

So now I remind myself that I must do as Forster suggests: "Only connect." Not quite the way he meant it. But it works. Connect the urgency with the needed action.

Minutes ago, the postman stepped into our foyer with the mail for these four offices. I wished him a happy election day. He said, "Tomorrow this time we'll have a new president."

"Have you voted?"

He laughed in an embarrassed way. "No, not yet."

"Are you going to?"

"I hope so." (He hopes so?! For one thing, this man is African-American! What is he thinking?! I was tempted to get between him and the bowl of candy we keep on the front table, but then realized that would be probably be illegal.)

I said, "Please do. Please vote."

I'll say it again: Please vote. It won't do any good to just turn on the radio.

(Another good Forster quote from Howard's End via the website Only Connect: "Mature as he was, she might yet be able to help him to the building of the rainbow bridge that should connect the prose in us with the passion."




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The Eve of Election

If you haven't already voted, please figure out when you're going to do it tomorrow. Allow plenty of time. Take a book. Take a neighbor. I don't think there has been a more crucial election in my lifetime (except, of course, when my brother has been on the ballot in NC.)

Today it seems that everybody I see is a little agitated and excited. The security guards in a state office building wanted to know where to get the particular Obama pin I was wearing (the one with Martin Luther King on it.) When I said where I'd gotten it, one of them lit out down the street on foot to get one.

Or maybe it's just me seeing the whole world as excited. If I wake up tightly wound, I realize it first when I can't decide what to wear. If I simply can't accessorize. This morning it was scarf fever. I tried so many different things around my neck that finally my husband, who thinks scarves are silly and unnecessary, started telling me that each one looked good.

I gave up. No scarf.

Tomorrow, I'm signed on to spend the last hours of the voting day as an IMPARTIAL observer at polling place. I'm just to watch and make sure everybody gets to vote and report any problems to an on-call lawyer or technical problems guy. To seem impartial, I will have to calm down. This would indeed be bold.



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American Dream

Want to know what irks me about almost every campaign I've ever seen? It's the idea that there are "average Joes" and "everyday Americans" and "the little man."

In my view, there are people -- and every damn one is a big deal.

That's the point of the United States. And also of the Democratic party.

The combo of this hot hot campaign with today's news of the death of Studs Terkel, the great oral biographer of both rich and poor, brings this to mind.

I'm convinced that any person's potential is greater if we all view her or him as a Big Deal. As a goldmine of possibilities. And take our own powers seriously as well.

I certainly see us as all peers in the matter of success in the writing business. You never know who is taking it up today for the first time, who'll have a bestseller two years from now. Students are ever passing the teacher. It happens all the time.

For example: years ago after publication of my first novel, an ad writer took me to lunch to ask me questions about getting started in fiction. Her name: Jan Karon, astoundingly successful creator of the Mitford novels.

It's just realistic to view each other, and ourselves, as remarkable.




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Writing about Sex

Last night I started reading--and almost finished--the newly released Desire, by Susan Cheever. It's about sex addiction. In her acknowledgements she made a comment about dedicating the book to her children who'd embarrassed to death by the book. A nice irony. And very interesting book.

I have a rather highly-sexed, potentially embarrassing-to-others novel in its final stages. My mother once sent me a quote from someone saying: "Pity the parent of a writer."

But we have to write what we have to write.



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A Small Bold Move

To tell a person immediately that I'm getting annoyed with whatever they're doing, instead of letting irritation pile up and then blowing up to the surprise of everyone.

Why is that so hard?


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Barack Obama in Raleigh!!!

A local TV station airing this morning's speech live estimated 28,000 people gathered in the downtown mall. The line waiting to get into the area stretched for many blocks, doubling back on itself repeatedly. My office partner Carrie waited over three hours and got in.


I walked around outside with my camera, so excited, taking crowd shots in every direction. This place in this moment with the choppers hovering overhead and the news trucks lining the curb felt to me like the center of the world.



Then from the loudspeaker, audible for blocks: Barack Obama, urging people to go straight from the rally to vote. "It's a beautiful day," he said. "Don't wait."

I walked back to my office, only a few blocks away, and listened to the rest of his speech on my computer. I've never felt more patriotic or full of hope for this country.

As I walked through downtown later in the afternoon,everyone seemed to know everyone, strangers speaking to each other as if they'd already met. The dull film that can lie over an ordinary moment was gone.
I want every day to be like that, with that kind of awareness and appreciation of everything. That to me would be a bold life.



At the same time, I can feel in myself a tempering of my excitement, as if that blunting of feeling would protect me in advance from heartbreak if my candidate doesn't become president. That kind of strategy doesn't work; it just gets in the way of the fun along the way. And may well get in the way of the best results. Because full enthusiasm is likely to lead to more action toward the goal.




So, I'm advocating full-tilt enjoyment of this historic moment, which, by the way, does not mean no-holds-barred behavior. Not at all. One thing that impressed me about this morning's 28,000. It was such an orderly and yet obviously delighted crowd.

Indeed, a beautiful day.












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Race Talk at Brunch

Sunday morning at a small get-together, I had the first direct personal conversation I ever had with an African-American about growing up on opposite sides of the color line in the South.

I'm almost sixty years old; how could it have taken this long?

Surprisingly it wasn't the Obama campaign that started the conversation. It was the movie The Secret Life of Bees, with the black woman in the group saying it was a shallow and unrealistic treatment of the black characters in the story. She called it "a white woman's fantasy."

This friend--I'll call her Jane--grew up with a mother who worked in a white woman's home. I grew up with a black woman helping to take care of me from my earliest memory until adulthood. In only a few minutes, we took a run through some very sensitive stuff: how this kind of arrangement could affect a black kid, how a black nanny might really feel about the white family. A fuller picture than either side typically saw.

During the conversation, I felt as if I were walking a high-wire: easily, but not daring to look down. At the same time, I felt a growing exhilaration and relief.

By the time I was halfway home, though, I was very sad. I didn't feel the connection with the earlier talk; but I knew it was there: how much my privilege has cost people I love, and how little I ever did to shift that balance.

I've come to feel that there's not a lot of point in flaunting guilt, or at least no admirable point; there's plenty to be done still, so I should shut up and do it.

Still, the straight talk was a good thing. For me, anyway.






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What We Don't Always Recognize as Courage

Some of the toughest kinds of boldness are not so obvious. They include:

*Waiting, when appropriate, and not "jumping the gun." Example: letting a manuscript sit a while, and then taking another look; instead of sending it off the instant it feels done.

*Changing a long-standing pattern. Example: crossing party lines to vote. A very minor example: A devout Democrat, I just voted Republican for the first time ever, on one Council of State race. It felt pretty shocking.

*Being sad when there's something to be sad about, instead of cutting the feeling off immediately with caffeine and busy work.

*Not taking on too much. Rather than overloading your schedule to the point of lunacy.

*Not worrying.




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I Like Ike's Kind of Freedom

Monday night I encountered a surprising bit of wisdom from a fellow I hadn't thought about in a while: Dwight D. Eisenhower.

I was a kid when Ike was president. He's the first prez I remember, and I was not of an age to be very politically minded. Curiously, I had fantasies about him calling me up and asking me to play golf with him. (Deluded child!!)

Second surprise, I was watching Jon Stewart's must-see distinctly-lefty satire-on-the-news Daily Show when I ran into word from this '50s Republican military man.

The guest author Eugene Jarecki was talking about his new book, The American Way of War. He said that Eisenhower, five star general and supreme commaner of the Allied Forces in World War II, warned us in his farewell address of excessive defense. Extreme efforts to ward off intrusion from the outside result in destruction from the inside.

As Jarecki elaborated: the cost of excessive vigilance is enormous and damaging financially--and it erodes civil liberties, the very thing we fight to protect. A pretty good description of the mess we're in now.

We need to take reasonable national precautions and otherwise exercise the same boldness we do by getting up in the morning. It isn't risk-free. We know that. And it's better to accept the risk of getting hit by a car on the way to school than staying home hiding under the bed and not getting an education.

Trying to completely guard ourselves is like trying really hard to broad-jump the Atlantic. No matter how hard we train, we'll wind up in the drink. Better to spend the energy some other way.

I like that philosophy. I think it's the only one that can work. Because total security simply cannot be achieved. No matter how much we spend.

I'm with Ike: let's take the reasonable and necessary risks that freedom requires. And no more.








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Southern Civil Rights

One profoundly thrilling part of voting last weekend was the feeling of how far we've come.

I grew up in the South during Jim Crow days. I took segregation for granted until I was 19 or 20, and then the admirably bold civil rights movement brought it to my attention. To my lasting shame, I had never even questioned the obvious and brutal unfairness to "colored people."

But Saturday I got to vote for a black man for president. That man doesn't use race as part of his campaign. But I can't help being proud that my country has come so far.

The reminders of the more racist past are ever close. Note in the picture the Confederate soldier with the American flag at the Chatham County courthouse in the rather liberal and educated town of Pittsboro where I cast my vote. Mostly we don't even see such symbols because we're used to them. It's so easy to not see things.

I devotedly love the South, North Carolina, and the town I grew up in--even though very bad things have been done here. I'm old enough now to have taken some interest in genealogy; I've recently learned that at least one of my direct forebears owned slaves and one of my forefathers was a young doctor who died at the Battle of Second Manassas. I take some pride in the fact that they were prominent citizens of their time and place; I'm not proud--can barely take in--the fact that some of my relatives "owned" people, with all the horrors that entailed. I wonder if there's any possibility that, like me, they didn't see. (Not that that excuses anything.)

At any rate, you can see what I carried with me to vote this time. I wish Ethel Gilchrist, the black woman who was my third parent, had lived to vote this year. I'm glad that I have.



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James Taylor Making Music in Carolina

James Taylor -- the real one, not a recording -- is singing outside my office window as I write this.

Taylor is a local boy--we claim him--who is giving concerts to celebrate Obama. I don't need to tell you who Taylor is. Everybody knows. Years ago in India, I stopped at a one-table restaurant next to the Ganges. Three rangy twenty-something guys were sitting in three of the four chairs at that table. I sat down at the fourth.

Turned out that they were from Argentina and were working in Italy and had come to India on vacation. I said I was from the U.S.

"Where?" one asked

"Outside Chapel Hill."

One of them responded by singing a line of "Going to Carolina in my Mind." I smile now to think of it, how that pulled home and India, and Italy and Argentina together for me in an instant.

This morning, when I first heard Taylor's silky voice through the window glass, it was well before the concert hour. My office partner Carrie Knowles and I walked the two-and-a-fraction blocks down to the square. Taylor and his crew were doing their soundcheck an hour or so before the performance.

It turned into an intimate performance, with him singing "Suzanne," etc. and occasionally stopping to get an adjustment in "tracking." People had gathered, but it was still possible to get close, for him to chat with audience members only yards away.

I remember hearing him live back when he was a young long-hair, as was I at the time. That has been more than thirty-five years. His voice, singing the same songs, brings then and now together.

(Oh, he just started into "You've Got a Friend," a great campaign song)

Just now in the park, watching his hands close-up riffing on that old-style guitar-- It was like watching a Zen master performing a ritual done countless times. The automatic straight-from-nature half-aware look of his performance made me think of the truism: that it takes 10,000 hours of practice before we become good at our art.

He's good. And I'm now back at my desk typing; couldn't spare time to go to the whole concert, but it's floating through my window, inspiring both perseverance and ease.

That ease with the music that's grooved into his brain: that can free an artist to be bold.

Carrie went back for the formal concert, took this picture; she could no longer get close enough to see who was singing. But there was no question whose inimitably distinct voice it was.








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Saturday I Went Out Voting....

I've never before voted early. I've never before even known it was possible, except for expatriates, etc.

This past weekend, I put on somewhat-better-than-the-usual-Saturday-gardening clothes and my Obama button and went (as promised here last week) to my county seat (pop. 2,226) of Pittsboro, NC, and eagerly cast my vote. (They wouldn't let me take a picture of my ballot, no doubt fearing I would duplicate it and stuff the ballot box.)

I've never been more excited about voting and that's saying something because one of my own brothers has held statewide office elective office here for eight years and I still have the campaign hats and buttons to prove it.

Here's the big news: There was no line. Which is one big reason to do it now. I was voter 1028 at that site, but I still didn't have to wait. Where I usually vote, at an AME Zion Church just down the dirt road from my house, I've been as low as number 17, and I don't tend to get up early. So there's an exciting lot of action going on, and voting early lets you enjoy it.

For a Democrat, I discovered, Pittsboro is a fun place to vote: lots of like minds. I just did a little research on the place. Fascinating trivia:

"Pittsboro is known for its large population of single adults. (59%!)

Approximately 36% of Pittsboro is non-white. The town boasts a diverse population for North Carolina, with several racial groups well-represented among the population.

There is an unusually large share of women in the town."

Lot of arts and crafts and granola and live music and garden supplies, too, as you might imagine.

All of which is to say: the weather is finally crisp new fall, it's a new season, so take part in it by voting now. (And please consider voting for the candidate who will bring us a much-needed fresh new season: Senator Barack Obama.)




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Vote Early and with Passion

Early voting has begun. Here's why to VOTE NOW instead of waiting:

*Voter turnout is expected to be larger by magnitudes. If you wait until election day, you may face a multi-hour line at a time when you don't have two hours free to wait. If that happens, your candidate could lose your vote.

*Less confusion on election day is likely to mean less chance of errors and contested results.

*Early voting is quicker for you as a voter.

*Once you've voted, your candidate will spend less of his resources in trying to get your vote.

*Voting is exciting. Why wait? I talked with a Brazilian-born woman this morning who became an American citizen about a year ago. She's about to vote here for the first time, and is thrilled. I like her example. This is no time to take the right to vote for granted.

*Taking immediate action on behalf of your good cause is immensely satisfying, even good for the health. See (once again) The Healing Power of Doing Good by Allan Luks with Peggy Payne.

Here's how: info on your early voting polling places. (This is an Obama-sponsored site, but gives you your sites no matter who your candidate is.)

I'm voting tomorrow, Saturday, in the charming little town of Pittsboro, NC, county seat of rural Chatham. Lot of interesting stuff in that downtown: a store with French/African crafts, an excellent thrift shop, a retro drugstore. I plan to make an event of this outing.




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