A thought recently popped into my head, not especially profound because I think it's maybe true for everyone, but I sat with it a while and got some value out of it -- the thought was this:
If I don't make myself a priority, and focus on meeting my needs, no one else is going to.
After a while, that thought morphed into a string of questions: what do I need that I'm not getting? what do I want that I'm not getting? which of those things is it within my power to do something about? what will make me happier than I am now?
Those questions have been a guiding force for me over the last while, and I realize that it's unusual for me to approach my life this way. I haven't consistently made myself a priority, and I think it's because way in the back of myself I was doubting that I was worth it. Anyway, since then, things in my life have changed -- in small ways, perhaps, but in good ways.
One thing that strikes me as odd about all this is: when I look over the questions, it appears to me like I am looking to give myself licence to indulge myself. And yet I find that, in a number of areas, I have been exercising more self-discipline. I don't think I realized before that that is something I wanted. (Probably the most eye-opening part of the whole process, for me.)
I've also noticed that I occasionally berate myself for this new focus in my life -- the phrase cold, lazy, selfish coward keeps cropping up. But a little more thought tells me that this is not how I actually feel about myself -- it's more like this is how I expect other people to see me, and I'm bracing myself for the impact when they do. Because, as I started out saying, my needs and wants are not a priority to anyone else. I'm sure that some of my loved ones, if confronted with this idea, would deny it: "Of course your desires are important to me! Because you're important to me!" But I have come to realize that what people invariably seem to mean is, "I support you in your quest to make yourself a priority -- as long as I am a higher priority. I want you to tend to your own wants -- after you have tended to mine." Part of what has changed lately is that I am less willing to put myself out to serve others -- not utterly unwilling, but less willing. I'm learning to say "no" -- which is where I expect the "cold, lazy and selfish" to come into it, eventually.
I think I need to keep working with this.
If I don't make myself a priority, and focus on meeting my needs, no one else is going to.
After a while, that thought morphed into a string of questions: what do I need that I'm not getting? what do I want that I'm not getting? which of those things is it within my power to do something about? what will make me happier than I am now?
Those questions have been a guiding force for me over the last while, and I realize that it's unusual for me to approach my life this way. I haven't consistently made myself a priority, and I think it's because way in the back of myself I was doubting that I was worth it. Anyway, since then, things in my life have changed -- in small ways, perhaps, but in good ways.
One thing that strikes me as odd about all this is: when I look over the questions, it appears to me like I am looking to give myself licence to indulge myself. And yet I find that, in a number of areas, I have been exercising more self-discipline. I don't think I realized before that that is something I wanted. (Probably the most eye-opening part of the whole process, for me.)
I've also noticed that I occasionally berate myself for this new focus in my life -- the phrase cold, lazy, selfish coward keeps cropping up. But a little more thought tells me that this is not how I actually feel about myself -- it's more like this is how I expect other people to see me, and I'm bracing myself for the impact when they do. Because, as I started out saying, my needs and wants are not a priority to anyone else. I'm sure that some of my loved ones, if confronted with this idea, would deny it: "Of course your desires are important to me! Because you're important to me!" But I have come to realize that what people invariably seem to mean is, "I support you in your quest to make yourself a priority -- as long as I am a higher priority. I want you to tend to your own wants -- after you have tended to mine." Part of what has changed lately is that I am less willing to put myself out to serve others -- not utterly unwilling, but less willing. I'm learning to say "no" -- which is where I expect the "cold, lazy and selfish" to come into it, eventually.
I think I need to keep working with this.
rescued from an old post
Jan. 28th, 2019 01:45 pmI am not my habits.
I am not my choices.
I am not my thoughts.
I am not my fears.
I am not my desires.
I am not my choices.
I am not my thoughts.
I am not my fears.
I am not my desires.
something I am grateful for today
Jan. 28th, 2019 11:32 amgiving more thought to my self-care regimen
from "Evidence" by Mary Oliver
Jan. 27th, 2019 05:27 pman excerpt:
Among the swans there is none called the least, or
the greatest.
another excerpt:
Some memories I would give anything to forget.
Others I would not give up upon the point of
death, they are the bright hawks of my life.
something I am grateful for today
Jan. 26th, 2019 02:38 pmmoments which I have lived in -- and my intention to seize more of those
something I am grateful for today
Jan. 25th, 2019 03:31 pmwaking up feeling handsome
I am the first to admit that I don't actually look any better today than I have all week, but today I like what I see better. No idea why, but in recent months I have been making more of an effort to take my Good Feelings That Don't Make Sense and simply enjoy them while I have them, rather than feel compelled to interrogate them out of existence.
I am the first to admit that I don't actually look any better today than I have all week, but today I like what I see better. No idea why, but in recent months I have been making more of an effort to take my Good Feelings That Don't Make Sense and simply enjoy them while I have them, rather than feel compelled to interrogate them out of existence.
SoCS - 20190122
Jan. 22nd, 2019 06:40 pmI'm rereading my NaNo novel again -- what is this, the ninth time now? Amazed at how many things I am finding in it to change, after leaving it for a couple of weeks. I'm not even halfway through and have already made more corrections than I did in the last three read-throughs combined. This time it's not so much finding mistakes as things that are okay but could be better. A better word, a fresher turn of phrase. Always conscious of it feeling and flowing naturally, though, or at least what I find natural. I realize my tastes in that may be out of sync with other people's, but this is me, and I gotta write my book, not someone else's.
I still really enjoy it. I honestly can't tell if this means I did a good job, or just that I love my own voice not wisely but too well. I hope not -- people like that annoy me, and I don't wanna be annoying. To anyone else, or even to myself. Gotta brace myself for it, though. There have been times in my life when I have created something -- a drawing, a piece of writing, a song -- and at the time I was really proud, and got warm pleasure from it and from having made it. And then years later I come back to it and cringe. And I have embarrassed myself. It could happen again with this book, I know.
One hopeful sign is that I originally wrote this novel about twenty-five years ago, as a graphic novel script. The graphic novel never got drawn and I eventually realized that it never would be, or even could be. But Sharon urged me to resurrect it for NaNo and do it over as prose when I needed a NaNo story. And then I realized that, twenty-five years later, the story itself did not embarrass me. I tweaked it a little in November, but really not very much. So maybe this story is something that will endure for me. Gosh I do hope so.
Thinking about NaNo19 and hoping to come up with some kind of story for that, I would like to try it again. It was fun last year. I guess part of the fun was that I hit the goal with a piece of beginner's luck, so that helped me feel more sanguine about the whole event. Plus yes, I cheated, because I already had my story done, I only needed to craft the prose which told it. I make no bones about that, and I'm not overly concerned about it either. I had fun and I ended up with a novel, so what the heck.
I still really enjoy it. I honestly can't tell if this means I did a good job, or just that I love my own voice not wisely but too well. I hope not -- people like that annoy me, and I don't wanna be annoying. To anyone else, or even to myself. Gotta brace myself for it, though. There have been times in my life when I have created something -- a drawing, a piece of writing, a song -- and at the time I was really proud, and got warm pleasure from it and from having made it. And then years later I come back to it and cringe. And I have embarrassed myself. It could happen again with this book, I know.
One hopeful sign is that I originally wrote this novel about twenty-five years ago, as a graphic novel script. The graphic novel never got drawn and I eventually realized that it never would be, or even could be. But Sharon urged me to resurrect it for NaNo and do it over as prose when I needed a NaNo story. And then I realized that, twenty-five years later, the story itself did not embarrass me. I tweaked it a little in November, but really not very much. So maybe this story is something that will endure for me. Gosh I do hope so.
Thinking about NaNo19 and hoping to come up with some kind of story for that, I would like to try it again. It was fun last year. I guess part of the fun was that I hit the goal with a piece of beginner's luck, so that helped me feel more sanguine about the whole event. Plus yes, I cheated, because I already had my story done, I only needed to craft the prose which told it. I make no bones about that, and I'm not overly concerned about it either. I had fun and I ended up with a novel, so what the heck.
something I am grateful for today
Jan. 22nd, 2019 10:24 amgetting new ideas for my new graphic novel -- alas, they still aren't ideas for a story, but they are the sorts of things that could lead to an idea for a story [fingers crossed]
something I am grateful for today
Jan. 21st, 2019 07:22 pma gift of food bringing a new taste experience
SoCS - 20190120
Jan. 20th, 2019 06:45 pmI have reread my NaNo novel about eight times now already. Most of those times were for the purpose of proofreading -- the SpellCheck in my OpenOffice doesn't work on that particular file, for some reason -- but, I confess, I have also been reading it for my own pleasure. I tend to like rereading my own work. I've always felt like my goal was to write something that I would like to read, so if I do, it makes me feel like I have succeeded, I guess. I'll come back to this.
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samanthabryant introduced me to Mary Oliver a few days ago, on the occasion of her passing, and I have now started reading a collection of her poems. One just moved me to the brink of tears -- I hope to come back and share it. [I did, in the comments.] But also, there have been a couple of times where I have felt something in her work which reminded me of something in my novel that I am thinking of now.
At one point in my book, my protagonist talks about how, when he contemplates the vastness of the universe, it makes him feel like he is "part of something big and amazing". I get a similar sense from Oliver, at times. And it wasn't til I was rereading this passage of mine that it clicked with me that I sometimes feel the same way.
It's common to hear people describe how dwarfed they feel by the cosmos. I hear them contemplate the size of the universe, or the world, or the sea, or a mountain, and tell of how this makes them feel insignificant, how they don't matter, how nothing matters even. Not saying I can't fathom this response, but it isn't mine.
"It wouldn't matter to the universe if I were here or not," they say. It's true that the universe without me in it would go on much the same. In that same sense, the earth doesn't "matter" to the universe. Our galaxy doesn't matter, there are billions of others. But what is "mattering" to the universe? Does it matter whether any part of it matters? Every part of it is here, every part of it is a part. No part necessarily more important than any other. And not necessarily any less. I am here now. You are here now. That's what matters. It is an honour to be any part of something this big and amazing and beautiful. For me, there is no existential dread in the fact of my smallness in the face of the universe -- there is wonder and joy in it.
Some days, at least.
samanthabryant introduced me to Mary Oliver a few days ago, on the occasion of her passing, and I have now started reading a collection of her poems. One just moved me to the brink of tears -- I hope to come back and share it. [I did, in the comments.] But also, there have been a couple of times where I have felt something in her work which reminded me of something in my novel that I am thinking of now. At one point in my book, my protagonist talks about how, when he contemplates the vastness of the universe, it makes him feel like he is "part of something big and amazing". I get a similar sense from Oliver, at times. And it wasn't til I was rereading this passage of mine that it clicked with me that I sometimes feel the same way.
It's common to hear people describe how dwarfed they feel by the cosmos. I hear them contemplate the size of the universe, or the world, or the sea, or a mountain, and tell of how this makes them feel insignificant, how they don't matter, how nothing matters even. Not saying I can't fathom this response, but it isn't mine.
"It wouldn't matter to the universe if I were here or not," they say. It's true that the universe without me in it would go on much the same. In that same sense, the earth doesn't "matter" to the universe. Our galaxy doesn't matter, there are billions of others. But what is "mattering" to the universe? Does it matter whether any part of it matters? Every part of it is here, every part of it is a part. No part necessarily more important than any other. And not necessarily any less. I am here now. You are here now. That's what matters. It is an honour to be any part of something this big and amazing and beautiful. For me, there is no existential dread in the fact of my smallness in the face of the universe -- there is wonder and joy in it.
Some days, at least.
something I am grateful for today
Jan. 19th, 2019 07:05 pmMy lost Costco membership card was found. Alas, it was not found by me -- and, in fact, it was found in a place I had already thoroughly searched -- which leaves me feeling incompetent and like a Typical Man Who Can't Find Things®. But I suppose that hangdog burden can be borne for the sake of having the card back.
SoCS - 20190119
Jan. 19th, 2019 08:30 amAs I plunk myself down here prepared to unleash a stream of verbiage, I find myself thinking about language, and my own use of it. In recent days I have thought of it a few times and those are coming back to me now.
On so many occasions, I have been talking with someone, I'll say something, and then I think to myself I will bet that I am the only person in town who used that word in casual conversation today. Sometimes (esp. if it's Sharon) I will even say that out loud. It makes me conscious of the fact that the way I sling words around appeals to my vanity. My vocabulary and the turns of phrase that come to my mind make me feel special, and I suspect in some ways superior. At the same time, I don't feel like I am deliberately trying to lord it over other people, this is just how my words naturally come out. This is just me. But it's one part of me that I really like -- as opposed to many other parts -- and right now I do worry if I come off as arrogant or wanky to other people, just because I sound the way I do. Sometimes I just try not to worry about it. Also not sure if dumbing myself down is the right thing to do, either. Look, I am waffling about myself -- there's a switch [not].
A few days ago, I was introduced to the poetry of Mary Oliver when so many folks posted regarding her passing. And I was struck by how her poems resonated with me. All my life I have told people that I don't like poetry, I don't get it, I don't do it, etc.... but hers, I immediately felt like I did like them and I did get them. Quite unexpected. I have ordered in a couple of her books from the library and hope to pick those up today.
And right now I am aware of feeling like part of why she resonates with me is that she feels like a kindred spirit. Her work has a sense of exactitude without being florid -- and I feel like that is what I aim for when I write. I try to pick the right word whenever I can and try not to pick too many. I find myself thinking that, if I wrote poetry, this is how I would want mine to be. Maybe, even, this is what mine could be. Which also feels arrogant as hell. Still, I feel like she sets an example that I might be able to follow.
Back in November, Sharon asked me to read her my NaNo novel as I was going along, rather than read it herself -- she has always liked hearing me read aloud -- so I did. And once or twice she stopped me after a sentence and said "That's poetry!" I was surprised -- and also really flattered. But I never got as far as thinking I should try writing it... until now, when I read Mary Oliver. If you all are lucky, I will never get as far as actually trying. I actually did try writing poems a few times, back in the 70s, and in retrospect they were cringe-inducing. Part of what convinced me that there is no poetry in my soul. Today I wonder if I could be wrong about that, a little.
My sore hands timer is going off -- ta-ra.
On so many occasions, I have been talking with someone, I'll say something, and then I think to myself I will bet that I am the only person in town who used that word in casual conversation today. Sometimes (esp. if it's Sharon) I will even say that out loud. It makes me conscious of the fact that the way I sling words around appeals to my vanity. My vocabulary and the turns of phrase that come to my mind make me feel special, and I suspect in some ways superior. At the same time, I don't feel like I am deliberately trying to lord it over other people, this is just how my words naturally come out. This is just me. But it's one part of me that I really like -- as opposed to many other parts -- and right now I do worry if I come off as arrogant or wanky to other people, just because I sound the way I do. Sometimes I just try not to worry about it. Also not sure if dumbing myself down is the right thing to do, either. Look, I am waffling about myself -- there's a switch [not].
A few days ago, I was introduced to the poetry of Mary Oliver when so many folks posted regarding her passing. And I was struck by how her poems resonated with me. All my life I have told people that I don't like poetry, I don't get it, I don't do it, etc.... but hers, I immediately felt like I did like them and I did get them. Quite unexpected. I have ordered in a couple of her books from the library and hope to pick those up today.
And right now I am aware of feeling like part of why she resonates with me is that she feels like a kindred spirit. Her work has a sense of exactitude without being florid -- and I feel like that is what I aim for when I write. I try to pick the right word whenever I can and try not to pick too many. I find myself thinking that, if I wrote poetry, this is how I would want mine to be. Maybe, even, this is what mine could be. Which also feels arrogant as hell. Still, I feel like she sets an example that I might be able to follow.
Back in November, Sharon asked me to read her my NaNo novel as I was going along, rather than read it herself -- she has always liked hearing me read aloud -- so I did. And once or twice she stopped me after a sentence and said "That's poetry!" I was surprised -- and also really flattered. But I never got as far as thinking I should try writing it... until now, when I read Mary Oliver. If you all are lucky, I will never get as far as actually trying. I actually did try writing poems a few times, back in the 70s, and in retrospect they were cringe-inducing. Part of what convinced me that there is no poetry in my soul. Today I wonder if I could be wrong about that, a little.
My sore hands timer is going off -- ta-ra.
something I am grateful for today
Jan. 18th, 2019 07:13 pmmanaging to stay on a relatively even keel throughout a day when I have felt like losing my temper, crumbling into tears, etc. -- I've had flashes of unpeace but didn't allow them to take root
Stream of Consciousness Sorta - 20190117
Jan. 17th, 2019 06:45 pmPaisley recently reminded me that about twenty-odd years ago, I used to do automatic writing practice. Just sit at the PC and write whatever came to mind, try not to stop, try not to go back and revise, I think I aimed for about fifteen minutes, today I would be happy to reach ten actually. She reminded me because she mentioned that she recently started to do this every day. Resolution, discipline, whatever. And I remembered that I used to turn up some astonishing insights into myself by doing this.
Back then I got the idea from reading Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones. Before writing this now, I found myself looking up Natalie to find out whatever happened to her. She kept writing, of course, and from the sounds of it mostly writing about writing. I also gather that she has had some second thoughts about Bones but I am gonna stick with what it said for the time being. A million plus people got something out of that book besides me, so I figure there must still be something of value therein.
Anyway, Paisley's goal is to hang onto these daily blurbs, go back to them, and see if there is anything of salvageable value in them. In her case I think she means ideas for Proper Stories. For me, I might mean that. God knows I'm desperate enough for ideas for Proper Stories, I struggle hard enough to find each one I've ever had. Wonder how many of them are actually good. I feel like every story I tell has been told to death long before me. Then I remember seeing things like there are no new stories, the only thing that's new is how you tell your version of it. Guess I gotta cling to that and hope that it's true.
Trying to be brave here and post this instead of writing it in a private Word doc on my PC. I guess I'm hoping that sometimes there might be something shareable come of it, and I can take off the privacy filter. Shareable in terms of hey world, here's something about me that I'm not afraid for you to know. Not necessarily shareable as in here's something you might find worth your while. Be interesting to see how often and how long I can keep this going.
Anyway, this first one, I am gonna make non-private, as an introduction to what these blurts are and where they come from. So that if others appear publicly in future, you can understand where they came from and why they are suddenly and randomly showing up apropos of nothing. TBH it sorta helps me to have a hypothetical audience to write to, helps the words flow.
Well hey, looks like I broke ten minutes, and now my hands hurt. Not as young as I was twenty-odd years ago. So I guess I won't try to push for fifteen after all. But if I can do ten minutes every day, or almost every day, I will be doing well. Go me.
**Addendum - I went back in after the fact to add formatting etc. for clarity and ease of reading -- my on-the-fly writing is not that neat. But I left the meat of the verbiage intact, for good or ill.
Back then I got the idea from reading Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones. Before writing this now, I found myself looking up Natalie to find out whatever happened to her. She kept writing, of course, and from the sounds of it mostly writing about writing. I also gather that she has had some second thoughts about Bones but I am gonna stick with what it said for the time being. A million plus people got something out of that book besides me, so I figure there must still be something of value therein.
Anyway, Paisley's goal is to hang onto these daily blurbs, go back to them, and see if there is anything of salvageable value in them. In her case I think she means ideas for Proper Stories. For me, I might mean that. God knows I'm desperate enough for ideas for Proper Stories, I struggle hard enough to find each one I've ever had. Wonder how many of them are actually good. I feel like every story I tell has been told to death long before me. Then I remember seeing things like there are no new stories, the only thing that's new is how you tell your version of it. Guess I gotta cling to that and hope that it's true.
Trying to be brave here and post this instead of writing it in a private Word doc on my PC. I guess I'm hoping that sometimes there might be something shareable come of it, and I can take off the privacy filter. Shareable in terms of hey world, here's something about me that I'm not afraid for you to know. Not necessarily shareable as in here's something you might find worth your while. Be interesting to see how often and how long I can keep this going.
Anyway, this first one, I am gonna make non-private, as an introduction to what these blurts are and where they come from. So that if others appear publicly in future, you can understand where they came from and why they are suddenly and randomly showing up apropos of nothing. TBH it sorta helps me to have a hypothetical audience to write to, helps the words flow.
Well hey, looks like I broke ten minutes, and now my hands hurt. Not as young as I was twenty-odd years ago. So I guess I won't try to push for fifteen after all. But if I can do ten minutes every day, or almost every day, I will be doing well. Go me.
**Addendum - I went back in after the fact to add formatting etc. for clarity and ease of reading -- my on-the-fly writing is not that neat. But I left the meat of the verbiage intact, for good or ill.
