Oh Crap, She's Up

 

 

Old Charles Dickens had it right:

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,”

“It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness,

“It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,”

“We had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way–

“In short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. –A Tale of Two Cities (published in 1859)

 

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug if for a few minutes—including you."

—Anne Lamott

 

 We need time to clear out the enormous amount of mental and emotional clutter that is clogging our minds and hearts.

 

In 1859, Dickens described a condition that sounds similar to ours. We could say, "Man alive, this just keeps coming around. I guess we're not all that much different", or we could say. "We can create a life worth living."

Right now, let's unplug.

 

I often speak of creativity, for I believe everyone has a creative spark. Every kid has one; why should we lose it after we've grown a big body?

 

Speaking of big bodies, I have to tell you, a few days ago, while I was waiting at a red light, I saw a pencil person wearing a T-shirt and slim pants walking toward me. This person was one of the thinnest and tallest individuals I had ever seen. They walked straight and tall, gracefully down the street. There before me was a skinny, four-legged creature (with two arms and two legs) balancing on two little feet, one of which was off the ground half the time, waiting for the other foot to set down and support its weight. I said aloud to myself, "That is a physical impossibility."

 

"They" turned out to be a female, and she walked tall with grace and fluidity.

 

It's a good thing most of us learn to walk before we have the thought that it is impossible.

My husband’s uncle, (Does that make him my uncle?) had a double leg amputation and said he thought that learning to walk on two artificial legs was impossible, yet he did it. (The prosthesis makers shortened him, though, he said.)

 

Does a toddler stop walking the first time they plop on their butt? Nope. They laugh, get up, and try again. How many tries do we give our child before we say, "They will never learn to walk?"

No, they keep trying until they walk.

It's a miracle.

 

Don't give up, folks. We learned to walk, we can do about anything.

(If you can't walk, there are mechanical devices to do it for you, or someone will carry you. See, we are caring, ingenious people.)

I’m turning to you creatives again, for I feel you understand. I felt like crying this morning when I listened to Julia Cameron being interviewed by Maria Forleo. 

 

Why? I’m still processing the why. Maybe it was her absolute belief in her inner voice that touched me. Perhaps I felt validated, maybe given permission to do my intended work—that is it, to write. I have quoted Cameron since her book The Artist’s Way came out, and today she said this year is its 30th Anniversary. And the book is going strong.

 

She also said that she felt that the power of this covid19 thing cracked people open to their creativity.  

 

Now, isn’t that something? And having her book take off—again is a clue that she’s right. Perhaps staying home for a while allowed people to think and thus tap into their creativity.

 

Because of Cameron’s comments, I felt empowered to ask more of that inner voice, listen more, and give myself permission to take the time to do the Morning Pages, take that walk, and take that Artist’s date. And to ask for guidance. (Her Four Core tools.)

 

I trust my voice, and I do listen. So many times, though, I have felt I was stealing time to write. It is work. It requires energy, and it can be heartbreaking when you think it isn’t wanted in the marketplace. And my energy is needed in other places, like a course I am taking and the feeling that I need to make a living, and family, yard, pets, and the house. I’m sure you can relate.

 

But you go back to your intended work because that’s what you do. 

 

I took Cameron’s Artist’s date to the extreme. I booked a cabin in the forest for two nights next month. (First available time.) For I have been feeling the need for my writer’s retreat that I have taken for a couple of years, and I need nature and the forest.

 

After Cameron’s talk, I took a short walk by myself, not with the dog, for she says then it’s the dog’s walk, not yours. (And having people along isn’t your walk either.) So, I walked up to a house being built a few blocks away. It was open with no workman on the premises, so I went in and walked through the unfinished rooms. Houses in process exude potential—like writing. And the rain came when I was inside the house, but I wasn’t waiting it out. So, I walked home in the rain, and my light pants and tee-shirt became soaked, but my spirit remained high and dry.