It’s Sunday and I’m tense. This isn’t my usual M.O. for the weekend and that annoys me. What’s more irritating is the reason I’m so keyed up. Tomorrow I’m traveling to the U.K. to see my friend and her sweet baby girl — I was her “Tuesday mom” when we lived close.
You can imagine I’d like to be more excited.
I’m not really sure why, but ever since I can remember I get weird about traveling. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love being in different places, trying new things and experiencing all the weird/awesome/unforgettable stuff this planet has to offer.
But there is something about actually getting my butt out the door to do it that freaks my out. Someone pointed this out to me about four years back when I was about to fly to Europe for the first time.
I just didn’t want to go. I honestly almost convinced myself to cancel. I thought it was pre-flight jitters. Something about flying across an enormous ocean without a safety net.
But as I look back at most of the trips I’ve taken, whether they’re road trips or flights to another continent, I’m usually considering pulling the plug a few days before the whole thing goes down.
This upsets me. I am so grateful that I’m able to travel the way I have. I know how ridiculously blessed I am to have a passport, how lucky I am to have traveled outside than the state where I was born.
Like I said, I thought it was the plane ride that upset me. If you let yourself start to think about what you’re doing, rushing through the atmosphere, 30,000 feet above sea level in a tiny little tube, it can freak you out.
But most of the time I don’t let my mind get too involved, so I don’t think it’s that.
Maybe it’s the preparation. Packing. Double-checking travel arrangements. Figuring out how we’ll manage with food allergies. What if I forget something? These are small, stressful moments, but they only bother me if I don’t give myself enough time.
Really it’s that when you travel, you come back a different person. You are fundamentally changed. Your eyes have been opened to something. Or you suddenly realize how good you really have it.
When I was 17, I was lucky enough to spend a few weeks in Honduras with a missions group. I helped folks get their eyes checked, largely because I could understand the Spanish alphabet. I helped poured a cement floor for a family of four living in a hut where before they’d sweep their dirt floor every morning. I braided four-year-old girls’ hair after combing lice out of it.
Who’s afraid of a little hard work? Not this girl!
Near-death experiences on the winding roads up and down the steep hills were a daily thing. Garbage peppered the roadsides. Shacks were the norm. And I loved it. I woke up to roosters every morning. Mist hung in the mountains all around me. When I developed my film, 3/4 of the pictures were those mountains.
This is one of them.
I saw happiness and love in its most pure form there. Where almost everyone had nothing, where filth and disease were so common, there was where people knew how to live life. Kicking around a soccer ball, strumming a guitar, chasing bubbles.
I’d go back to my AP classes where I’d worry so much about colleges, I would eventually freeze with depression and refuse to choose. Others who went would go back to working too many hours a week to pay for their outrageous mortgage or something else they thought they needed. This was how we lived.
Something about that trip stuck with me. But it took years (an entire decade actually) for me to understand the message I was receiving, and by that time I had to change a hell of a lot to become the person I could’ve been if I’d just listened back then in the first place. I basically stripped back down to where I was at 17.
So I think my nervousness is two-fold. One is that I am going to come back changed, which means dying a mini-death to the person I am. And the other is that I’m scared I’ll refuse to die that mini-death, that I won’t get the message and ten years from now I’ll have to break everything back down to zero again.
The first is, to me, a completely rational and normal thought. No matter how much we change, no matter how good we get at accepting these mini-deaths, moving on is tough. Knowing that you’re walking up to one voluntarily is a little unnerving.
The second one is more of an old habit and a bad habit at that. Sure this might have been a relevant fear when I was 28 and just starting on this journey. But like I said before, once you become more evolved, it’s difficult to go backwards. Worrying about not getting the message is like worrying about me not drinking enough water. I need it to survive. I’ll get it one way or another.
And so, without being too hard on myself, I’m going to try to let go of this fear and focus more on my intentions for this journey: spending time with one of my closest friends, seeing a new country and giving loads of love to my little Lydia.
Author’s note: After writing this in the morning, I went on to have one of the most relaxing and wonderful Sundays I’ve had in a while. I guess that just shows me that getting my emotions and feelings out on the page serves to move them through me. The Artist’s Way strikes again.
This morning during my yoga practice I was laying in corpse position feeling very balanced. I know this because the whole point of the exercise was to attain said balance.
But what was so wild was how my brain and body reacted to certain words, opposites, that the lady recited.
Hot. Immediately my thoughts go to my forehead.
Cold. My toes twitched.
Heavy. Suddenly my left eye feels deeper in its socket than the right one.
Light. My heart felt lifted up with my breath.
Happy. “Eeeeeee!” my brain said.
Sad. My eyes welled.
Was I really that open to suggestion? Yes and no, I think. I was being told to pay attention to my body’s reactions, so I might have been being a little dramatic. I have always enjoyed the stage. But still, I was also really aware.
Why are some opposites just fine and others bad? Why do I not break down at the mention of the word cold? OK, that might be a bad example. At one time in my life, there were many freakouts over the word cold. But you get what I’m saying, right?
Why does one word bring tears to my eyes when another simply makes my toes twitch? They’re just words (says the writer)! I have an unbalanced response.
And so, for my first in what I hope to be a recurring series, I’ve picked a Tarot card to represent the next month. Since March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb, I figured we should talk about combining opposites. It can be done, you know. Water and oil have mixed.
If you’re unfamiliar with this card in the Tarot, it’s traditionally referred to as Temperance. I’ve always disliked the card because I could help but be reminded of the Temperance Movement.
But The Fferylly appeals and it makes much more sense to me. She’s an alchemist, mixing fire and water, creating beauty and magic by combining opposites. She’s firmly rooted in the earthly realm but comfortable traveling into a more spiritual place.
This, my friends is a very big goal. It might sound funny coming from a gal who reads Tarot, seeks guidance from the stars and calls herself a witch, but I’ve been feeling very superstitious lately. It’s almost as if I don’t want to make a decision for fear of what a horoscope said, and that’s just plain silly.
“Superstition is the poison of the mind”-Joseph Lewis (Thanks to Cayeg for this pic.)
My focus in March is to spend time moving between those two realms, living in harmony and peace, making decisions based on firm intellect but without ignoring my intuition. Can I do it? I’m pretty sure I can.
I also see March as a time where our creative juices start to awaken again after the long slumber of holidays, self-improvement and the exhale of winter. This card is a favorite for writers and other creative minds. It’s time to pull out those paints, start designing a project or just get your hands dirty in the garden. Who doesn’t love that?
I’m planning on spending some time with my sidewalk chalk, gardening and maybe trying some new dance. We’ll see. I encourage you to do something creative this month, particularly something that combines your spiritual beliefs with something earthly. Something you can touch.
Art is a great way to do just that. When is the last time you played? What did you do? I’d love to hear your ideas.
I want to stress that what I’m talking about is your one-off, run-of-the-mill bummer times.
If you’ve been struggling with these for weeks or months, the tips may help, but you might also want to chat with a counselor. No shame in that game.
When I first wrote it, I thought it was just something I needed to put in, like how exercise videos always say “Ask your doctor before starting any fitness program.” But lately, I’ve been reading a lot about depression, and more specifically bloggers dealing with depression, and my brain wouldn’t let me keep it to myself anymore.
I know I’ve got a (self-imposed) reputation around these parts for being an optimistic, happy camper, but it ain’t all roses and puppy dogs. So if you were reading this post with that expectation, you don’t have to continue. You should! But you don’t have to.
At the age of 17 I, along with a few others, were the victims of severe bullying at school. It was so bad it made it into the high school yearbook. This was before words like “cyber-bullying” were in our vernacular, but between school and my home computer, I felt constantly attacked.
I quit every activity except band (mostly because we had a trip to Hawaii coming up that I’d already paid for). I stopped playing the piano after 12 years of lessons. I gave away the lead in our musical to my understudy. I skipped classes daily. I stayed home at night instead of camping with friends.
And we all know how much I love camping.
My parents and I didn’t have the best relationship, but they weren’t blind either. They sent to my first psychiatrist where I was promptly diagnosed with depression and put on Paxil. I didn’t like how I felt, so I quit taking them. After a few months, things started to get better and I went on with my life.
Then, years later, my marriage started falling apart. I’d lay in my bed and cry and cry, until I thought it was finally done. Then my eyes would well up again. I was a waitress at the time and there were no sick days. I’d go to work and break down while talking to guests about beer. It was a real downer.
I went to another psychiatrist. And then things got better a few months later. But this cycle continued. Again and again and again. And each time, it got worse. Where I once dismissed passing thoughts of suicide, I now entertained them. Wouldn’t it be so much easier? When is this going to stop?
I called friends but, with the exception of one, felt like I was quickly becoming a burden. People can’t drop their mid-day meeting to counsel me through my latest bout of sobbing. And I was seriously abusing my privilege to work at home. My boss understood, but when you’re out of the office more than you’re in, things get tense.
Something had to change. If this kept up, I was headed for unemployment at best and an early grave at worst. I had to change my attitude that this depression I was dealing with was just going to go away. I couldn’t just “snap out of it” as an insensitive person once said. I needed to manage this.
And so I headed to counseling again. But this time I made several promises to myself. If I didn’t like my counselor, I would find another one. I wasn’t going to lie to my counselor, no matter what. (Why I’d lie to someone who’s supposed to keep everything you say confidential, I don’t know. But I did.)
And finally, I was going to go for as long as it took. No more six-month stints. If I needed years of counseling, so be it. I worked out most days. I ate well. It was time to dedicate my energy to the health of my mental self. Who cares if I ate five servings of vegetables when I was a curled-up, crying mess on the bed?
That was 2.5 years ago. I’d like to say that I’m depression free, but seriously folks, depression is like fibromyalgia or rheumatoid arthritis. You manage it. It never goes away. Most days I am A-OK. I’m the happy, optimistic good witch you read on this blog. But some days I’m in a hole that’s so deep I’m almost sure I’ll never get out.
Thankfully, those days are few and far between. Everyone’s case is different, but I remember desperately searching online for any solutions, so here’s a list of things that really help me manage my depression.
A good counselor. I know. Counseling is scary. There are stigmas involved with seeing one. It’s not cheap. It takes time. But if you can afford it, if your health insurance covers it (which, in my opinion, it should), DO IT! Go.
A lot of employers have EAP programs that offer a few sessions free. Use this to find someone you like. Some counselors offer sliding scales for people who qualify. And keep going. When you feel better, keep going.
I spent two years going to therapy every week. That’s a lot of time. But totally worth it. Since then, I’ve slowly scaled back to once a month. But I don’t intend to stop. It’s part of my life. It’s saved my life.
Pop music. When I was young I hung out with punk rockers who made fun of my love for Bon Jovi, but I held on. I didn’t care then (which makes me a little more punk, doesn’t it?) and I sure as hell don’t care now.
If it’s Top 40, I probably love it. Yes, even Justin Beiber. And this never fails to make me bounce around like a idiot. A happy idiot.
Someone else with depression. It might seem weird that I’d manage my depression partially by having a close friend with depression, but somehow two negatives equal a positive.
One of my best friends struggles with anxiety and depression on a similar level to me. She gets it when I say I feel like I’m underwater and vice-versa. I have wonderful people in my life who have supported me with this battle and I owe them so much, but nothing compares to a person who’s been in the trenches too.
St. John’s Wort. I’ve never been a big fan of synthetic drugs, especially ones that have side effects like sexual dysfunction and suicide. But after months of therapy and still feeling like I’m walking over an abyss on a tight-rope, my friend told me to open my mind to drug therapy.
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll open my mind up a little bit,” I said, mocking her. But when I got home, my housemate’s girlfriend said she brought me a present and gave me St. John’s Wort. I love the Universe. I did a little research and decided to give it a shot.
This stuff? Awesome.
With Paxil, I felt like someone had taken over the controls. I wasn’t myself. But St. John’s Wort has just taken that abyss I was balancing above on my tight-rope and made it more like a small canyon.
I can see the bottom. It’s got a river and a few rocks. It’ll hurt if I fall in, but it’s not the chasm the Nazi lady falls into in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
Exercise. This is an exceptionally tough one to do once I’ve already hit the bottom, but it is one of the best preventative measures to be sure. It releases serotonin and gives me more energy. There’s also the side effect of a more toned body and the ability to eat way more cookies.
I’m pretty sure Tony Horton would not be stoked that I use his P90X program as an excuse to eat dessert, but hey! Whatdya gonna do? I would totally recommend that program for anyone with depression. Every day is scripted out so you don’t have to make any decision except to hit the Play button.
Lay off the booze. Anyone that knows me knows I love beer (which has made gluten-free living so much more painful). When I was waiting tables, you could say I had a bit of a drinking problem as I could count the number of sober nights I’d had in seven years on two hands. Self-medicating much?
So less of this then?
While that’s changed quite a bit, I still notice that if I have a few glasses of wine a few nights in a row, I start to feel a little down. Not always, but sometimes. Alcohol is a depressant, and I clearly do not need any help in that department.
While I’m not going to swear off drinking entirely, I do enjoy the months hiatuses my husband and I take for his bike race training. And when I drink now, I try to keep it to a more reasonable amount and usually not day after day.
Art. I’ve spent a lot of time working throughThe Artist’s Way, which really helped me feel in touch with myself and my feelings and all that other gooey stuff that makes life awesome. And when I’m feeling bummed, art really brings me back to life.
Sidewalk chalk drawings, paint-by-numbers, pencil art, knitting, crocheting, singing, dancing, gardening and baking (yes those are art to me), reading, writing, and staring at the ocean while stacking rocks on the beach. All of these soothe my soul and ease my depression.
Plus, sometimes you get cute stuff to wear as a bonus.
Just accept it. A few weeks ago I was laying in bed trying to get my ass in gear. I had deadlines. There was food to be cooked and laundry to be done. But my body/mind decided it was a good time to cry. So I let it.
I didn’t have a real reason. I could probably link it back to a movie that triggered some crazy emotional memory, but who cares? Tears fell. You know that scene in Fight Club where Edward Norton’s character cries into Meatloaf’s shirt? Yeah. Like that.
I let myself do very little that day and I just accepted that it was how it was and that tomorrow would probably get better. And if it wasn’t, well the day after was a new one too. So, just take it easy man.
And if you’re reading this and you have other ideas or resources, please let me know in the comments!
P.S. I was inspired to write this post in part by a book out right now called Crochet Saved My Life by Kathryn Vercillo. She’s giving away a few copies right now (entry via blog post) and I hope to win one.
Honestly, between that and my sister-in-law telling me to, I don’t know that I would’ve ever written this otherwise. It takes weird things to give you courage.
2012 has been with us now for about nine days, and I didn’t think I really had resolutions, per se. I like to just do things when they seem natural, but it turns out I’ve been inspired by this time of year.
Be nice. In my war against my inner critic, it’s occurred to me that in some cases it’s good to have a critical or judgmental side. So instead of trying to destroy it, I’m thinking it just needs some new vocabulary. Every day in my journal I’m writing five things I like about myself.
Appreciate the moments. I take loads of photos, but most of them sit in a file on a computer and maybe end up on Facebook. This year, I’m printing those photos! Well, not all of them because some look like this:
This was Nobeyaki Udon. It's a bit steamy isn't it?
But there are some that are great; it’s not really about how good the photo is, but how awesome the moment was. For this week, I’m having trouble choosing between this:
Big Sur New Year's Day moto ride
California Academy of Sciences with Sante's brother and sister
I’ll probably stick with the second one because even though it’s not about the photo, that shadow makes me a little bonkers.
Try new things. I belong to a really cool Facebook group called Thirty Day Challenges. This is a way to try new and sometimes outrageous things. Some people have survived off of $200 worth of groceries in a month for a family of four. Others try volunteering a set number of hours throughout the month.
It’s very non-judgmental and kinda fun. And it’s how I cultivated the habits of drying all my clothes naturally, composting and hopefully after this month, eating more raw fruits and veggies.
This is definitely on the menu. (Click for the recipe.)
Don’t leave things unfinished. I feel like The Artist’s Waycame into my life for a reason. It’s seriously one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself spiritually and creatively. My hubby bought me watercolor pencils for Christmas. Yes, even he believes I’m an artist!
But I’m stuck, and mostly because I’ve been assigned to read my journals for the past few months.
Seriously? But I've got more writing to do!
Do more of what you love. Blogging is one of my favorite things, and I want to write more often. This requires me to be less of a perfectionist. I’ve set up my phone so that I can blog while I’m mobile, which will help because I am struck by inspiration most often when I’m not sitting in front of the computer. I know, crazy!
Sunny Sanguinity is one of my true loves, and I want to spend more time with it. So fingers crossed, you’ll be seeing more posts in 2012 and maybe some upgrades around here. Thanks for reading and may you be filled with kindness, energy, bliss, joy and delicious food!
As a journalist, I’ve been trained to never use definite declarations, like “This is the best album of 2011,” because how can I possibly know that? I haven’t heard every album made in 2011.
In order to escape this conundrum, journalists often times use the phrase one of the: one of the best wines, one of the worst movies, etc. etc. For some reason this doesn’t seem to apply to end of the year lists, and so, I’m going to take great liberties with mine.
2011 was a big year. Here are a few things that have stuck with me:
Working full time on my business. Scary? Yes. I can be a bitch of a boss. But seriously, it’s my American dream.
Best Book I’ve Read
If you’re looking for something to help you get in touch with what your soul really wants, I recommend spending some time with this book.
Best Habit I Established
It's a tie between daily journaling and composting.
Part of me can’t believe I was so influenced by this man, what with my nomadic nature and Buddhist attitude toward things, but the other part of me (namely the artist/tech geek) would say Steve Jobs made me believe in practical magic.
I’m thankful for everything 2011 brought and took away. I’m looking forward to banner year for us all in 2012. Happy new year!
Recently, I was reading something in my horoscope that encouraged me to find peace in the small pauses, because my life was going to be full of activity, to the point of overwhelm at times.
Lord, isn’t that the truth!?!
Between finishing up an insurance claim for a bicycle accident, working with new clients, developing my business, editing my book and the holiday madness, I’m struggling to find a moment to breath. It’s not bad, just busy.
Like a bee, I'm trying to make something sweet with all the work I do.
So, I made a list of things I can do that refresh me that take 15-20 minutes. Here’s what I have so far:
15 minute yoga (Love this one but am open to suggestions)
Knit a round on Fran the Afghan (yes, I named my knitting)
In the past few weeks I’ve known a few people who’ve lost their dogs. My heart goes out to them. It’s like losing a member of the family as far as I’m concerned. One posted a status update about it to which one of their friends commented, “I have to put mine down too. But I just don’t have the courage to do it.”
I’ll excuse the status-jacking because it brought something to the front of my mind at the same time I had the power of the Internet at my fingertips. Y’see, the theme of courage has been running rampant through my head for months now.
It started with my reading of Suze Orman’s Women & Money. She writes that every wealthy woman has several qualities, one of which is courage. There were others that struck me first, like harmony and honesty, but lately courage has been the one on my mind. (By the way, I highly recommend that book to any woman. What an empowering, helpful set of instructions and encouragement!)
But another book brought forward this concept to me recently, and that’s The Artist’s Way. So I’ve been sort of inundated with this idea and it kinda made me uncomfortable.
When I think of courage, I can’t help but think of the cowardly lion in The Wizard of Oz. Poor thing was afraid of his shadow.
I’ve always associated courage with a lack of fear. And if you look it up in m-w.com, my favorite dictionary, you’ll find a similar definitionthat deals a lot with fear.
It’s not that I don’t think courage has anything to do with fear. It just seems like the definition is focusing on the wrong thing.
Anyone who tries new things and takes risks, who embodies courage, will tell you that you cannot escape fear. It’s part of the package. So why should courage really focus on your ability to do something despite that?
The beauty of the Internet is that there’s usually more than one source. I’m not the biggest fan of Dictionary.com, but it did offer me this tasty, albeit obsolete, definition of courage: the heart as the source of emotion.
OK, now this I get. I’ve been trying to approach courage from a logical perspective, but this isn’t a job for logic. Logic tells us to stay in our job when the economy is bad, even if it is draining our soul. Reasonable people don’t jump out of airplanes with parachutes strapped on their backs.
The desires of our hearts are what drive us forward, and pursuing those dreams feeds the soul. But to follow those dreams often runs counter to what’s logical. And that’s where courage comes in.
It takes courage to act from the heart and not the brain. It runs counter to what our culture and often times our families are telling us. But we know it to be the right thing to do, even if we can’t quite justify it or quantify it.
I’ve been focusing on listening to what my heart wants and then following through. I believe and trust that the Universe will support me if I have courage and follow my dreams. And I’m blessed to have a husband and friends who supports me in that as well.
I encourage you to listen to your heart and start exercising your courage, even in little ways. Dance to the elevator music. Sing while you’re walking the dog.
Listen to that little kid inside you that wants to skip down the sidewalk. The more often your courage is exercised, the stronger it will become. And suddenly that big leap you’ve secretly been wanting to take looks more like a puddle jump.
Last weekend I took my nephews rollerskating for the first time. They are about 3 and 5, so it seemed like a good time to learn. Plus it was a good opportunity to just be a kid, one of the things I try to do as part of my work with the Artist’s Way.
(Jolene Van Laar/Flickr)
First I have to say my nephew Zeke definitely comes from a biking family. He took one look at the roller rink and said, “There aren’t even any berms on it.”
But after one time around, he was pretty happy there wasn’t. He and his brother crawled slowly along the wall, falling every few feet, with me and their mom, Kelly, to pick them up.
Kelly said, “Look at everyone falling. That’s how you learn.”
All I could think was How do they keep getting up and trying? I would have probably given up by now. Seriously, it was exhausting to watch them.
It made me realize that I’ve gotten pretty lazy when it comes to learning something new. When I was younger I picked up all sorts of things: ice skating, diving, piano, trumpet, calculus.
Now I’m ready to give up my knitting after the fourth time of messing up a pattern. Four times? If I would’ve done that with writing, I wouldn’t have a journalism degree, a blog or a business. I’m guessing that if Einstein only tried four times, one of my favorite physics theories would not exist.
So what happened? Why am I suddenly so lazy? I think it’s because I’ve been doing things I’m good at for too long. I’ve forgotten what falling down feels like.
It’s like when you stop playing guitar for a long time and your calluses go away: it hurts to play for too long until you develop those calluses again.
I need to develop my failure callus again. Falling down (failure) is necessary and inevitable. But it’s only temporary unless you decide to just stay there. And then inevitably someone will roll over your finger, adding insult to injury.
So I’ve started my knitting for the fifth time. And I’m about to try selling my services to another business after the last one said no. It gets easier, I’ve heard. I believe it.
Actually I should say I know it. I said those exact words to my nephew as I spun around on my skates.
Earlier this week an older gentleman at the grocery store stopped me to tell me about how good life was. Well, first he asked how I was doing, and I said that life was rad.
He stopped and said, “I know. Things have just been going so well. Y’know how when things just always go right and you’re like ‘yeah.’” His head was nodding and he had the biggest smile on his face.
He told me he just couldn’t explain it really. The reason he stopped me was that he could see I was putting out the same vibe (I love Santa Cruz). I was thinking, Man you need a writer to explain that. Only later did it dawn on me that I was that writer.
I’ve discovered something so life-changing in the past week that everything has shifted. It started with synchronicity, which I’ve been keeping track of as part of my work with The Artist’s Way. But as I’ve noticed more and more synchronistic events, life has started to look different, almost like I’m in an alternate dimension.
Up is not down in this dimension, nor is black white or anything that extreme. Everything looks physically the same, although some things are shinier and others flat and superficial. The main thing about this alternate dimension is that everything just works out.
I arrive on time for things even when I don’t leave when I “should.” My wallet wasn’t in my basket after our bike ride downtown for Halloween; it turns out I left it at home. And I still got to grab a drink even though every bar was carding at the door.
Because lord knows, Miss One Percent needs her evening cocktail.
When I started noticing this shift, something in my brain said to me: “You’ve walked through the portal. You’re in the dimension where everything works out now.”
I’ve dreamed about this portal and I’ve stumbled into this dimension before, but only accidentally and only for a short time. It’s frickin’ paradise. And let me tell you what I think the portal is: Trust.
Oh, there’s some mindfulness involved too, but trust is key. Trust your intuition. Listen to your heart. Trust the Universe. Trust the people around you. Once you know that every person, every aspect of your life has got your back, things just fall into place and work out.
Now this isn’t happily ever after. I’m not saying that everything will be utopian. We’ve all still gotta be smart and use common sense.
What I mean is that as you learn to trust, the bigger picture becomes easier to digest, you become less attached to outcomes and life is lived fully. And that’s when you’re most open to big opportunities.
So what do you say? Wanna join me and the gentleman from the grocery store on the other side of the curtain? Take a leap through your portal and experience the world the way it was meant to be seen!
This is a quick post mostly because I’m trying to do other work, which somehow led me to this video: Elizabeth Gilbert talking about divinity in creativity and how adopting this attitude could keep us from killing off the great creative thinkers.
The talk is about 19 minutes, which is a lot of time to invest, but it had my hair standing on end with chills through my whole body. Well done Elizabeth!
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wondered: Why is it that so many creative works have to be depressing and their author’s story so tragic? I’m out to change that mentality along with Elizabeth Gilbert, and I hope you’ll join us!