So, I'm a pretty chronic intention-setter. To me, that means just taking some moments of silence to focus on what I'd like to manifest in life, a la The Secret, What the Bleep and my friend Caren's "soul wishing." A pretty weird practice for an atheist I suppose, but so is reading tarot cards and counseling friends astrologically about what to expect with the new guy they're seeing. So I just try to be okay with being contradictory.
Anyway, so for the past few months, I've been setting the same three intentions. The first is about adventure. I want to go back to school next fall, I've felt decided on that for awhile. The meantime is the issue. I decided a few months ago that I'm not going to stay here for that time. I feel too stagnant and stuck, like I haven't put myself out there in awhile, taken any big risks like I did back when I traveled to organic farms or moved to Seattle with no money. Those were difficult experiences, but also some of the deepest, most rewarding times I've lived through, really showed me what I was made of, challenged me and made me grow as a person. I miss it, the spirit of adventure, of seeing the world.
In aforementioned intention setting, I've just been putting it out there, daily, that I'd like the opportunity to do something wild, enriching and interesting. I crave meaningful, soul-enriching experience, to stretch myself far beyond my comfort zone, and so I've been trying to phrase it that way when I take those moments to put my desires out there. I have just over a year, and I want to have the experience that will be the best for my soul, for my personal growth, and hopefully will also have a humanitarian bent as well. Hence why one of my first thoughts was the Peace Corps, and then when that didn't work, AmeriCorps. I'm still involved in several interviews for that option, and will see where that goes.
But in the last two weeks or so, I think I've found an option that totally fits the bill even better, but could be harder to pull off. I've only told a few people, because I wanted to get it a little more secure in my own mind, and let a bit of time lapse so I could make sure I wasn't just temporarily crazy. Actually though, most of the best times of my life come from wild schemes that make me question my sanity, so it's probably a good sign. So time has passed, and I'm still stuck on it, and ready to share it publicly.
So here is the deal: In the next year, I want to do two programs that involve international travel. The first is in Alexandria, Egypt. I have ALWAYS wanted to go to Egypt. I mean, really, who hasn't? It's got a lot that I'm interested in. The program there is a ten-week course and internship in Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL), which would be such a great skill to have in terms of further foreign travel as life progresses. It also includes some cultural immersion, language classes (and learning languages is another thing I've definitely missed), and trips to the Pyramids and the Sphinx! This is like a long-time dream come true, and I've already applied and been accepted to the program that starts in late fall. Read more about it here. And that would just be the beginning.
After that, there's another program I want to do. It's called Latitudes (and I found it through looking at Leap Year, which I'm too old for, but anyone in late teens and early twenties should check out) and it involves a 12-week semester in India (or other countries if participants so choose) and then a solo internship anywhere in the world. India is another place I've always wanted to go, and the program just looks perfect. There are language lessons, humanitarian work, trekking in the Himilayas, and exposure to all the different spiritual practices in India. It also seems to me like a really well-structured program, group travel, sort of a really safe way to go somewhere really new, experience something really different and travel the world. Then there's the solo internship, which is also somewhat guided, and I just think it'd all be rad. Not to mention I can get college credit for it all! Latitudes is a program through Carpe Diem International, loosely associated with Portland State University, and you can read about it here. I've already talked to people about the program and about financial aid opportunities.
I just think all of this is an opportunity of a lifetime that I might not have in a few years, and I don't think I can pass it up. Everything I wrote about in those posts about artistic integrity, I believe also extends itself to life in general, and I'm going to take the leap. I think the experience would be invaluable, priceless, and also a huge help with my college application process.
So, I'm going to do my damnedest to make it happen.
It will mean saving money, applying for aid and fundraising aggressively. It will be difficult to pull off. But the longer people have known me, the more they know how much I like a good quest (to concerts I can't possibly get to, writing retreats I can't possibly afford, and the like). Sometimes I think I'm at my best when I'm trying to make something happen that seems completely impossible at its outset; it makes me brainstorm, push myself and take risks. This will definitely be the biggest of all the quests I've undertaken in the past, but hey I was looking for challenge. I needed a quixotic goal. I'm going to make it happen, through doggedly fierce determination, force of will, and some good old intention setting just in case that helps any.
As for the other two intentions, well, they're not really fit for public consumption.
Just kidding.
Currently Listening:
"Ticks & Leeches" - TOOL - let me just say, though this song doesn't perfectly fit this post at all. I LOVE to blast this song at full volume, and am psyched that this is the song that came up randomly. Here's the words:
Ticks & Leeches
Suck and suck.
Suckin up all you can, suckin up all you can suck.
Workin up under my patience like a little tick.
Fat little parasite.
Suck me dry.
My blood is bruised and borrowed. You thieving bastards.
You have turned my blood cold and bitter,
beat my compassion black and blue.
Hope this is what you wanted.
Hope this is what you had in mind.
Cuz this is what you're getting.
I hope you're choking. I hope you choke on this.
Taken all I can, taken all I can, we(?) can take.
Taken all you can, taken all you can fuckin' take
Got nothing left to give to you.
Blood suckin parasitic little tick/blood suckin parasitic little tick
Take what you want and then go.
Hope this is what you wanted.
Hope this is what you had in mind.
Cuz this is what you're getting.
Suck me dry.
Is this what you wanted?
Is this what you had in mind?
Cuz this this is what you're getting.
I hope you choke.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Further Thoughts on Writing and Artistic Integrity
So in my last post, KaliDurga gave this link, "Writing is in my blood...".
And in that article, I found this little gem:
"One also writes as a spiritual practice and a mode of self-discovery. One writes in order to see. One writes in order to remember. Writing is like a sixth sense used to apprehend a reality not detected by the other five. It is the memory-sense, or the feeling-sense, the organ through which we make known to each other a rich world not otherwise knowable. It is also the medium through which we make known history and the soul of our culture. It keeps something alive that otherwise might die."
I whole-heartedly agree here. I'm immediately reminded of my favorite story I've ever read in The Sun, of all the years of reading the magazine. I dug up the issue so I could quote it. The story is called "The View From Here" by Mithran Somasundrum. It starts like this:
"I was born in the house my father built, a wooden house of two stories with broad eaves. There was an avocado tree in the front garden, and from my bedroom window at night its ragged black branches seemed to reach for the moon..."
It then chronicles the story of a woman growing up and living amidst the racial fighting of the Hutus and Tutsis, and an escape at night to another town, far away, and tiny government housing. And it's also the story of changing times - the granddaughter ends up singing songs in a different language, and it's almost like history or tradition evaporating. And then the story ends with this:
"This, then, is my life: the box room and the market and the stairs that hurt my knees and my granddaughter singing strange songs. But I was born in the house my father built. It had broad eaves and an avocado tree in the front garden, and in the mornings you could see to the opposite side of the valley. After I am gone, who will remember these things?"
That ending always makes me tear up. It's true. For everyone. I mean, our lives are so individual that we live things that will never be lived again, especially in our rapidly changing world. I am a lover of memory, so things like this compel me to want to write, to capture, to re-enter and re-experience moments, places, periods, feelings. And sometimes it's hard to get there consciously, but in writing, there really is another dimension.
One time I wanted to write about the two weeks I spent at summer camp when I was 14. I was inspired by a woman in my writing group who wrote about a summer camp experience. It was an intense two weeks, especially because a girl in my cabin and three other kids ran away and went missing (and were later found lost in the woods). In preparing to write about it, I was bothered because I couldn't remember how I had found out about them missing. I was actually going to make something up, just pulling together other memories from that summer, and other things we did that day, and using probable circumstances, but it bugged me. I'm sort of a stickler for accuracy and I usually have an excellent memory. But it just escaped me. So I went on writing and suddenly, as I was about to write the probable scene, it all came back. I remembered we were having a free swim. I remembered where I was in the pool. I remembered the staffperson who came up to me and exactly how she asked me if I knew where my friend might go if she wanted to get away. I don't think if I sat there for days and days trying to conjure the memory, that I would have. I think there is some magic in writing and reliving something, because some part of me really was re-inhabiting that experience on some level. Call it accessing the unconscious or what you will, there's something to it.
So that quote really spoke to me. I also remember a writer friend saying that sometimes she's more herself in her writing than she is anywhere else, and I think there's something to that too. It's that sixth sense part of it all, the way all the different layers coexist without contradiction.
The weird thing is, for all my feeling excited about life and back to myself and all that jazz, I haven't really been writing lately. It bothers me. I know it has something to do with fear - sometimes writing takes me into some pretty dark territory.
And the weird thing is, I love that. Sometimes the dark and the intense and the writing that is packed with feeling, even if it's not the most pleasant, is the richest. The writing where I dig deepest into the recesses of memory and forgotten, forlorn territory, enter the abysses of existence or dredge up the most secret things I would almost never dare to say, is the most satisfying. Afterward, of course, there is catharsis, and insight. And I almost always find humor in the strangest places. It's really weird actually. Awhile ago, I was going to write about Mr. O - which from reading this blog anyone could see was a really miserable experience for me. I have been very afraid to even go near the topic in writing, because it was such prolonged and profound unhappiness. So one day I went back and read some stuff I had written on the subject. I thought if anything it would make me sad or mad at myself, but instead, rereading, I was in hysterics, finding so many funny things. I NEVER would have expected that. Another time, at the artist residency back in March (which was a week of laughing so hard I cried at least once a day), I was again writing about something really difficult, something I thought might be good to exorcise from my system and get on paper, something I expected to be joyless, and again in writing, I was remembering things I had totally forgotten, and I was laughing. So it's like, writing is always good in that way, always release, and usually has me L O L.
But it's not only afterwards, it's also during the actual writing. I can remember a few winters ago, the winter I lived in the dispensary, sitting in the living room by myself, writing the most difficult thing I've ever written (as of yet). I went into some territory that was so taboo to me that for years I hadn't even let myself think about it. It took hours to write this piece. Some of it made me cry. But it also made me laugh at parts, and feel compassion and perspective, and it felt really good to write it, even during the worst parts.
And still, still, the idea of writing scares me. And I avoid it. And then I get frustrated with myself for avoiding it and feel vaguely dissatisfied and irritable because writing is sort of like my version of meditation - it centers me. Even knowing that intellectually and certainly, and thoroughly believing that though it's difficult sometimes, it's always worthwhile, and that sometimes the difficult things are the most worthwhile, it doesn't always get me over the hurdle of fear. It's easy to get in the habit of not writing. Sitting my ass in the chair with pen and paper really is the biggest challenge. If I can do that, I'm fine. I think that I want to get back in the habit of doing it anyway, even though it scares me. Reading all these writing quotes and ruminating on them has definitely stirred me up. And really, what is life if you dohn't do what scares you? I'm contemplating some bigger, scarier things in life, so I might as well get in practice with the daily stuff.
I think I'm going to go write.
Currently Listening:
"Hurt You" - The Sounds - great song that a friend just put on my computer, kind of addicting. Here's a great line from the song, "Should we start over or should I leave you behind/Give me an answer but please don't tell me the truth." LOL.
And in that article, I found this little gem:
"One also writes as a spiritual practice and a mode of self-discovery. One writes in order to see. One writes in order to remember. Writing is like a sixth sense used to apprehend a reality not detected by the other five. It is the memory-sense, or the feeling-sense, the organ through which we make known to each other a rich world not otherwise knowable. It is also the medium through which we make known history and the soul of our culture. It keeps something alive that otherwise might die."
I whole-heartedly agree here. I'm immediately reminded of my favorite story I've ever read in The Sun, of all the years of reading the magazine. I dug up the issue so I could quote it. The story is called "The View From Here" by Mithran Somasundrum. It starts like this:
"I was born in the house my father built, a wooden house of two stories with broad eaves. There was an avocado tree in the front garden, and from my bedroom window at night its ragged black branches seemed to reach for the moon..."
It then chronicles the story of a woman growing up and living amidst the racial fighting of the Hutus and Tutsis, and an escape at night to another town, far away, and tiny government housing. And it's also the story of changing times - the granddaughter ends up singing songs in a different language, and it's almost like history or tradition evaporating. And then the story ends with this:
"This, then, is my life: the box room and the market and the stairs that hurt my knees and my granddaughter singing strange songs. But I was born in the house my father built. It had broad eaves and an avocado tree in the front garden, and in the mornings you could see to the opposite side of the valley. After I am gone, who will remember these things?"
That ending always makes me tear up. It's true. For everyone. I mean, our lives are so individual that we live things that will never be lived again, especially in our rapidly changing world. I am a lover of memory, so things like this compel me to want to write, to capture, to re-enter and re-experience moments, places, periods, feelings. And sometimes it's hard to get there consciously, but in writing, there really is another dimension.
One time I wanted to write about the two weeks I spent at summer camp when I was 14. I was inspired by a woman in my writing group who wrote about a summer camp experience. It was an intense two weeks, especially because a girl in my cabin and three other kids ran away and went missing (and were later found lost in the woods). In preparing to write about it, I was bothered because I couldn't remember how I had found out about them missing. I was actually going to make something up, just pulling together other memories from that summer, and other things we did that day, and using probable circumstances, but it bugged me. I'm sort of a stickler for accuracy and I usually have an excellent memory. But it just escaped me. So I went on writing and suddenly, as I was about to write the probable scene, it all came back. I remembered we were having a free swim. I remembered where I was in the pool. I remembered the staffperson who came up to me and exactly how she asked me if I knew where my friend might go if she wanted to get away. I don't think if I sat there for days and days trying to conjure the memory, that I would have. I think there is some magic in writing and reliving something, because some part of me really was re-inhabiting that experience on some level. Call it accessing the unconscious or what you will, there's something to it.
So that quote really spoke to me. I also remember a writer friend saying that sometimes she's more herself in her writing than she is anywhere else, and I think there's something to that too. It's that sixth sense part of it all, the way all the different layers coexist without contradiction.
The weird thing is, for all my feeling excited about life and back to myself and all that jazz, I haven't really been writing lately. It bothers me. I know it has something to do with fear - sometimes writing takes me into some pretty dark territory.
And the weird thing is, I love that. Sometimes the dark and the intense and the writing that is packed with feeling, even if it's not the most pleasant, is the richest. The writing where I dig deepest into the recesses of memory and forgotten, forlorn territory, enter the abysses of existence or dredge up the most secret things I would almost never dare to say, is the most satisfying. Afterward, of course, there is catharsis, and insight. And I almost always find humor in the strangest places. It's really weird actually. Awhile ago, I was going to write about Mr. O - which from reading this blog anyone could see was a really miserable experience for me. I have been very afraid to even go near the topic in writing, because it was such prolonged and profound unhappiness. So one day I went back and read some stuff I had written on the subject. I thought if anything it would make me sad or mad at myself, but instead, rereading, I was in hysterics, finding so many funny things. I NEVER would have expected that. Another time, at the artist residency back in March (which was a week of laughing so hard I cried at least once a day), I was again writing about something really difficult, something I thought might be good to exorcise from my system and get on paper, something I expected to be joyless, and again in writing, I was remembering things I had totally forgotten, and I was laughing. So it's like, writing is always good in that way, always release, and usually has me L O L.
But it's not only afterwards, it's also during the actual writing. I can remember a few winters ago, the winter I lived in the dispensary, sitting in the living room by myself, writing the most difficult thing I've ever written (as of yet). I went into some territory that was so taboo to me that for years I hadn't even let myself think about it. It took hours to write this piece. Some of it made me cry. But it also made me laugh at parts, and feel compassion and perspective, and it felt really good to write it, even during the worst parts.
And still, still, the idea of writing scares me. And I avoid it. And then I get frustrated with myself for avoiding it and feel vaguely dissatisfied and irritable because writing is sort of like my version of meditation - it centers me. Even knowing that intellectually and certainly, and thoroughly believing that though it's difficult sometimes, it's always worthwhile, and that sometimes the difficult things are the most worthwhile, it doesn't always get me over the hurdle of fear. It's easy to get in the habit of not writing. Sitting my ass in the chair with pen and paper really is the biggest challenge. If I can do that, I'm fine. I think that I want to get back in the habit of doing it anyway, even though it scares me. Reading all these writing quotes and ruminating on them has definitely stirred me up. And really, what is life if you dohn't do what scares you? I'm contemplating some bigger, scarier things in life, so I might as well get in practice with the daily stuff.
I think I'm going to go write.
Currently Listening:
"Hurt You" - The Sounds - great song that a friend just put on my computer, kind of addicting. Here's a great line from the song, "Should we start over or should I leave you behind/Give me an answer but please don't tell me the truth." LOL.
Musings on Artistic Integrity
This morning, I read this quote on writer friend Linda's blog:
"You practice an art to make your soul grow, not to make money or to become famous. And this would include singing in the shower or dancing to the radio or also drawing a caricature of your best friend, or whatever—all this makes your soul grow. And you meet a person who's done that, whether successfully or not, and you sense a larger soul." —Vonnegut
Linda and I have been discussing the importance of artistic integrity in recent emails, as we both go through the process of pursuing publication for our book manuscripts. So this quote, about how the deeper purpose is to make your soul grow, just absolutely hit the spot.
I think that writers, possibly more than other types of artists, are confronted with a lot of other people's opinions before, during and after working on any piece of writing. Critique groups, workshops, classes, readers (as in those who read first drafts and offer commentary), feedback from contests, agents and editors making editorial suggestions, and so on. It seems endless.
And a lot of the time, this is good. You get a different perspective, are shown things you might be blind to, gain insight and new, sometimes ingenious ideas.
But it also can be overwhelming. For one thing, I think it's important to choose readers/critiquers/etc wisely when possible, people who will help you realize your vision of the piece, rather than those who want to impose their own. And it's important to discern what suggestions feel right and which don't.
And that can be a lot harder than it seems. Especially when there's all this input coming from everywhere. And so many rules, whether in these groups and workshops, classes, or in writing books and magazines. You might read this or that is harder to sell (whether it's which point of view the story's in, a stylistic thing, word count, chapter length, subject matter that is or is not a hot topic). It can be daunting. It can be like trying to follow ever-changing fashion rules (which personally has always disgusted me to an extent). It can also steamroll right over that individual spark that fuels creativity in the first place. And when it comes from "authority figures" such as agents or editors, it can be even harder to sort out.
But I think ultimately, the artist or the writer has to be their own authority. I think sometimes compromise is the kiss of death. Yeah, that sounds a little drastic and probably is, but life is short, and it's way, way too easy to get caught up in what others will think, and I think that doing that is a sort of soul-denial on some level.
I've definitely fallen prey to it myself. Who hasn't? I find myself re-thinking some changes I made to my memoir. Some I absolutely think were right on, insightful suggestions. I think there were things I orginally sort of skirted around, that got deeper with each revision. And more clearly and succinctly described. Strangely, with editing, some parts got more raw, and I like that. There were a lot of non-essentials and extraneous bits in the first version, almost fluff, and I'm glad I axed it out. On the other hand, there are some things I'm not satisfied with, some things I took out that I loved, that I feel the story isn't complete without. It's been awhile too, so if I add them back in now, and re-read it over, I might have a clearer take on what truly adds to the story, and what doesn't.
I guess what I'm saying is I want to make my book the absolute best I can make it, in my vision, what intuitively in my guts feels like the truest and deepest expression of the story I most want to tell, not necessarily the story someone else wants to hear. I think THAT is where the soul growth comes from, a dedication to the real inner truth.
It got me thinking about who we write for. A writing teacher I love used to say, "We write to be read," which I think is true. For two amazing years I was part of the best writing group. Oh I could write volumes on how funny and deep and awesome those times were, one of my best memories ever, and something that I think changed everyone who was part of it, in a beautiful way. I was so prolific during those years, writing two hours every day, and I was definitely partly writing for them, which was great because this group welcomed everything real. It helped me get over a fear of being truthful about difficult things. It helped me get over a fear of reading difficult things. In that group, we laughed and cried and shared. That group was a great big permission slip to be as candid as humanly possible. It was sort of like unconditional artistic love, that group. And so yeah, I wrote for them. There was one woman who had the hugest, heartiest, loudest laugh. And I often felt like I wrote with her laugh in the back of my mind. Which was great - and that was great, because I let my humor come through, dark or otherwise and sort of helped that blossom in my writing, and helped me find irony and humor in lots of things, and be free to express.
I think we do write (or create) to be read or seen or heard or understood, so in a sense we write for others, but I also do think that we have to write for ourselves first. So I really liked that Vonnegut quote, the whole soul growth thing, I think that is possibly the only important rule to follow as a writer. I also like that the quote pays attention to small, daily acts of art and creativity as well. The playful things. The things that aren't for any serious project or pursuit, like singing in the shower. I think I'd say that anything done with passion falls into that soul growth category, and is a good thing to remember.
So, those are some thoughts for this Friday morning, all relevant to figuring out my next move in life...more on that in later blogs.
Currently Listening:
"Haven't You Heard?" - Jeff Buckley. Funny, this song always reminds me of a great moment in that writing group I mentioned. This song, which I love, during probably the most poignant, passionately heartbroken, difficult and rich summer of my life, started a fight between my sister and I, and later the next day, a huge fight with my mom. I wrote about that summer, this song and the fight and read it to said group, and one of the other writers told me that I had inspired her to feel great heights of lust and then rage in a matter of paragraphs, and that was exactly the sort of thing that made me write with those ladies in mind, that inspired me to write most passionately from the core of the soul.
"You practice an art to make your soul grow, not to make money or to become famous. And this would include singing in the shower or dancing to the radio or also drawing a caricature of your best friend, or whatever—all this makes your soul grow. And you meet a person who's done that, whether successfully or not, and you sense a larger soul." —Vonnegut
Linda and I have been discussing the importance of artistic integrity in recent emails, as we both go through the process of pursuing publication for our book manuscripts. So this quote, about how the deeper purpose is to make your soul grow, just absolutely hit the spot.
I think that writers, possibly more than other types of artists, are confronted with a lot of other people's opinions before, during and after working on any piece of writing. Critique groups, workshops, classes, readers (as in those who read first drafts and offer commentary), feedback from contests, agents and editors making editorial suggestions, and so on. It seems endless.
And a lot of the time, this is good. You get a different perspective, are shown things you might be blind to, gain insight and new, sometimes ingenious ideas.
But it also can be overwhelming. For one thing, I think it's important to choose readers/critiquers/etc wisely when possible, people who will help you realize your vision of the piece, rather than those who want to impose their own. And it's important to discern what suggestions feel right and which don't.
And that can be a lot harder than it seems. Especially when there's all this input coming from everywhere. And so many rules, whether in these groups and workshops, classes, or in writing books and magazines. You might read this or that is harder to sell (whether it's which point of view the story's in, a stylistic thing, word count, chapter length, subject matter that is or is not a hot topic). It can be daunting. It can be like trying to follow ever-changing fashion rules (which personally has always disgusted me to an extent). It can also steamroll right over that individual spark that fuels creativity in the first place. And when it comes from "authority figures" such as agents or editors, it can be even harder to sort out.
But I think ultimately, the artist or the writer has to be their own authority. I think sometimes compromise is the kiss of death. Yeah, that sounds a little drastic and probably is, but life is short, and it's way, way too easy to get caught up in what others will think, and I think that doing that is a sort of soul-denial on some level.
I've definitely fallen prey to it myself. Who hasn't? I find myself re-thinking some changes I made to my memoir. Some I absolutely think were right on, insightful suggestions. I think there were things I orginally sort of skirted around, that got deeper with each revision. And more clearly and succinctly described. Strangely, with editing, some parts got more raw, and I like that. There were a lot of non-essentials and extraneous bits in the first version, almost fluff, and I'm glad I axed it out. On the other hand, there are some things I'm not satisfied with, some things I took out that I loved, that I feel the story isn't complete without. It's been awhile too, so if I add them back in now, and re-read it over, I might have a clearer take on what truly adds to the story, and what doesn't.
I guess what I'm saying is I want to make my book the absolute best I can make it, in my vision, what intuitively in my guts feels like the truest and deepest expression of the story I most want to tell, not necessarily the story someone else wants to hear. I think THAT is where the soul growth comes from, a dedication to the real inner truth.
It got me thinking about who we write for. A writing teacher I love used to say, "We write to be read," which I think is true. For two amazing years I was part of the best writing group. Oh I could write volumes on how funny and deep and awesome those times were, one of my best memories ever, and something that I think changed everyone who was part of it, in a beautiful way. I was so prolific during those years, writing two hours every day, and I was definitely partly writing for them, which was great because this group welcomed everything real. It helped me get over a fear of being truthful about difficult things. It helped me get over a fear of reading difficult things. In that group, we laughed and cried and shared. That group was a great big permission slip to be as candid as humanly possible. It was sort of like unconditional artistic love, that group. And so yeah, I wrote for them. There was one woman who had the hugest, heartiest, loudest laugh. And I often felt like I wrote with her laugh in the back of my mind. Which was great - and that was great, because I let my humor come through, dark or otherwise and sort of helped that blossom in my writing, and helped me find irony and humor in lots of things, and be free to express.
I think we do write (or create) to be read or seen or heard or understood, so in a sense we write for others, but I also do think that we have to write for ourselves first. So I really liked that Vonnegut quote, the whole soul growth thing, I think that is possibly the only important rule to follow as a writer. I also like that the quote pays attention to small, daily acts of art and creativity as well. The playful things. The things that aren't for any serious project or pursuit, like singing in the shower. I think I'd say that anything done with passion falls into that soul growth category, and is a good thing to remember.
So, those are some thoughts for this Friday morning, all relevant to figuring out my next move in life...more on that in later blogs.
Currently Listening:
"Haven't You Heard?" - Jeff Buckley. Funny, this song always reminds me of a great moment in that writing group I mentioned. This song, which I love, during probably the most poignant, passionately heartbroken, difficult and rich summer of my life, started a fight between my sister and I, and later the next day, a huge fight with my mom. I wrote about that summer, this song and the fight and read it to said group, and one of the other writers told me that I had inspired her to feel great heights of lust and then rage in a matter of paragraphs, and that was exactly the sort of thing that made me write with those ladies in mind, that inspired me to write most passionately from the core of the soul.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
AmeriCorps and Other Possible Adventures
Wow, I'm exhausted. It's been awhile since I posted. I've been working a lot and also having a blast. I am just loving the group of people I'm working with this summer. I've also been busy researching every possible avenue for an adventure between now and next fall when I plan to go back to school. I've spent countless hours combing through AmeriCorps options, as well as any possibility I can find that could involve going abroad. If anyone has any suggestions, please let me know. I feel like I have a lot of irons in the fire as the saying goes, and more would be even better.
Between last night and this morning, I did my (hopefully) last round of AmeriCorps combing. All told I looked through about 2000 listings. And narrowed it down to 20 to apply to. I'm feeling kind of adventurous, so none of the ones I picked are in WA. I think I've got a great array - some in CA (Bay Area/San Jose mostly), a few in Alaska, one in MD (for you, Linda), a few in New England, a few on other parts of the eastern seaboard, one in OR, one in New Orleans, one in Texas, one in AZ and one in West Virginia.
And I picked programs doing all sorts of different things. Some focus on volunteer recruitment, grantwriting and other things typically involved with running and fundraising for non-profit agencies. A few deal are aimed at alleviating poverty, a handful of others involve domestic violence/sexual assault prevention, a few positions are about mentoring at-risk youth or children with incarcerated parents, one is an agency for people with disabilities, one (and one of my favorites I must admit though it's not so social justice oriented) is working in a planetarium in Alaska. Since astronomy was my major for awhile in college, and a lifelong interest, that one jumped out at me immediately. That'd be so fucking cool. A few others are enironmental ed positions in cool places, like the coast of Maine, the mountains of WV, San Jose and New Orleans. And the biggest percentage of positions I applied for involve working with refugees and I think that rated so highly on my list because I really wish I could be working abroad, doing something with Peace Corps or a relief organization of some sort.
All I can say is things are set in motion. It's exciting to have all these options and I really want to pick something that will be adventurous, new, challenging, inspiring, and just a great experience with lots of opportunity for personal growth. Something good for my soul, I suppose.
So that's where I'm at at the moment, and still searching. So if anyone knows of any other cool opportunities or suggestions of what to do for a year, I'm interested.
Currently listening:
"Love Ridden" - Fiona Apple - Funny, I used to think of this song as a bad omen. It's a really sad song, lyrically and musically. I remember the first time I heard it - it was on my 25th birthday (which is interesting given the lyrics, which I'll include), and I wish I had paid more attention, instead of trying to fend off bad omens, because you can't really fend off the truth in a situation. That night is really clear in my mind, living in a room in a house full of people and drama, noticing the lyrics, relating in a way that, momentarily, because I identified, was really joyous. It's always great when someone puts your feelings into words. I'll highlight the lines that most struck chords with me. Maybe it was too accurate. For MONTHS I skipped this song whenever it came up. I just wish I had listened more closely. Strange how things evolve - now I love the song and appreciate it even more. Live and Learn, eh?
Anyway, here's the words:
Love Ridden
Fiona Apple
Love Ridden I will look at you
With the focus I gave to my birthday candles
I wished on the lidded blue flames
Under your brow
And baby, I wished for you
Nobody sees when you are lyin' in your bed
And I wanna crawl in with you
But I cry instead
I want your warm but it will only make me colder
when it's over
So I can't tonight, baby
No, not baby anymore
If I need you I'll just use your simple name
Only kisses on the cheek from now on
And in a little while we'll only have to wave
My hand won't hold you down no more
The path is clear to follow through
I stood too long in the way of the door
Now I'm giving up...on...you
No, not baby anymore
If I need you I'll just use your simple name
Only kisses on the cheek from now on
And in a little while we'll only have to wave
Between last night and this morning, I did my (hopefully) last round of AmeriCorps combing. All told I looked through about 2000 listings. And narrowed it down to 20 to apply to. I'm feeling kind of adventurous, so none of the ones I picked are in WA. I think I've got a great array - some in CA (Bay Area/San Jose mostly), a few in Alaska, one in MD (for you, Linda), a few in New England, a few on other parts of the eastern seaboard, one in OR, one in New Orleans, one in Texas, one in AZ and one in West Virginia.
And I picked programs doing all sorts of different things. Some focus on volunteer recruitment, grantwriting and other things typically involved with running and fundraising for non-profit agencies. A few deal are aimed at alleviating poverty, a handful of others involve domestic violence/sexual assault prevention, a few positions are about mentoring at-risk youth or children with incarcerated parents, one is an agency for people with disabilities, one (and one of my favorites I must admit though it's not so social justice oriented) is working in a planetarium in Alaska. Since astronomy was my major for awhile in college, and a lifelong interest, that one jumped out at me immediately. That'd be so fucking cool. A few others are enironmental ed positions in cool places, like the coast of Maine, the mountains of WV, San Jose and New Orleans. And the biggest percentage of positions I applied for involve working with refugees and I think that rated so highly on my list because I really wish I could be working abroad, doing something with Peace Corps or a relief organization of some sort.
All I can say is things are set in motion. It's exciting to have all these options and I really want to pick something that will be adventurous, new, challenging, inspiring, and just a great experience with lots of opportunity for personal growth. Something good for my soul, I suppose.
So that's where I'm at at the moment, and still searching. So if anyone knows of any other cool opportunities or suggestions of what to do for a year, I'm interested.
Currently listening:
"Love Ridden" - Fiona Apple - Funny, I used to think of this song as a bad omen. It's a really sad song, lyrically and musically. I remember the first time I heard it - it was on my 25th birthday (which is interesting given the lyrics, which I'll include), and I wish I had paid more attention, instead of trying to fend off bad omens, because you can't really fend off the truth in a situation. That night is really clear in my mind, living in a room in a house full of people and drama, noticing the lyrics, relating in a way that, momentarily, because I identified, was really joyous. It's always great when someone puts your feelings into words. I'll highlight the lines that most struck chords with me. Maybe it was too accurate. For MONTHS I skipped this song whenever it came up. I just wish I had listened more closely. Strange how things evolve - now I love the song and appreciate it even more. Live and Learn, eh?
Anyway, here's the words:
Love Ridden
Fiona Apple
Love Ridden I will look at you
With the focus I gave to my birthday candles
I wished on the lidded blue flames
Under your brow
And baby, I wished for you
Nobody sees when you are lyin' in your bed
And I wanna crawl in with you
But I cry instead
I want your warm but it will only make me colder
when it's over
So I can't tonight, baby
No, not baby anymore
If I need you I'll just use your simple name
Only kisses on the cheek from now on
And in a little while we'll only have to wave
My hand won't hold you down no more
The path is clear to follow through
I stood too long in the way of the door
Now I'm giving up...on...you
No, not baby anymore
If I need you I'll just use your simple name
Only kisses on the cheek from now on
And in a little while we'll only have to wave
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Switch is On
A few months ago, I wrote this post about how I felt sort of distanced from myself, and a time years ago when I felt more myself than ever, and how much I missed those times.
Well, I feel like I'm back.
First off, it's like some switch totally flipped for me at some point, when I suddenly, acutely felt my intellectual frustration so strongly that I couldn't ignore it or somehow make it okay. I'm not sure how it started - with all these personal changes, it's hard to pinpoint an exact start to things. They creep. Shift underneath the surface like tectonic plates until they're erupting and lava is everywhere. And that's a good thing, at least for me, because it's like re-awakening, rekindling the inner fire. It's passion. It's aliveness. So, even though sometimes it makes present circumstances a little difficult or uncomfortable (because aliveness sometimes makes you aware of where your soul is dying), any day I'll take it.
In fact I remember one morning early that magical winter, waking up early and reading Mists of Avalon for hours. I was a part where the main character Morgaine reconnects with her priestess self and is reawakening to that side of her. I felt so invigorated. I got up at dawn and took a long walk all over camp, infused with that reawakening energy myself. It was one of those low light winter day, the Madrona trees looked golden in the growing light. It was gorgeous and exhilarating, and I remember thinking that maybe losing yourself every once in awhile might be okay, just for the joy of waking back up.
This time, I think it somehow started in all that compulsive House-watching and analyzing every episode, engaging my mind, and then eventually, that wasn't enough. Then I started really reading again, which also helped. And then I went to that artist residency in March, which was just fucking heaven in that regard. There were ten of us total there, including the couple that runs the B&B, and we had great talks, hilarious (x infinity) moments that had me laughing so hard I was crying at least once a day, and long, contemplative intellectual discussions about writing, about politics, about life, about Atonement, which was playing that weekend. It was so great to have that. It made me realize how much I missed and craved it.
I also feel like my politically passionate self woke back up around the same time. For awhile, I just couldn't go there. And again, I'm not sure exactly when that shift started, but definitely reading Beloved and rereading The God of Small Things helped get it all started. I think they opened me back up to my own feelings of empathy for the world. And of course the primaries and caucuses stirred things up too. And having cool friends who actually wanted to talk about these things and care.
But I think it was reading The Kite Runner that sealed the deal for me. I feel like that book just broke my heart wide open. After finishing the book, I went on Khaled Hosseini's site and paged through all "ways to aid Afghanistan" links and videos on there, explored a lot of the linked sites (most of which I added to my link list), printed out the Amnesty International study guide for the movie (which was 64 pages). I started listening to Democracy Now! again, and do so on all my walks to work. I went to a talk by Gerri Haynes, who has gone to the Middle East several times with Physicians for Social Responsibility, and who's worked with Iraqi refugees. It was heartbreaking. I cried through most of the talk (it's funny, I used to NEVER EVER EVER cry in front of anyone, at all costs, especially publicly, but a lot of things in the last seven years or so have changed that some. I still felt slightly uncomfortable, but then I thought to myself, I should be crying over this. It's horrible and devastating and crying is a more than appropriate response).
In other re-awakening news, I think it's obvious that my insatiable love for reading has resurfaced. I didn't read much while with Mr. O or in the aftermath as I was just sort of trying to recover (which in some ways I feel is still going on, but at least I've started reading again). And my music obsession self has also come back full force, which is awesome. A lot of that had sort of faded a bit too, but no more.
So, not many people know this. I think only two. One is the person who suggested it and the other is Leo: I was seriously considering joining the Peace Corps before returning to school. This was about a month ago. I just feel so compelled to actually go out there, and inspired by some people I know and some who worked as environmental educators at work this spring who've done it. My friend Francie, whose known me for probably four years now, suggested it and was really encouraging. She did it many years ago, and I think that if she could she'd drop everything and do it again in a heartbeat. So I did some research into it and unfortunately, you pretty much have to have a college degree. I was disappointed; it's the first time that not having one has really been a hindrance for me. I went on and researched some comparable organizations, and then started looking at AmeriCorps, which I'd wanted to do years ago.
I'd thought about it earlier, but kept thinking it'd be impossible to find a year-long program that would start and end between now and when I plan to start school in Sept '09. Still I went ot the website and checked, and I was wrong. Most programs seem to start and end in late August/early September. So I'm going to apply. I'm hoping to finish my application today. I already told my supervisor that I might be leaving at the end of summer if this works out. So I'm going for it, and I'll just see what happens. I think I'm more than qualified. I have some favorite programs, one in particular that is so up my alley and exactly what I want to do, but for whatever reason, I don't want to say more because I don't want to jinx anything! So just think good thoughts for me : )
I guess my wild, adventurous spirit is also back, in full force. That may have been sleeping the longest. I think I was pretty traumatized by my time in Seattle many years ago, and since then I've been very focused on survival, which is important, too. Now that I'm in a better place in my life, by leaps and bounds, I'm ready to venture out into the world again. It's about time!
Currently listening:
"O Sailor" - Fiona Apple - I love this woman, she is a genius, and I don't think there's much more to say. So many lyrics to possibly highlight, I'll settle on these:
"And after waiting, fighting patiently on my knees
All the other stuff tired itself out first, not me
And in its wake, appeared the touch and call
Of a different breed
One who set to get me wise, and got me there
And then, got me"
Well, I feel like I'm back.
First off, it's like some switch totally flipped for me at some point, when I suddenly, acutely felt my intellectual frustration so strongly that I couldn't ignore it or somehow make it okay. I'm not sure how it started - with all these personal changes, it's hard to pinpoint an exact start to things. They creep. Shift underneath the surface like tectonic plates until they're erupting and lava is everywhere. And that's a good thing, at least for me, because it's like re-awakening, rekindling the inner fire. It's passion. It's aliveness. So, even though sometimes it makes present circumstances a little difficult or uncomfortable (because aliveness sometimes makes you aware of where your soul is dying), any day I'll take it.
In fact I remember one morning early that magical winter, waking up early and reading Mists of Avalon for hours. I was a part where the main character Morgaine reconnects with her priestess self and is reawakening to that side of her. I felt so invigorated. I got up at dawn and took a long walk all over camp, infused with that reawakening energy myself. It was one of those low light winter day, the Madrona trees looked golden in the growing light. It was gorgeous and exhilarating, and I remember thinking that maybe losing yourself every once in awhile might be okay, just for the joy of waking back up.
This time, I think it somehow started in all that compulsive House-watching and analyzing every episode, engaging my mind, and then eventually, that wasn't enough. Then I started really reading again, which also helped. And then I went to that artist residency in March, which was just fucking heaven in that regard. There were ten of us total there, including the couple that runs the B&B, and we had great talks, hilarious (x infinity) moments that had me laughing so hard I was crying at least once a day, and long, contemplative intellectual discussions about writing, about politics, about life, about Atonement, which was playing that weekend. It was so great to have that. It made me realize how much I missed and craved it.
I also feel like my politically passionate self woke back up around the same time. For awhile, I just couldn't go there. And again, I'm not sure exactly when that shift started, but definitely reading Beloved and rereading The God of Small Things helped get it all started. I think they opened me back up to my own feelings of empathy for the world. And of course the primaries and caucuses stirred things up too. And having cool friends who actually wanted to talk about these things and care.
But I think it was reading The Kite Runner that sealed the deal for me. I feel like that book just broke my heart wide open. After finishing the book, I went on Khaled Hosseini's site and paged through all "ways to aid Afghanistan" links and videos on there, explored a lot of the linked sites (most of which I added to my link list), printed out the Amnesty International study guide for the movie (which was 64 pages). I started listening to Democracy Now! again, and do so on all my walks to work. I went to a talk by Gerri Haynes, who has gone to the Middle East several times with Physicians for Social Responsibility, and who's worked with Iraqi refugees. It was heartbreaking. I cried through most of the talk (it's funny, I used to NEVER EVER EVER cry in front of anyone, at all costs, especially publicly, but a lot of things in the last seven years or so have changed that some. I still felt slightly uncomfortable, but then I thought to myself, I should be crying over this. It's horrible and devastating and crying is a more than appropriate response).
In other re-awakening news, I think it's obvious that my insatiable love for reading has resurfaced. I didn't read much while with Mr. O or in the aftermath as I was just sort of trying to recover (which in some ways I feel is still going on, but at least I've started reading again). And my music obsession self has also come back full force, which is awesome. A lot of that had sort of faded a bit too, but no more.
So, not many people know this. I think only two. One is the person who suggested it and the other is Leo: I was seriously considering joining the Peace Corps before returning to school. This was about a month ago. I just feel so compelled to actually go out there, and inspired by some people I know and some who worked as environmental educators at work this spring who've done it. My friend Francie, whose known me for probably four years now, suggested it and was really encouraging. She did it many years ago, and I think that if she could she'd drop everything and do it again in a heartbeat. So I did some research into it and unfortunately, you pretty much have to have a college degree. I was disappointed; it's the first time that not having one has really been a hindrance for me. I went on and researched some comparable organizations, and then started looking at AmeriCorps, which I'd wanted to do years ago.
I'd thought about it earlier, but kept thinking it'd be impossible to find a year-long program that would start and end between now and when I plan to start school in Sept '09. Still I went ot the website and checked, and I was wrong. Most programs seem to start and end in late August/early September. So I'm going to apply. I'm hoping to finish my application today. I already told my supervisor that I might be leaving at the end of summer if this works out. So I'm going for it, and I'll just see what happens. I think I'm more than qualified. I have some favorite programs, one in particular that is so up my alley and exactly what I want to do, but for whatever reason, I don't want to say more because I don't want to jinx anything! So just think good thoughts for me : )
I guess my wild, adventurous spirit is also back, in full force. That may have been sleeping the longest. I think I was pretty traumatized by my time in Seattle many years ago, and since then I've been very focused on survival, which is important, too. Now that I'm in a better place in my life, by leaps and bounds, I'm ready to venture out into the world again. It's about time!
Currently listening:
"O Sailor" - Fiona Apple - I love this woman, she is a genius, and I don't think there's much more to say. So many lyrics to possibly highlight, I'll settle on these:
"And after waiting, fighting patiently on my knees
All the other stuff tired itself out first, not me
And in its wake, appeared the touch and call
Of a different breed
One who set to get me wise, and got me there
And then, got me"
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