Swirly Girl

Generations

The always inspiring Carmen Torbus posted this video today, and I was struck by how immediately it brought up thoughts about the lives women live today versus in my mother's generation.  This is a topic that comes up now and then with my friends, and for some reason it has been bubbling up in conversations with greater frequency lately.

Human nature dictates that with each generation there will be vertigo-inducing gaps in our understanding of one another ~ situations in which our attempts at trying to communicate and connect have us craning our necks, squinting, and straining our every muscle.  Maybe, because DNA ties us together, we feel like it should be easier to understand and appreciate one another.  When, instead, we face one another with the feeling that there is an impossible chasm between us, it can be difficult to know how to bridge that gap.

“She’s my mother ~ I thought she was supposed to get me.”

“This is my daughter ~ why are her values different from mine?”

Carmen's video made me think about the abundance of resources, support and channels of connection that are available to our generation ~ how so many of us are claiming our lives in a way our mothers likely never could.  Maybe Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan inspired our mothers to stand up for themselves more than their mothers were ever encouraged to, but our generation is taking the claiming of our own lives to an entirely different level.  I'm not sure our generation feels like we can "have it all" ~ with particular emphasis on finding the perfect family + career balance ~ as much as we believe we can define for ourselves what all means and pursue that in our own unique way.

I think I am talking about two different things here ~ the landscape our generation is now navigating creating versus the terrain our mothers had to cultivate and the difficulties that can arise when a mother and daughter cannot fully embrace the differences between the two.  The problem with these differences is that it isn’t terribly easy to call them different and leave it at that.  Other labels get too easily attached ~ words such as good, bad, silly, and outdated can take what could be a starting point for a fascinating conversation and shut it down before it can even get going.

I know I am teetering on the edge of making inappropriate, sweeping generalizations, but as I try to work through the tangles I sometimes feel caught in with my own mother, I am eager to know what kind of conversations are happening between mothers and daughters these days.  This is an area of my life in which I feel a particular kind of lost-ness, where my search for answers and clarity always feels just out of my reach, on the other side of a fog bank that follows my every move.

As daughters with mothers and mothers with daughters, what conversations are taking place, either in real life or in your perfect-world scenarios?

"Suddenly, through birthing a daughter, a woman finds herself face to face not only with an infant, a little girl, a woman-to- be, but also with her own unresolved conflicts from the past and her hopes and dreams for the future."  ~Elizabeth Debold

This is What We are Capable Of

We humans:  We are capable of so much.
So very much.

We can easily let our suffering define us.
We know how to give in to our anger.
We are skilled at the delicate weave of long tales of woe,
knotted together with the prickly yarns of loss, of grief, of hurt.

It is well within our nature to run away from our dreams
with the same intensity as we would if being chased by wolves.

And yet.

We have walked on the moon,
Learned out how to fly;
Stood firm against hatred,
Refused to go quietly
To the back of the bus.

It has been scientifically documented
Again and again
That we are capable of stringing together
A quiet string of words
In such a way
That our fellow humans can't help but weep ~
Caught in a state of disbelief
That life can be so beautiful
And we humans can be so pure.

~

This is what I was thinking about as I sat in the background of a weekend of awakening shared with sixteen eager students and an extraordinary teacher named Sabrina.  Whenever it was not necessary for me to be mixing paints, preparing gesso, or answering questions, I sat still on the sidelines and just basked in the glow.  I listened to the scratch of pens across paper, watched the expressions of wonder across all the beautiful faces, and felt my heart stir at all the magic and beauty we humans have within us.

There are so many stories of suffering and pain in the world right now; there is no shortage of information that serves no purpose other than to drain our weary, tender spirits.  But not everywhere, and certainly not in this studio while Trust the Mess was in full swing.  Here was where I was witness to what we humans are capable of.  Here I was reminded of how precious these moments are ~ these moments when we take a chance, and go to great lengths to spend two days in a room with strangers, willing to cry and smear and sand and laugh and show up in every possible way.  Here was mystery and joy, here was compassion and light.  Here was a deep howling at the wild moon within us, where everything is possible and all is right with the world.

Mood Swings

Sleeping quietly at my feet:  Best puppy in the world!

Non-stop nipping at my hands and feet:  Hey everyone ~ FREE PUPPY!

Follows me when I call her name:  Best puppy in the world!

Crawls on top of dishwasher door to lick food off of silverware:  Hey everyone ~ FREE PUPPY!

Pees and Poos OUTSIDE:  Best puppy in the world!

Marches into the kitchen, looks up at me calmly, squats, and PEES:  Hey everyone ~ FREE PUPPY!

Leaps and bounds all over the yard, entertaining us:  Best puppy in the world!

Tries to chew our beloved Eames Chair*:  Hey everyone ~ FREE PUPPY!

Gets sleepy and suddenly can't stand to be away from us:  Best puppy in the world!

* Technically our fault; we shouldn't have even tempted her.

...and One More Thing

I just read about Crescendoh's new Creative Lab this morning and couldn't wait to start talking it up.  Check out the details on their first e-course ~ Crafting My Best Life.

Five Things

1.  Big Bambu ~ BIG indeed

2.  New Dress a Day ~ OK, she has set out to buy one used dress a day for no more than $1 and transform it into something supa-cute.  Wowzers.

3.  I loooove Mari Robeson's new ELovePhants line of textiles.

4.  1000 Crane Mission ~ And I thought I was ambitious with my 100 Books Project.

5.  This is stone cold crazy.

It's now time for the Trust the Mess weekend with Sabrina Ward Harrison ~ we'll be spilling, splattering and creating in the studio Saturday and Sunday.  Thank you to everyone who cheered us on, inquired and registered.  Stay tuned for future workshops.

Not a Memoir

[Miss Tilda ~ Photo taken by Anne Carmack]

The title of this entry was taken from a piece in the latest issue of the New York Times Sunday Book Review ~ a review of Emily Fox Gordon's Book of Days, a collection of personal essays.  I am not familiar with Gordon's work, but the review explained that she has had two memoirs and a novel published, and this is her first book of personal essays.  It was the last part of the review that inspired me to get online immediately and write this entry while the bundle of cuteness pictured above sleeps at my feet.

"Gordon raises the flag of cultural fatigue against the memoir and questions the essential honesty of memoir-writing.  The dishonesty inherent in memoir, she argues, is that an entire life cannot be contained in one book, and so the writer is forced to follow only one story line:  Me and my drugs, me and my dysfunctional family, me and my depression, me and my eating disorder.

The publishers forced her, she writes, to create a narrative arc to bolster her original personal essay ~ and that necessitated that her book become not the full story of her life but...the predictable contemporary memoir, a by-now threadbare template of dissolution, struggle and (cue sunlight parting the clouds) requisite redemption."  ~Alex Kuczynski

I created a book proposal about a year ago for a collection of personal essays.  That proposal was wildly different from the proposal that was recently accepted by North Light, and sent to a different publisher.  The passage cited above hit home for me because of that experience.  The short story is that after an inordinate amount of time passed, I finally had a phone conversation with the editor about my proposal.  During that conversation, the main thing I did was listen and take notes, and the words I was writing down, for the most part, weren't at all complimentary.  The proposal was pretty much torn apart.

Now, I don't mind such frankness, and I did not take anything personally, but after the phone call was over, one thing struck me, which was that the editor kept referring to the book as a memoir.  I won't say that none of the comments were appropriate and constructive to what I sent, but I will say that by reviewing and considering my proposal as a memoir, the editor missed the entire point of the book.  And as a result, was giving me feedback that was not in alignment with the actual book I presented.  I must point out that one of the comments was that I needed to have the "...template of dissolution, struggle and (cue sunlight parting the clouds) requisite redemption" Gordon speaks of in Book of Days.  The editor did not express that verbatim, but was essentially saying the same thing.

I don't want to make it sound like the editor was a cruel taskmaster, quite the contrary.  Everything was shared with respect and kindness, and, as I said, I much prefer honesty - even if it isn't what I want to hear - than some sugar-coated half-truth.  The editor also gave me the opportunity to re-work one of the chapters and review it once more, an opportunity I took.  Ultimately, the proposal was rejected.

After my phone call with the editor, I initially walked around wondering, "Is my book a memoir?  Is that what I am supposed to write?  Was there something in my proposal that gave the impression I wanted to write a memoir?"  I looked at that possibility, explored what story arc ~ what linear, parting-of-the-clouds narrative of my life ~ I could create and was willing to share with the world.  And within 24 hours the clouds did, indeed, drift outside of my peripheral vision, leaving behind a bright, clear sky that confirmed what I knew all along:  My book was not a memoir; my book was a collection of personal essays.  I said these exact words in my second phone conversation with the editor, and followed that up by explaining that if it was a memoir the editor wanted, mine was not the book for that publisher.  This wasn't meant to be a challenge or some kind of negative selling tactic, it was just the truth.  If that truth meant the proposal would be rejected, then both the editor and myself would be saved from a world of agony.  Not to mention that if the book ended up being some kind of tortured compromise between my intentions (and the stories of my life) and the publisher's idea of what would be most marketable, then the integrity behind every word would be completely lost.

I wasn't trying to stand on some kind of moral/artistic high ground, I simply wasn't capable of drastically altering the basic structure of the book in order to please a publisher.  The proposal was returned to me this past March and I still haven't opened the box it came in.  It is on my shelf, sitting quietly for the time when I can take it back out and decide what to do with it.  I have begun working on my book for North Light, and I know this is the book I am supposed to be working on right now.  This book is no less fulfilling, exciting or meaningful, it is just a different book.  And the work I did on the other proposal might not ever serve any greater purpose other than teaching me how to stay true to my intentions even when certain entities, such as a publisher, tries to steer me in another direction.

Or maybe the stories outlined in that proposal will make their way into other projects, other books, other publications and maybe another self-published book.  That story has yet to reveal itself, but I know it will, and I'm just happy I get to be along for the ride.

Welcome to Camp Tilda

It is 6:25am, and I have been awake for about two hours.  We've had a couple of nights with middle-of-the-night interruptions and very early mornings, and that will likely be our routine for at least a little while longer.  Tilda came home with us Friday and our first weekend with her was, overall, quite relaxed.  We are enjoying her tremendously, and also incredibly grateful that she will not have to be left alone at all during these first many weeks with us.  We are already putting training and discipline practices into her routine, and it is gratifying to see her figure things out bit by bit.  Our go to book is The Art of Raising a Puppy by the Monks of New Skete, and what we like about the book is that their training methods are very gentle and focused on building our relationship with Tilda.  This journey is as much about training us as it is her, and the goal of her training is to raise a happy dog, not a dog that does things at our convenience.

I haven't had a dog since I was in the eighth grade, and that experience ended quite miserably.  Looking back, I can see all the things that went wrong, and how his discipline problems were created because of a lack of exercise, discipline and structure.  This was long before the Dog Whisperer was a household name, and he was also growing up with us in the middle of the break-up of our family.  Call it a combination of bad timing, bad upheavals, and no real training ~ no matter how I look at it, I only see the end result.  Long story very short:  We had to put him down, and he was only a few years old.  As I type that and re-read it, I feel ashamed, even though I was only thirteen years old and wasn't even let in on the decision until it was over. 

So let's just say I have been equal parts thrilled and terrified at the prospect of getting a dog, and this was a decision my husband and I came to after more than three years of talking about it.  We are normally quite decisive as a couple, but we are both keenly aware of the responsibility this entails, and never wanted to take it lightly.  Tilda is part of our family now, and that means our routines and habits are changed forever, or at least for the next decade or so.  That's the deal.

I have had a couple of moments of panic over these past few days, feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of training this pup, caring for her, and managing the amount of attention she wants from us, which looks to be increasing each day.  In those instances, I have pulled my thoughts squarely back into the present, reminding myself that expending any energy fretting in the middle of an opportunity to do something like lie still with my eyes closed ~ such a gift these days ~ is pointless.  In that sense, she is already teaching me ~ reminding me to be here in the now, and to let go of anything else.  That will all come soon enough.  In the meantime, we get to enjoy moments like this:

Madly in Love

TILDA!

Five Things ~ Especially for You (Yes, YOU)

Today, I would like you, dear readers, to know these Five Things ~

1.  I don't usually respond directly to comments left on this blog, but I read every single one of them, and they always make me smile.  I am still kind of in awe of the fact that people take time out of their day to read this blog, and I appreciate the extra time and effort it takes to enter your information and type in those comments.

2.  I think I've finally moved on from my teeter-totter love/hate angsty relationship with blogging and social media, and now I'm simply enjoying it.  Only took me five years!

3.  Every once in a while I wonder why I feel an almost compulsive desire to be constantly creating and sharing, but then I think about all of the incredibly kind words people have shared with me here, on their own blogs, over email, and in person and I immediately stop wondering.

4.  I don't think I have any special answers or magic formulas, I just try to tell the truth.  Maybe I spend too much time trying to examine every angle of whatever topic it is I'm fixated on, but I appreciate so much that I never feel like I am maneuvering through these explorations alone.  I share these internal journeys here, and I am grateful that you have been willing to listen and share your own perspectives.

5.  Without you, there would be no art shows, no workshops, no storytelling, no blog, no books, and no reason to do much of anything.  Without you, I'm toast.

In other words, to say I feel grateful doesn't quite cut it.  I feel blessed and held, seen and heard.  I hope in some small way I have done the same for you.

100 Books Project :: Switzerland

[Book #62, left in Zug, Switzerland by Book Fairy Rebecca Self.]

Book Fairy Rebecca Self is a globe-trotter extraordinaire, and she deposited Book #62 at a recent TED event in Zug, Switzerland.  Read her account right here.  Thank you Rebecca!