Showing Up

Hoo boy...dealing today with perhaps the most common limitation of all in trying to write: sickness! 

And I am pretty sure this is not the result of too many Christmas cookies, lack of sleep or stress.  It's that law of the universe I cited last week: "Something seems to signal the universe when you're about to do something great...limitations fly in from every corner of the galaxy, conspiring to thwart your project." 

What great thing am I about to do?

I met with a friend/writer earlier this week and we were asking each other about our individual writing practices, grimacing at our lack of productivity.  What could we do to challenge ourselves?

We decided to hold ourselves accountable by writing a blog post once a week, due by 9 pm each Sunday. If one of us failed to post, that would trigger rewards and consequences, which we're still toying with.  Possibilities are swirling around the principle of 'loser provides an artistic or creative reward to the one who meets the deadline.'  We hope to not only keep accountable with one another, but actually nurture one another's creativity.  (Any ideas for this consequence/reward system welcome!)

We also talked about a financial limit of $5 or $10, because we are on austerity, non-existent writer budgets.  And we probably need a second limit of time, because creating is expansive and absorbs gobs of time.  

One day from deadline, the Universe interfered.  Instead of leaping off cliffs of motivation, enthusiasm and creative flow, I am trying to stay semi-vertical, drinking massive quantities of fluids, a pile of tissues growing at my elbow. A post is due, and I haven't given it a thought all week.  And at the moment, thought feels like plowing through steel wool.  But writers need to write.   Everyday. 

This might not seem like such a great thing, but following through on a commitment is, especially when it's a commitment to vocation.  Especially when it involves others.   

A blog is not such a great thing, but it represents discipline, the finger exercises of writing; by writing today, that superlative poem lurking in my subconscious may emerge tomorrow. 

And it's an artificial deadline, sort of, but I'm going to meet it.  Last Sunday I was at a book signing for a story I wrote during one bout of the flu.  Who knows where this post might end up?   I don't always need to be eloquent, but I need to show up. 

And a funny thing happens then in the Universe.  When I do show up, the Universe tends to reverse gears, capitulate, and toss me an idea.  Threshold Guardian becomes ally.  Another reason to show up, even when the evidence suggests retreat.

Not that I believe that the Universe is impersonal...but that's a post for another day.  In the meantime, here is my post.  Limitations and all.    

Limitations

Limitations abound in boat-building.  If it isn't a fiscal cliff, it's time, weather, illness, divorce...you name it.

Depending on the climate you live in, a hurricane might whip through, or a tornado.  An arctic blast, blizzards, earthquakes or blistering heat--all stop you in your tracks.  This is true for a lot of creative work, although maybe the writer has the least to contend with (other than computer crashes, or a broken finger...).  Still, larger than life events sap time and resources for creative projects.

Limitations.  It's a fact of life, of humanity.  How do you keep your motivation, creativity, hope?

The work on our boat came to a halt over and over.  We kids didn't always know why, or care; we had bigger fish to fry--there were trees to climb, crabs to catch and baseball cards to clip to the wheel spokes of our bikes.  We didn't realize why an adult might come home from a 12hr. work day in Manhattan and not want to pound a few nails in the hull of a boat.  Nor did we realize that money ran out sometimes (prompting an increase in the regular lecture entitled "Money Doesn't Grow on Trees"). 

Pesky things, limitations.

Something seems to signal the universe when you're about to do something great, even if it's overcoming a hurdle to create a Christmas card; limitations fly in from every corner of the galaxy, conspiring to thwart your project.  It's the opposite of synchronicity.  That little voice in your head starts screaming at you why you can't.  The basement floods, the water heater goes out, the kids come down with colds.  Your spouse is diagnosed with cancer.

A limitation hit me this week.  I hit a wall, and picked up a book to read, instead of write in my normal writing time.  Funny...it was on limitations..."embracing the gift..."  WHA?! 

I was startled into writing: what is possibly 'gift-like' about a limitation?  It took surprisingly few brain cells to come up with a quick list:

• They cut me down to size;
• They enhance interdependence and collaboration, and counter individualism;
• They perfect humility in me.

Humility.  Not exactly the driving engine of our culture. 

My father was the typically complex human, who could be arrogant and humble, critical and affirming, all in the same afternoon.  He had his faults, but his humility was not to deny them, just keep building a boat.  Maybe he was nuts ("Where's my hammer?"); maybe he was selfish ("Pass me the nails.")  Maybe he was Don Quixote in Suburbia ("I can't right now--I'm busy.")  Some said he was stubborn, some called it noble.  He didn't stop to figure it out, at least to my knowledge; we didn't discuss it around the dinner table.  He wasn't asking anyone's opinion; he just built his boat. And there was something beautiful in that--a freedom, a uniqueness, something that demanded more of us than, say, "Let's build a birdhouse!"

It is not easy to attempt great things, while almost everyone around you is telling you you're nuts.  You might fight fear of failure; you might not live up to expectations.  I think I've asked this already elsewhere, but why start something you probably can't finish?  Is it worth the effort? 

Exploits like these can be pretty shaming adventures, and who wants that?  Better to keep head in the sand than raise it and get a whack. Or so goes conventional wisdom.

"Humility is eliminating facades and embracing vulnerability--allowing ourselves to be seen without social convention, and presenting ourselves in all of our nakedness...being comfortable with ourselves, our true selves, and being who God calls us to be because we have let go of living up to the expectations of others...

"As creatures, we were made in the image of God, which imbues us with profound dignity.  The reality of our nature, too, is that we each carry a brokenness that affects how we deal with others.  To deny this truth is to perpetuate the suffering that comes as a result of our limitations."  (The Artist's Rule, Christine Valters Paintner)

Expectations and Limitations.  Profound dignity and brokenness. 

Here's to the stubborn and noble in all of us. 
   

The Writing Life

Next up on the writing agenda is an author signing at the Peachtree City Library, Peachtree City, GA, on December 2, 1-3 pm.  C'mon out if you're local, and order online if you're not!  You know you need a stocking stuffer or two, don't you?! 

Another choice is A Quilt of Holidays, an anthology of holiday-themed poetry, story and memoir published by Silver Boomer Books, in which resides my essay, "Grappling with Ghosts." Check out the cover, website and author pages. You can order A Quilt of Holidays from Silver Boomer or Amazon.  (Or, if you're local, see me or visit the OM Bookstore!) 

Another bit of fun was participating in the Think Long Island First Limerick Competition.  I earned two Honorable Mentions, and give you one here: 

“Mosquito” as most would say
Is “Skeeter” in Oyster Bay,
and the name of a boat
on which we would float,
summer day after day after day.

All my limerick submissions are posted on the site (scroll down), so I won't do that here.  It's a fun form, especially for those of us with the Irish blarney in us! 

Still pending:  I'm waiting to hear about The Boatman's Daughter, manuscript which went to Finishing Line Press's chapbook competition in July, but already know I didn't make the first cut.  Possibly I'm in the second cut, which is ok with me, as it still means publication.  (And I think I've found a second potential publishing market in the meantime...yay!)

Pink Toilet Paper: The Culture Shock Poems  to Tiger’s Eye Press definitely didn't make the cut (whale face) but it was fun trying.  And I have a good base to build what will be my first full-length collection of culture shock poems.  In no time soon...but on a distant horizon...hmmm...I wonder if they'd like The Boatman's Daughter?!  Decisions, decisions...

On it goes...I'm currently focusing on a non-fiction project, and stretching my brain in new ways with that.  On occasion I spurt out a new poem, but trying to keep my focus in a non-fiction sort of way.

Hope you are finding some fun reads for the holiday weekend, and if you haven't found the perfect Thanksgiving poem yet, may I suggest W. S. Merwin's Thanks.  One of my all-time favorites.

Onward after food comas, rejections and Black Friday! Have a creative week!

A Pre-Thanksgiving Warm-up

Well, haven' t I been the delinquent blogger?! 

But the tide returns...five days off to lollygag, overeat, and sleep in...they roll out before me like a summer beach.  Fingers flex, poised over the keyboard just bursting to be the courriers for the cascading thoughts that have sat idle too many months.  Now they must be channeled into coherence...books, poems, blogs…and I haven't had my first cup of coffee yet.  Eloquence may take a few days, and I'm wondering why I am even attempting it this early in the morning?!  

Because that’s what writers do.  Write their way into writing.  The spiritual practice of creating is as rigorous as the spiritual life.  And as easy.  'Always we begin again.’ says the Rule of Benedict--that’s what writers and monks do.

Today is a day to begin again.  It has been a long dry spell, in no way except writing, which has unfortunately taken a back seat to Life.  Rude Life.  Now as we sit poised on the brink of Thanksgiving, that uniquely American holiday, our heads spin, our souls are whipped by Rude Life, wallets (if not camping gear!) are at the ready  for Black Friday, to spend--fiscal cliff be damned. 

Hurricane Sandy has ripped through so many boatyards and clamshacks, I can't write about that.  I'm so sorry for the damage to people and some of my favorite places, for the remapping of Long Island, Staten Island and New Jersey, to name only 3 disaster areas.  Hurricane Sandy intruded on my life only in that family members live in its trajectory; many nights normally given to writing went to phone calls, and the news. 

Elections chewed up too much time.  I think I wrote a poem once about elections...We won't go there. 

I struggled with my own fiscal cliff, in a year with possibly the heaviest travel schedule I've had yet, on (too literally) a wing and a prayer; a year to live the age-old artist/writer challenge: produce! and keep the cash flow coming!  

About a year ago, I began the ancient monastic practice of Examen, a technique of prayerful reflection on the events of the day, in order to detect God’s presence in our lives, and discern his direction for us.  The goal is the “inward migration of the soul from slavery to freedom” (Tozer), to come out of denial of past pain, out of false views of ourselves, or how others have viewed us, and relinquish our fantasies about ourselves.   

Examen is neither self-examination nor the disease of introspection, but an honest dialogue between the soul and God, inviting him to come and review matters in our hearts.  there are plenty of feel-good gratitude exercises out there; skip the spiritual junkfood and go for the gusto:

 

“Come now, let us reason together,” says the Lord.  (Isaiah 1:18) 

One of the questions in Examen is: what are you most grateful for today?  I honestly believe the best time to ask this is crashing into a pillow at night.  With lights out, head down, body sprawled, just before the lapse into that most blessed activity--sleep--what thoughts come to your mind?  When you can no longer fool anyone, when no one can see, no more role has to be played, or avoided, what bubbles up first? 

Probably the more spiritually robust among us could carve out a half hour or so from their evening and sit up straight to do this, but frankly, I find it much more conducive to lie down, head on pillow, pretend I'm asleep if I have to, and think about what I am most grateful for.  I have certainly forgotten the question many nights; have certainly fallen asleep before the 6-word question could be framed.  But having set my intention almost a year ago, I find the question now comes unbidden, sometimes stirring me out of that pre-sleep twilight as I doze off.  There were things to be thankful for, in the worst of days, in the deepest exhaustion. 

Let's warm up for tomorrow, when it may be easier to be thankful, or harder.  Two resources on Examen for your consideration, a book and a blog, may help in the journey.  But you don't need anything to toy with the question, as you flop into bed, or sit up late in a dark room with that one light on, the fire going out:  What are you most thankful for today?    

---

Finding the Edges

by Jon Simpson

heavy.  intimidating.  sometimes just... wow. i've only just started the journey with the lives of my two girls, and from what relatively little i've experienced with them and know of them and their history, i'm aware this path will test (is testing) my mettle in ways other stretches of the road haven't.

i'm a "stranger," showing up five years late to "accept" these girls, to tell them they are beautiful (not because of how they look or behave, but because they just are), to show them they are loved, to demonstrate they are valuable beyond any earthly appraisal.  and i'll likely spend the rest of my days living out the proof of it.  my integrity in these areas will play a critical role in those truths having any chance of taking root in them.

if i'm coming off sounding melodramatic, it's not my intention. i sincerely don't believe i'm exaggerating in the least.

one of things about children that i'm often grateful for (and other times not so grateful, when it's popped up to bite me) is that children aren't usually baffled by bull.  in their simplicity of thought and careful observation of conduct, they know that how you behave is who you really are.  the father who talks a good game and then doesn't have the integrity to "walk the walk" is on shaky ground.  yet i think children usually have such capacity for hope and faith in the human race; it certainly surpasses mine.   so while it may take a good while for the ties between a father and a child to stretch thin (as the child tries to somehow rationalize incongruence away), when it finally does break, it breaks hard.

it's a strange dynamic that my girls are dealing with, having no concept of father.  their caregivers at the orphanage have tried to teach the girls not to trust strangers, and yet they've also been told to trust a changing cast of caregivers and teachers.  Now, without any previous life experience of what a family or a mother and/or father are, my girls are thrust out of everything they've known (as imperfect as it may have been) and into a drastically different paradigm.  what a combination.

so they've got to figure it out.  and we've got to help them.  and it's a process...for the girls and for us. we don't know exactly where they're at, what they're getting and how well, and what they're not.  and they don't know where we're at, how things work, what the real differences are between us and the other institutions they've been in...

and, if you know kids, it'll be no surprise that one of the ways the girls are figuring things out is by finding the edges.  discovering where the boundaries are.  and what happens when they get crossed.  by doing this, they're finding out who their father is.  they're finding out WHAT a father is.  and i'm finding out what kind of father i am.

This is the final in a series of four posts by guest blogger Jon Simpson.  Thanks, Jon, for sharing thoughts on the journey.

Check out Jon's website or blog for more on the "thoughts and happenings in the life of a musician, singer, songwriter, traveler, father, husband, brother, son, etc., etc."

of love and trust, part 2

how good am i at enduring mean-spirited mocking from a child?  at dealing with having my buttons intentionally pushed?  (children are good at discovering these quickly.)  

in their ignorance, at times they'll argue vehemently that things are one thing when i say they're another, or they'll fight tooth and nail to try to get us to go one place while we're trying to take them someplace else that we know they'll like even more.  they'll draw a random line in the sand over something insignificant (since the real point is to put me to the test) and refuse to back down.  they'll test me on, "don't do that again." they'll also try to get me to play favorites, buttering me up when the other has been naughty, or throwing one another under the bus by tattling when one of them has done something naughty out of sight.  and when they're hurting in some way (physically or emotionally), they may or may not cry out, but they're watching to see if i care and, if i do, how i will respond. i could go on...

another element in all of this is that i have boundaries in dealing with my girls that are completely different from those i have with my boys.  my options are limited in how i discipline them because of what their lives have been.  responding to my girls in certain ways that would be completely acceptable in fathering my boys would be quite harmful in fathering my girls (and incidentally have nothing to do with the differences between fathering girls and boys).

For example: my wife or i might have given our boys a little swat on the backside to get their attention after an outburst of misbehavior/naughtiness; we would not use this same type of discipline with our girls because of the physical abuse they've seen or experienced. similarly, while we might have given one of our boys a "time out" as a disciplinary measure, my wife and i don't consider this a viable option for our girls.  Put extremely simply, we're working as hard as we can to build healthy ties between our girls and us that are stronger and longer-lasting than anything they've previously known.  Isolating them as a form of discipline would work completely counter to that aim.  Discipline for our girls has to operate, and is informed by, the context of the very different nature of their lives to date versus the nature of our boys' childhood.

in all this they're finding out: can they trust me?  can they entrust themselves to me?

i wake up every morning knowing this is a tall order.

i also recognize that (to be blunt) i'm inheriting someone else's problems.  i'm willfully taking on the troubles (don't misunderstand: i am NOT calling the girls "problems" or "trouble") that have been created by a messed-up world.  and then i'm struck again with the thought that this is what God did. what He does.  we mess up this world and we mess up ourselves, and yet He as the ultimate Father chooses to be in the midst of it all and offer the way to un-mess things. He does that in my life.

the parallels don't stop there.  for example: how often have i - in my own ignorance - fought or argued with God about wanting something one way (or wanting something the way it used to be), when of course He knows much better and has much better things in store?

i'm grateful that beyond my own grandest desires to see my girls completely healthy and whole, the Heavenly Father desires that even more, and is willing and able to help me be the father they need.

of love and trust, part i...

2/4 blog posts by Guest Blogger Jon Simpson

the issue of fatherlessness - whether through physical or emotional absence - has been popping up on my radar over and over again for a long while now.  not just in the context of my family's adoption journey, though it's only reasonable that the intersections there wouldn't be lost on me.

about a month ago i watched the justin hunt film absent, which examines this issue.  One thing that stuck with me is its assertion that boys and girls universally and instinctively look to their father for the answer to a small set of questions.  One set is unique to boys: "am i good enough? do i have what it takes? can i be a man?" The other is unique to girls: "am i beautiful? do you love me? am i valued?"

you can check out the film to get more details (i'd recommend it) but one of the aspects that's so brutal to me is the difficulty (that word may be a gross understatement) with which the fatherless are subsequently able to have decisive, satisfactory answers to those self-defining questions. when our fathers don't provide positive answers to those questions, we're hardwired to continue to seek out the answers...usually over and over again.  Thus:

• adult males still act as children, trying to prove their manhood in one achievement or confrontation after another; 

• women look for affirmation of their worth in multiple, sometimes self-destructive, relationships or other ways... 

and the outcomes of these attempts, even if "successful," are only temporary.  it seems the key setting for a child's best chance to have airtight, positive answers to these questions are from his/her father, in the earliest of formational days.  as absent posits, the father is the very first external human to accept or reject a child.

i can't get away from the role of trust in all of this. it occurs to me that a father gets one "gimme" on trust when it comes to his child.  a baby in her/his helpless state offers herself/himself to a father.  after that, the father’s got to earn it.

humans are imperfect. including fathers (yes, thank you, no applause necessary for that little earth-shattering gem of knowledge).  we screw up. and even after the trust of a child is given to a father, that trust has to be maintained and cared for (and maybe rebuilt to varying degrees) by the father.

so what happens when a child has had absolutely no father during those critically formational years, is still a child, and - whiplash - now is put into a situation with a man who is resolved to be that child's father? what does that mean for the child? what does that mean for that adoptive father?

if you haven't figured it out yet, let me be clear: what does that mean for me? honestly a few expletives come to mind, but i'll do my best to continue with a clear head in my next post...

Jon Simpson: singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist, really cool friend and colleague.  I invite you to explore Jon’s website or blog, for more on the "thoughts and happenings in the life of a musician, singer, songwriter, traveler, father, husband, brother, son, etc., etc."