The sorts of things that never happen to me, ever.

by Leave a Comment

I never wake up late four days in a row.
I never wake up late, get ready for work with the vision of the most perfect outfit ever and then proceed to rip a gigantic hole in my brand new, never worn tights and then yell expletives for the next 3 minutes as I figure out what to wear instead, making myself even later for work.
I never cook myself roasted eggplant and crostinis for dinner and add way too much garlic to the recipe and regret it for the following 24 hours.
I never drink an extra glass of wine with my dinner because I’m home alone and no one is watching.
I never tweet when I’m annoyed with something or someone.
I never miss project deadlines at work.
I never find myself supremely annoyed when people respond to my email requesting the attachment they forgot with, “yes, I will send that attachment along!” without the attachment…
I never procrastinate on calling people because I hate talking on the phone with a passion.
I never get self-conscious when old professors ask me if I’ve applied to grad school or looked for other jobs yet and answer, “No, but…“
I never respond to someone’s comment on a political topic with, “Yeah, I totally agree” and then run to my computer and look it up on Wikipedia.
I never procrastinate on writing on a blog post because I’m just not sure what to say.
I never procrastinate on writing a a blog post because no one commented on my last post.
I never watch a mini-series on the Spanish channel instead of writing or reading a book.
I never get discouraged when friends and acquaintances tell me, “Loved your last blog post!” because they read it but didn’t comment on it or share it with a friend.
I never find myself wondering if I’ve written a blog post that makes people question my sanity, or at the very least, my ability to write.
I never get offended or annoyed with friends when they ask why blogging or social media matter.
I never get self-conscious when I hear people say that they never ever intended to be a writer/artist/photographer/designer but somehow got published anyway.
Those things never happen in my world, ever. Just in case you were wondering.
The sort of thing that does happen to me:
I drive to work grumbling about all of the things that never happen to me and suddenly find myself riveted to the radio interview of a gifted poet who just came out with a book I absolutely must read.
So in case you also find yourself analyzing all the things that do or don’t happen to you on a given day, please read this poem and find yourself inspired. That is, if you ever do find yourself inspired by poetry, which I know might never happen to you. In which case, don’t.

2011. Day 8, Post 1: Be Fearless.

by Leave a Comment

Eight days into the new year, and I have a serious confession to make.

I am addicted to fear.

Not the kind that compels me to watch slasher-movies and visit haunted-houses and ride the biggest roller-coasters at a theme park. Those experiences are more nauseating than exhilarating by far.

I’m the kind of fear-aholic that feeds on my own insecurity. The big “what if” has been my constant companion for most of my life, always there to tell me the cold, hard truth about myself when my dreams start to get a little too lofty. I know I’m not alone in this, but let’s face it, there are people out there that are way better at handling it than me. That’s part honesty, part symptom of my addiction. Yes, there are better, braver writers out there. However, I’ve manipulated myself with those thoughts, to points where I don’t allow myself to believe that I’m capable of that level of success. Writer’s envy sets in. I want that life. The free-lancing, kick-ass blogging, work-from-an-amazing-loft-downtown kind of writing life.

But I fear being mediocre.
I fear that I will half-ass everything and that people will notice.
I fear that I will do my absolute best and people will still believe that I half-assed everything.
I fear that I am incapable of following through with anything.
I fear that there is a better way to spend my time than trying to “be a writer” and I just can’t see it.
I fear that I am committing to myself to too many things to be successful at even one.
I fear that if I deny one opportunity to focus on another, I will make the wrong choice.
I fear that time will go too fast for me to accomplish my goals for my career.
I fear that I will always long for parts of my past instead of being happy in the present and working towards new opportunities.
I fear that I’ll be too busy chasing the wrong opportunities to notice when the right ones have passed me by.

When I’m being honest with myself, I know that my writer’s envy and my fear are only there to consume me and steal my talent away from the capability that God gave me. I don’t want anyone else’s life, just my own. The restlessness and the fear and the self-judgment are what I’m going to purge in 2011. And in it’s place, I’m letting my dreams and passion have free reign.

I don’t know when exactly I finally came to this decision, but sometime in 2010 I finally began to articulate what it is I want to do. I want to be a storyteller. I want to tell amazing, true stories of people’s lives. Stories about people that have conquered illness, tragedy and their own fear. Stories of tremendously talented people that are casting out their insecurities and confronting their creativity.

2011 is the Year of the Blog for this writer. With the help of some talented friends of mine, you’ll begin to see some changes around here. And with the help of some of my other resolutions [being more organized and vigilant about my schedule] you’ll have a lot more to read.

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a list of the most inspiring posts I read in 2010. These are the posts that helped me realize: I have nothing to fear but fear itself. The anecdote: Honesty. Sharing your story in order to encourage others.

Kendi Everyday:

Fearless
Create a Working Closet: Part 3 – Organize

And my complete list of blog love, the ones I read OBSESSIVELY:

Making it Lovely
Kendi Everyday 
Better Off Wed
Stuff Christians Like
What I Wore 
Makeunder My Life
baum-kuchen
A Cup of Jo
To My Wife

Thank you to all of you bloggers and writers out there who continue to share your story and assure people like me, that yes, it’s possible.

“Do not worry if you have built your castles in the air.
They are where they should be.
Now put the foundations under them.”
– Henry David Thoreau

The Best Recipes Are Our Own [Eventually]

by Leave a Comment

I don’t follow recipes well when cooking.

My method usually goes as such:

1. Look up several different recipes, compare and contrast.
2. List common ingredients and steps.
3. Ask: what can I do to make it my own?
4. Give it a go.
5. Take note of the missing flavors and textures; tweak it for next time.

This is the closest thing to a scientific experiment you’ll ever find me doing. Except that it’s definitely not scientific, nor is it proven fact. It’s just me and my independent streak. Today I made beef stew from scratch, plus no-yeast biscuits from scratch. (Note: the no-yeast part is important. I try to avoid finicky ingredients at all costs.)

To make the stew I looked at nearly a dozen different recipes. Most of them were very similar, so I wrote down the basics and then gave it a shot. With the biscuits I only found one recipe that had only the ingredients I already knew I had in possession. (Flour, milk, shortening, salt, baking powder.) When I began to knead the dough I realized it was too dry and added one egg white – the perfect glue!

As I worked on my dinner, which I planned to serve not just to myself and my husband, but to our friends who were coming over (eek!), I began to get nervous. What if it doesn’t turn out? What if the stew tastes bland and brothy? Did I put too many onions in it? What if the biscuits come out hard as rocks? Did I make enough food for everyone?… Why is it that I always decide to get gutsy and experimental when company is coming for dinner? You’d think I would stick with the easy and familiar instead of risking my culinary reputation over a desire to master the art of a beef stew on my first try.

Why didn’t I just make something I already know how to make? Good question. There are plenty of soup and stew recipes from my mom, aunts, grandmas, cousins and in-laws that I could have used instead of hodge-podging my own recipe. Why am I so damn independent?!

And yet. It’s not that I don’t love or trust their recipes. They’re like old friends, and a little like the people that handed them down to me : comforting, familiar, faithful, reliable, full of family quirks and personality. But the recipes aren’t my own. If you know me, then you’re probably nodding your head (Mom, Grammy, Aunt Bev?) “Recipes, schmecipes” – that’s me. As it turns out, my instincts were not off base.

My biscuits turned out soft and crumbly, very nearly like the correct texture and the flavor was light and buttery. For next time: use buttermilk instead of 2% and a few tablespoons less flour.

The stew turned out to be a soup, but the flavor was good. For next time: make sure the base of the soup is thicker. After browning the meat, add a tablespoon of butter and two tablespoons of flour to the meat drippings in the skillet. Heat and stir until thick and golden brown. Add a cup of beef broth to the mixture and stir thoroughly until it thickens. THEN add to the rest of the broth, plus the meat, veggies and herbs in the slow cooker.

And my life?

Instincts : good.

Foundation : solid.

Flavor : delicious.

Recipe : it’s a work in progress, but it’s my own.

The best part : I’m learning.

Christmas Vacation. Inspiration. Time. ACCOUNTABILITY!

by Leave a Comment

Holy smokes, folks! With two whole weeks of vacation beginning next week through January 2nd, my mind cannot stop producing creative ideas to keep me busy. I have one big long list of topics I want to post about. Every few minutes I think of something else I’ve been wanting to write about.

I may have just unlocked my creative block I’ve been experiencing over the last few months. Time: I need more of it. The anticipation of whole days in my pajamas with nothing but a hot cup of coffee and my ideas has me itching to write. Be prepared! A whirlwind of words to come.

By the way, if the whirlwind never comes, will one of you please hunt me down and hurt me? Not really. But really, I’m going to be embarrassed if I have nothing to show for myself in two weeks, which is why I’m posting this now.

Death to the Black Box.

by Leave a Comment

My husband and I moved into our new apartment in July and since then we haven’t had TV. We own two TVs, but we don’t have cable. Not even basic channels. Not even NBC or ABC or the local channel that’s usually a super old power-point slideshow with odd instrumental music on loop.
I know, I know. How have we survived?! It’s downright unamerican.
We’re not hippies. We’re not ultra-conservative fundamentalists who have denounced pop culture.
We’re just poor. Every paycheck gets dolled out to rent, utilities, car insurance and school loans and with whatever is left, we think to ourselves : we could get a digital converter box this month…. but we’d rather buy a few extra groceries or go on a date. At first I felt like our apartment was much too quiet. I watched a lot of Gilmore Girls on DVD.
And then I started reading books I haven’t read in awhile. And then I started writing in my journal. And sketching and making decorations for our apartment. And painting. And organizing all my shoes and art supplies.
My husband and I still rent movies at least once a week and watch them together.
But when I’m home alone now, I don’t get the feeling anymore that the big black box is going to swallow me unless I turn it on. My brain isn’t rotting away in front of the propaganda machine anymore. I don’t come to consciousness several hours later, sprawled on the couch, asking myself, Wait – What did I do today? Oh yeah … nothing. … except eat 3 bowls of cereal and day old pizza.
I’ve tested this theory, and I’m pretty sure I’m right. If there is a TV in the room with a cable connection, it is inevitably on. Having the TV off in my living room growing up was pure torture. I would try to concentrate on my book or drawing, but I was distracted by the almost audible voice telling me,

“Look at me. I’m empty and sad. You’re empty and sad, too. Turn me on. Let’s be friends.”

On goes the TV, and my productivity – no, my brain activity – plummets.

Without cable to tempt me, the TV isn’t this ominous black void to fill. Yes, it’s quiet. I turn on music sometimes or NPR. Yes, sometimes I give in and watch a movie. But a movie is an investment. I have to be willing to sit and watch the movie for at least an hour and a half, and if I’m not, then what should I be doing? It’s a good test: Watch a movie I’ve seen before OR make myself useful.

We trick ourselves into believing that TV is just a filler, just something to bide our time until we have an appointment or plans to hang out with a friend. False. It’s a productivity killer. Imagine what we could do with all the time we’ve spent watching prime time TV. I could learn a new recipe, write more than one blog post, read that novel I bought but doubt I’ll finish, or organize something. That’s not busy work. That’s actively participating in my life.

The only time I’ll ever miss TV is probably on Christmas day when TNT does the 24 hours of A Christmas Story. Yes, I love it that much. But! It’s a movie so maybe it’s time to actually purchase it? That way, we’ll only watch it once and spend more time talking with the family we traveled 250 miles to see on the best day of the year.

Bottom line is: I’ve found other things to do with my time. So is it okay that I don’t ever want to get cable?

What about you? Could you survive without TV or are you afraid you’ll be bored out of your mind?