Looking Around

When was the last time you were outside-- walking maybe-- and you stopped to look closely at a beetle or a tree or a stone? This is something I rarely do.

But a few days ago I stuffed my Leica in my backpack and went for a bike ride. This was pretty artsy and adventurous of me. How surprisingly zingy it was to ride around, stop once in a while, and frame all sorts of wild things through my camera's lens.

People have told me recently that carrying around a real camera and shooting pictures will shift your perspective. Not until the bike ride did I begin to understand this idea. It's true that sometimes you just want to experience life. But sometimes it's very magical to look so closely at whatever's out there, and revisit these images again.

So go wander outside, look around and see what you see. Paint it, photograph it, sing it! And let me know what happens...

A Little Less, A Little More

This week I've caught myself in the "hard work is best" mode, scrunching all my dreams, interests and aspirations into one goal: complete as many tasks as possible! Of course this causes me stress.

Maybe we all do this, and maybe that's okay. But also we need to move, circulate, and be a little whimsical. Really, do our to-do lists care if we get a few or a million things done? Do our lives improve or decline? My cat knew the answer.


Janice, Cat of Great, Non-stressed Wisdom

She was always trying to teach me things. One lesson, if you'll permit my clunky translation, was this:  Chill out!

So maybe, occasionally, we busy people can leave our offices or our living rooms for a few minutes, and do things differently? We can wander, do some doodly, nonsensical activity that doesn't involve rushing or achievement or logic. I think it'll work.

May your day be lovely, chilled-out and less to-do listy!

xxoo

Traci and Janice

The Sparkle of Spontaneity

Last year my husband decided to take an improv acting class. I knew this class would be good for me too, because of how seldom I do anything unexpected. I rationalize my daily time expenditures. I give myself time-outs to plan disciplinary consequences. It was time for me to leap, and we both leaped into improv.

One tenet of improv is "Yes! and..." That means that if your scene partner suggests you raise rabbits in your living room, you could say something like, "Yes! and... a carrot garden in the bathtub would be grand, don't you think?" It doesn't have to make sense. It's just a practice of accepting whatever comes, making something out of it, and ideally, offering your partner details he or she can build on.

Witnessing and working with this "Yes!... and" principle in class has proved to my perfectionist, organize-it-all self that truly amazing things appear without planning. Entire relationships, histories, emotions, huge laughs and drama. In class I've let myself be just weird and loud and spontaneous, and how freeing it's been!

My husband and I are still taking improv classes. We love our player-friends. We still get a little nervous as we drive to the practice theatre every Saturday afternoon. But this thing is so huge for our personal growth that we feel compelled to keep showing up.

So maybe improvisation could shift your way of thinking-- and your life? I now believe it's possible.

Thank You Notes

My mom used to be very persnickety about thank you notes. Every year, my brother, sisters and I wrote to thank our aunts for sending us holiday trinkets, and we thanked grandparents for enclosing treats in our birthday cards. Though we often grumbled at having to execute this task, as adults, we see the point.

I confess I still write thank you notes to people who do kind things for me. And when I read something that blows me away, or if I see some amazing art installation, or hear music that takes me somewhere unexpected, I feel drawn to scratch out some sort of thank you note to each artist-- usually in the form of an email. Most people write me back quickly, and thank me for taking the time to say those few words.

 

So maybe you'd consider writing to thank someone for something they created, or a kind gesture they offered you? You'll likely surprise them with your note, and also brighten their day.

 

New Clothes

Recently I went to a thrift store and bought three summery blouses for five dollars a piece. They were soft and well-made. I met some nice people, got a little exercise and donated a few cents to a charity. Strangely freeing.

When working with stories, I sometimes resist trying on new things: different voices, points of view, characters. Shifting can feel temporarily uncomfortable. But when I return to the story some time later, I see how even micro-adjustments can produce big benefits.

I'm reading a little book about this topic: One Small Step Can Change Your Life by Robert Maurer. Simple concept. Gentle change. And fun!

What metaphorical clothing might you want to try on today? What happens to when you choose a direction, suspend questioning, and just go?

Practice

During high school and college, I spent many hours in swimming pools. Swim practice was a place mostly to learn things. To contract or lengthen muscles. Where vulnerability and bucking-up led to strength-gathering, and certain achievements.

I have since added other forms of practice to my life. In yoga, I sit still, or move through poses. The ideal is to not think, but to be. A similar experience occurs when I write: the active mind steps back, the subconscious takes over. Writing practice means making space for the words to appear.

Sometimes when I shut my eyes and type the beginnings of piece-- with no intentions other than practice-- usable material appears. Even when I journal random thoughts, some higher shelf in my consciousness presents for me the occasional good idea. I don’t know how it happens.

My guess is that every form of practice is like exercising muscle. Maybe not so glamorous-looking, but capable of producing positive things. For me that means stories, flexibility in my shoulders, and less fear.

What seems silly to me is that, despite my occasional grumblings, these benefits are always out there, as though reminding me, See what happens when you just keep practicing?

I'd love to know about the gifts you've gleaned from practice. Let me know...

The One-Minute Poem

To honor National Poetry Month, I offer you a smidgen of spontaneity: the one-minute poem.

A high school friend and I sometimes wrote these poems (or 5-minute stories) on stagnant summer afternoons when we were tired of swimming, or wandering the aisles of Tower Records. The poem-writing filled little gaps of time where we laughed, amazed each other, and were nudged beyond our normal ways of thinking. Here's how you can do it:

1) Gather a friend or two.
2) Locate things to write with.
3) Find a timer. Set it for 1 minute.
4) Write.
5) Don't think.
6) Stop writing when the minute ends.
7) Read your poems aloud. Just enjoy hearing how they sound.
8) Repeat.

I'm always surprised by the writing that happens when I take away the rules, the criticism. My editor's left brain takes a break, and my right brain gets to float around, happy.

In what ways do you succeed when you leap instead of plan?