Growth Spurts VS Resistance
Resistance.
According the the Borg. It is futile.
And as any hard core Trekkie knows, this is not true. At least not for Captain Jean Luc Picard and crew.
For the rest of us, the reality is that resistance is literally futile. It is pointless. Is does not serve us. It keeps us from our dreams. It is the nasty voice in our head that speaks over everything else and says, "You suck, why bother, someone else already did that and did it better than you ever could."
Steven Pressfield calls Resistance "an impartial force of nature, like gravity or the laws of thermodynamics." It's not OUR voice speaking to us, it is not self-talk, it is Resistance talking. And Resistance is a totally indifferent asshole and is completely full of shit!
Something else....
The magnitude of Resistance we feel is directly proportional to the size of our Dreams/Goals/Evolution of our Soul.
I have BIG dreams and goals right now. And the resistance that I am currently feeling is ALL-CONSUMING. It's involuntarily tear-inducing, terrifyingly paralyzing, curl-up-in-a-ball-in-the-corner-and-rock-back-and-forth, MAMMOTH-sized, capital R, Resistance.
And speaking of dreams, I've had some doozies this week. Apparently this might have something to do with the intense solar flares and storms happening on the sun at this time (and the reason we are seeing such amazing auroras for the past few weeks).
In one of my dreams a few nights ago, two of my writing SHE-roes were with me and we were all at a book tour event. I was in a room with Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) and Heather Armstrong (@dooce) and one of us was about to go out to do a reading. Practical/awake me says that of course it was one of them - Jenny is currently on a book tour and I keep seeing all her photos and updates online - but dreamer me thinks that maybe it was me, and they were my cheering squad. (Talk about #squadgoals!) Could it be that my dreams are sending me a message through two women who I KNOW have struggled through and written about their own epic levels of resistance?
In the Seen and Heard In Edmonton podcast a few weeks ago, Karen Unland and I talked all about blogging and what is next for "The Stay at Home Feminist". I told her how I feel like I am in a transition phase with my writing. With Karen I spoke more about where I want my writing to go, but the truth is that this transition is not so much about where my writing will end up, but about how and why my writing has to grow.
And growing up is hard.
Growth spurts are never graceful or easy. Have you seen a baby or toddler going through one? They fall down all the time, they are fussy as hell, they cry constantly, their sleep patterns are all messed up and NO ONE in the family is happy! The exact same thing happens to teenagers and apparently, to 40-something writers as well.
This is hard for me to write...
For the past few years I have prided myself on being a "voice of reason" in the sea of noise on the internet. I've been the moderate. The more-chewy-than-crunchy mama, the not-too-far-left leftist, the small f-feminist, the advocate-not the activist. I've been wading into the shallow end of issues, but only so far that I can still stand on my tippy-toes and keep my head out of the murky waters. The harsh truth is that I've been steeping myself in mediocrity, because I thought this is what would make everyone happy, including myself. I was wrong.
I am not happy like this.
I made a decision last night. And my stomach clenches and I start to cry just thinking about it, it terrifies me that much (Hellooooo Resistance!). As it turns out, mediocrity is not serving me as well as I thought it would. It is not the example of living that I espouse online or that I want to show my children and yet, it is what I am doing. And it is an option. I could go on like this. I could keep on talking the talk, and just barely walking the walk. Or I could just shut up, stand up, and WALK. Be terrified, bawl my eyes out, and still put one foot in front of the other and will myself to live my dreams.
the war of art by Steven Pressfield - Get it. Read it. memorize it.
Fear never goes away. Resistance never sleeps. We have to wake up and fight the battle against it every day.
So fight I will.
Every fucking day.
In the best way I know how.
With my voice.
The one that somehow got lost in the shallow end.
Excuse me while I dive down headfirst, ruin my make up and hair, and get it back.
N~
making time for practice
Everything is a practice these days. We must practice gratitude, practice meditating, practice writing (or whatever your creative outlet is), practice our sport/yoga/fitness regime of choice, practice healthy eating, practice drinking more water and on and on.
I know it, you know it, but damn it, sometimes it just feels like NO ONE HAS TIME FOR ALL OF THAT PRACTICING!
In an effort to be a better practitioner of LIFE and all the things in it that give me joy and meaning, I am making a conscious effort to make time to practice some gratitude.
Right here. Right now.
Ok, here goes...
On Sunday, my family let me sleep in until 10 AM. My husband got up with the kids, fed everyone, walked the dog and then they just let me be. I eventually got out of bed, had a nice long shower and meandered out of my room around 10:30AM. It was glorious!
.....
And then, my daughter went into the play room, made 4 animal puppets from a foam craft kit ALL BY HERSELF and proceeded to cast herself and her brother in a puppet show for my enjoyment. I sat back, drank a cup of the new Goddess tea that I picked up at the Make It show and enjoyed my children's imaginations!
.....
Later that day, they asked if we could go to the library, "...the one with the fancy roof Mom." So off we went. I brought my laptop and my notebook and while the kids were off choosing books and playing phonics games on the library computers, I started to write and catch up on some #YearofWriting assignments (I am terribly behind in these!). The funny thing is, I haven't stopped writing since then. Either in the notebook (some things really are just for me) or here on my blog.
.....
Hmmmm.... maybe there is some truth to this practice thing. I'll keep going.
I have a hard time remembering or enjoying drinking 8+ glasses of water a day. So I made a deal with myself. I'll drink more of it IF it is bubbly. I bought a case of San Pellegrino at Costco and for the past few weeks have been happily drinking all the sparkly water I can! And just in case you were wondering, no, it is not bad for me and yes, it is just as hydrating as flat water.
.....
I do not like doing laundry. I will procrastinate doing this task until someone runs out of a critical piece of clothing and then starts asking me about it. I will then reluctantly start the sorting and washing and drying of said clothing. This usually drags out for a few days (Ok, fine, a week or more) and then, just as I have finally folded all the laundry from one week, I have to start on another weeks worth. Yesterday, I did 5 loads of laundry, folded 4 of them, put them away and now only have the towels left to finish folding today. The sense of accomplishment I have over this simple thing is completely ridiculous and yes, it is something that I could get used to. With practice. ;)
.....
OK, I don't want to overdo it here...
I'll keep this up and start a little bit of a weekly #gratitude post because...
PRACTICE!!
with gratitude,
n~
a peek inside
Okay, okay, time to do some writing. Now, what am I going to write about today.....???
*Goes off to check Twitter and Facebook. Gets sucked into a vortex of Youtube videos of Jimmy Fallon singing like Neil Young.*
OK, seriously.
Yes, that's a good idea, let's write about something serious today.
*Goes off to watch another Fallon video - this time it's the one with my no-he-is-not-too-young-for-me movie star boyfriend, Joseph Gorden Levitt, lip-syncing to Nikki Minaj.*
Maybe I should write about that thing that I read about the other day. You know the one.
Or...
Maybe I should try my hand at some abstract poetry. Something deep and meaningful.
And PROFOUND.
Yeah, yeah, let's do that!
.
.
.
.
{crickets}
.
.
.
.
OK, nothing profound happening today.
Let's go back to that first idea.
What was it again?
Oh, screw it.
I'll just do some free form, stream of consciousness writing and see what comes out.
(10 minutes later, hits delete on 457 words)
Well, that was just crap.
Now what?
*Heads off to see what's happening on Twitter-again. Posts a picture on Instagram.*
Ok, no, really, that first idea was a good one. Go back to that one.
Yes.
Okay.
Off I go.
*Closes all other open tabs, takes laptop to quiet room and starts writing.*
~~~~~~~~~~
A few weeks ago I bought myself a couple of notebooks to help give me a kick in the pants with my writing and get into the habit of writing SOMETHING at least once a day.
I decided to open up the 642 Things To Write About book today at a random page and this was what it said.
You're welcome {to the inner workings of my very easily distracted brain}.
natasha~
Knock Knock Little Sucker: aka 'What I learned at Blissdom Canada.'
Blogging conferences are funny things. They are full of opportunity. They are fun. They are chalk full of women {and men} who are looking for connections and who are, for the most part, notorious over-sharers and gregarious huggers.
They are also terrifying and overwhelming and can send even the most seemingly extroverted person off to a far corner to hide from the hulabaloo and constant "who, what, where, when and why"?
Four weeks ago I made a snap decision to go to Blissdom Canada this year. The stars aligned one day and within 24 hours I had a conference pass, a roommate and a plane ticket booked. I guess it was a kind of conference kismet.
And then ALL of the self-doubt started to seep into me.
Why was I going this year? What did I hope to get out of it? I don't really fit the blogger target market of conferences like these and the sponsors who support them, so again, what was the point of me going exactly?
I convinced myself that this was going to be a glorified girls weekend with some fabulous women that 95% of the time I only connect with online. I registered for all the required sessions at the conference and chose the Creative and Change tracks versus the Business ones. I didn't even bother getting business cards made, since I don't really see what I do as "business" anymore.
With all of that done and a typed-out, page-long "how to be me for four days" instruction sheet for my husband taped to the refrigerator, on October 3rd, I packed my suitcase, valet parked my car at the fancy lot at the airport and hopped on a plane to Toronto.
Maybe it was because I did not have a lot of expectations going into this conference. Maybe it was because I was being more of an observer and listener than a talker this time around (I know, I know. WHAT??). Maybe it was because I avoided the whole monetizing side of things and spent time spending money at the Handmade Market instead. Or maybe it was because I wasn't worried so much about what people thought of me and I was just being me. Unapologetically Moi. Whatever it was, in the end, I was very pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed the conference, getting to meet so many new faces and spending time with my beautiful peeps, Annie and Alex and Tillie!
One moment truly defined the conference for me. No, it was not the opening keynote, although Eric Alper's ability to make everything and anything relate back to music is simply amazing and somewhat uncanny. It wasn't the incredibly powerful "Social Media Etiquette" panel, that included the stupendous {in my squealing fan-girl opinion} Glennon Melton of Momastery fame and the quiet strength of Rehteah Parson's dad Glen Canning, even though that session did make everyone in the room think REALLY HARD about what they put out there (online) and what the universe inevitably gives back.
My moment came during the aptly-called "Power Hour". An hour of mini presentations à-la-TED-style that were inspirational (@Schmutzie), motivational (@CanadianDad) and hilarious (@sharonDV). I was standing at the back of the room absentmindedly scrolling though my Twitter feed when a speaker I had not heard of before was introduced.
I was still engrossed in some silly Twitter convo, when this speaker's words started to register in my brain and they pulled me away from my phone:
She wasn't giving the usual kind of presentation. She wasn't telling everyone in the room to be authentic and to find our voices and to tell our own stories. SHE WAS TELLING US ONE OF HER STORIES.
A story that she had written. On her blog. A story that was at once hilarious and crazy and so incredibly vivid and beautiful, that she had a whole standing-room-only conference room hanging on her every word.
And it was this moment, the simple act of Shannon Fisher telling us her crazy pig story that made my whole Blissdom Canada experience worthwhile. Her words sucked me right in and I felt like I was on that cold snowy road with her and the asshole pig. And having found the post afterwards, I have read it no less than three times already.
Then it hit me, a full week AFTER the conference ended. Why I went, what I needed from this conference and why I still want to continue over-sharing in this wacky world we call the 'Blogosphere".
I needed to redefine what blogging was for me. I needed to know that it is OK to be the blogger who doesn't work with brands, that it is OK that I am not blogging for the almighty dollar or the not so mighty, yet still lovely box of nice smelling bum wipes. I needed to know that MY stories matter. That my stories ARE making a difference for someone out there.
And the way that I learned that was through listening to someone else tell one of their stories. A big bonus was getting to sit down with Shannon at the after-after party on Saturday night to get to know her a bit too. She really is one cool chickita and I feel like I should leave you with another of her posts to read, just in case the pig story didn't already hook you.
Shannon's reading of her post out loud, the actual embodiment of the advice we often hear at blogging conferences about finding and using our authentic voices, THAT was my Lollipop Moment at Blissdom Canada.
And it took me this long to actually realize it!
Oh, and second epiphany...
@clippo and I take awesome Half-Ducky selfies!!
natasha~
P.S. You really need to watch this video and listen to Drew Dudley, who had the original Lollipop Moment, and hear his message. He was the amazing closing key note speaker at Blissdom Canada this year and blew us all away with his message about true leadership!
My addiction
This was an assignment I wrote for a writing workshop I took last year.
I reread it tonight and it made me laugh...
because nothing has changed!
I hope you like it!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I can feel the pull.
It really is only about 22 steps from where I am right now.
And it will be warm.
And soft.
And I can just drift away from all of this.
This.
This never-ending LIST of things that I need to do.
The list I have been avoiding for so long.
The piles and baskets of bright coloured clothing that are scattered along my hall are looking more and more like permanent fixtures and they keep growing in height and depth.
I don’t know where all of these papers keep coming from. It is like a tree gets cut down once a day in here and all of it’s byproducts end up on my desk and scattered across the kitchen counters. I swear I just filed it all and emptied the pretty blue box yesterday.
If I could just close my eyes for a little bit, I can do it all later.
Everyone else in this house is sleeping right now. Why can’t I?
BECAUSE!
That is what you did yesterday and the list that was supposed to be finished then is now added to the list that is for today.
YOU JUST CAN’T.
PIck up this, put away that, wipe this, wash that, fold this, call so and so, book this appointment, get nephew a birthday present, plan this party, get a new windshield, schedule our next date night, etc...
Sleep is a powerful drug.
There are no problems when one is sleeping. The lists do not exist when I am curled up in my bed. I don’t have to deal with anything when I am sleeping. The kids will sleep with me and we are all happy and there is no yelling, no threatening to take away this or that toy, just peace and snuggles and...
Void.
But I can’t. If I go there now, then there will be three days of to-do lists TO ACTUALLY DO,
and I will soon be buried in those bright piles of clothes and papers.
It’s a game actually. One that my mind likes to play with me.
"How far can we push her? Let's make her eyes go buggy, droop those eyelids a bit more, convince her that it can all be done later.
Come on Natasha, only 15 minutes, then you will feel all refreshed and can get back to work."
But it never works like that. Once sleep catches me, she doesn’t let me go. She makes my limbs heavy, my head heaviest of all and won’t let me wake up after a mere 15 minutes. That does not appease her.
So I have to say no. I have to fight her off. If I keep moving, she won’t catch me. If I sit down, if I stop, she knows she has won.
This may sound silly, but no matter how much I want to be 22 steps from where I am right now, snuggled in my bed with the 4.5-year-old miniature version of myself, I can’t go there.
I have to GET THINGS DONE.
My name is Natasha Chiam.
I am addicted to sleep.
It has been 3 days since my last nap.
....................
Post #2 for today and the #summerblogchallenge.
Don't you feel lucky?
not too late
Last month, I took a writing course with Alice Bradley, aka @finslippy and this was one of our assignments. To write about family. A lot of the 'class' (we were all online) said that the hardest thing or the most taboo thing to write about was family. This was my homework and is part of what I am dealing with and processing at the moment.
Family.
I don’t have a lot of childhood memories. I dont’ have the 'big family Christmas dinner' memories, the 'super-fun camping in the mountains' vacation memories, or the 'mom and dad taking me to this or that sport or activity and cheering me on' memories.
I have 'packing up a house full of four kids and leaving while daddy is at work' memories. I have 'watching my daddy crying in the doorway of our new house because he doesn't understand why' memories. I have 'getting mad at daddy for reasons to this day I can’t even remember and promising never to talk to him again' memories.
I know there must have been good times in my life before {and after} these memories. I have seen the pictures. I know that my father was not a bad man. I know he was not a terrible daddy. I think he was a young one and that he was working hard to try to support his young and ever growing family and may have bitten off more than he could chew.
Or it could have been that it really was all my grandmother’s fault. My mother’s mother was not a fan of men. It’s hard to blame her really, when every single man in her life broke her heart or her body in unfathomable ways. It was her and her daughter against the world. So when this young man came into their lives and knocked up her one and only daughter, her PERSON, I think she panicked. And then slowly, over the next six years, like someone administering small doses of arsenic, I believe she poisoned my mother into thinking that he was just not good enough for her. That he wasn't a good husband, he wasn't a good father, and he wasn't a good provider.
So my mother left my father. With four kids under the age of seven.
And over the years of listening to my grandmother’s poisonous rantings, I too came to believe that he was the dead beat he was made out to be. Why didn't he call? Why didn't he want to be with us? What did I do to make him not want me?
My child’s mind made a rash decision at the age of 12 to never speak to him again. And the sad reality is that I truly did not speak to him until 11 years later at my baby brother’s funeral. And now, another whopping 19 years later, we still have not seen each other more than 3 times since that sad day.
My daddy.
My daddy who now has ALS.
And now I don’t know what do to?
He IS my father, but who is he really? A relative stranger to me and to my own children. Yet, his time on earth is limited. He is suffering and I am wondering why we have never 'fixed' this, why he stayed away and why I never asked for more from him?
And I am kicking my 12-year-old self for being such a fucking brat! And then again my 23-year-old self for being so god-damn selfish. Yes, I lost a brother that day, but he lost a CHILD.
Maybe I see this all more clearly now that I am a parent.
I have never spoken to him about ANY of this. About what he was feeling when mom left or why we stopped talking. We barely spoke when my brother died. I did not invite him to my wedding and I haven’t ever been to see him to introduce him to his grandchildren.
And now he is dying. A slow, painful, agonizing death that is going to rob him of his body and leave him his mind. A mind that is perhaps wondering all of these things as well.
I am a 40-year old woman and all I want is for my daddy to be just that.
My Daddy.
For what little time we have left.
This past weekend I spent some time with my father and we have started the healing of our relationship together. I just hope that we get the time we need to do and say all that we need to to each other, because in case you don't know, ALS is a cruel, cruel thief, robbing him blind daily.
Natasha~
Phase one
Yesterday, I signed up for my first writing course. It is an online course being taught by the awesome Alice Bradley of FinSlippy fame.
I have been a big FinSlippy fangirl for quite a while now and so, when Alice made the announcement about her course yesterday, I jumped at it!
And then I went and caught up on a whole bunch of her blog posts that I haven't read yet.
I didn't have to go too far back to find a post that made me feel like I got hit with a hammer in the head...
Alice posted this video on her blog and introduced me to the genius that is Jay Smooth, aka illdoctrine.com.
I swear he took all of these thoughts directly out of my head!
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0TpmJgSfZ_8[/youtube]
I don't care what you do. Be it a writer, an artist, a blogger, a stay-at-home mama, or you are working 40+ hours a week at a job you love/hate, we all have issues with the little hater.
I've written about my little hater before. She likes to come and see me from time to time and no matter how hard I try to exile her from my mind, she finds another way in. Lately her hate spewing is not so much about my parenting, but more so about ME. It's about my writing, it's about my purpose in life, it's about what I am contributing to my community and what will be my legacy in this world (besides the two amazing little humans I have helped create who are going to ROCK it!!).
And as much as I HATE the little hater, I think in some way I need her. Since watching Jay's video (about 5 times already!) I have really been thinking a lot about what that voice is saying to me and why? What is it that am I missing in all of this?
And then it hit me...
Jay talks about being a perfectionist in the video and I get that, I am one too, but beyond that, I love instant gratification. I am an impulse buyer, a watch it now even though I have a PVR television show watcher and a compulsive email checker. This is probably why I like Twitter so much. When I tweet something brilliant, people respond to me immediately. ;)
As a writer though, I think I really need to get over this. I need to realize that with any kind of creative outlet there will always be with those who love what you do, those who don't, those who will shout it from the rooftops and those who will silently enjoy it. And the trolls, there will always be BIG haters too. It is the price paid for putting our words, thoughts, and ideas on the interwebs for all to see.
Ultimately, I also need to remember who I am writing for. In a recent #blognow chat on Twitter, the awesome Tanis from The Redneck Mommy said it best.
[tweet https://twitter.com/redneckmommy/status/245693554645663744 align='center']
Moral of the story. Sometimes the little hater in our head in a necessary evil that helps us to figure out what really matters. We can give in to that little mean voice or we can use it to grow, learn and keep on going!
I choose the latter.
And Phase One of my learning and growth starts with getting my writing butt kicked into high gear by Alice!
Natasha~
P.S. I am VERY happy to have all of you as my audience and I do so love when you leave comments too. Even a little one is nice! {Thank you}
On writing... {oh wait, someone else already wrote that}
Reading usually precedes writing and the impulse to write is almost always fired by reading. Reading, the love of reading, is what makes you dream of becoming a writer.
~Susan Sontag
Yup. What she said!
There truly is nothing more inspiring than reading someone else's really great writing to get your own writing juices flowing. And right now, I feel like a flood-swollen river is raging through my brain.
I have just finished reading all of the Five Star Friday posts from Schmutzie's weekly weblog round-up and all I can say is...
OH. MY. GAWD. It was one helluva good week for the writers of the interwebs!
I can't possible recap all of it, so just head on over there and read them all! It is well worth your time, I promise. (Also, I may be full-on fangirl crushing on Schmutzie right now, she really is kind of super-duper awesome!)
And speaking of WRITERS.
I said it last night.
Someone asked me what I do and I said, " I am a writer."
I am not sure that all would 'technically' agree with me on this one, but it is how I feel about myself. It is how I want to feel and think about what I am doing with my life and since it now is what I am doing (in between all the mothering, wife-ing and life living stuff), I am going to say it again.
I am a writer.
I may not be a particularly GOOD writer just yet, but I am getting there. I am truly focused on becoming better at this craft and am right now setting new goals for myself in this regard! I have made the very tough decision to forgo any major blogging conferences this year in favor of taking a few creative writing courses and finding a great writing retreat or seminar to attend. I am getting serious here people!
And something else happened today. An idea popped into my head. One that has never happened before. A fictional idea.
A BOOK idea.
I have never thought of myself as a fiction writer (well, let's be honest, I have not really been thinking of myself as a writer at all until very recently), so the fact that I had this little brain toot today kind of came as a surprise to me. And I just can't stop thinking about it.
That must mean something right?
Now before I start getting WAY too ahead of myself, I figure I am going to need a few things to get me to the point that I (and others) can feel more comfortable identifying me as a writer. To that end, I am arming myself with some tools of the trade recommended to me by some amazing writers that I love and respect.
First up, On Writing, A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King.
Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE that I know, who has read this book has said that it is life {and craft} changing! I have just finished reading the first two of his three forewords and I can already see that this will likely be the case for me too.
And because Mr. King said so in the second of the aforementioned forewords, the other tool of the trade that I am arming myself with is Strunk & White's The Elements of Style. I figure if I am to be any kind of writer, it is probably a good idea to have THE essential book of writing at my disposal. I am sure I am breaking all the basic rules of writing left, right and centre every day here, some of them I recognize, others I do not. Let's hope this helps me recognize the really awful ones and remedy what I can!
Writing is a funny thing. It is freeing, it is strangely addictive and it is incredibly empowering. It taps into that part of me that I often keep hidden deep inside. It lets me exercise my brain, work out my thoughts, ideas and feelings and it is something that is mine. ALL mine. I mean, I share it with all of you of course, but these are my words, my thoughts, my prose.
What I write may not always be that important or interesting to everyone, but for me, every sentence that I type is one step further into this world of words and thought and imagination that makes me feel whole.
And for the last few days all I keep thinking about are the books and blog posts and essays that I have read that have changed my life and I am wondering what it would feel like to be the one who wrote the words that actually did that for someone else....
Natasha~