I'm a fighter baby... even when I lose, I've won
I'm a dancer honey...the rhythm strikes and I am gone
I'm a walker sweetie...watch me stride out that door
I'm a talker lover...round in circles and your done
You don't know what you've started
You don't know what you've begun
You could wind up broken hearted
You could wind up on your own
Your a gambler honey can't you see the dice have rolled
I'm a tall dark stranger...there's no telling when I'll go
Your a soft lit night on a starry summer's eve
I'm a harsh early morn...and a cold winter breeze
You don't know what you've started
You don't know what you've begun
You could wind up broken hearted
You could wind up on your own
You have lost your way and you ask me for a light
I will show you to the shadows and lead you to the night
You are holding me in the hopes that I will ignite
I'm a fluid less lighter and I'm dim candlelight...
You don't know what you've started
You don't know what you've begun
You could wind up broken hearted
You could wind up on your own
AL 3/16/2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Mundane Realizations ( writing to write) Getting out of my own way...
My workouts this week have been really tough. I have been experiencing a flip in my daily experience. For quite some time my workouts were the best and easiest part of my day...everything else being a struggle or a long silence. Don't get me wrong. It took me a while to get back into the swing of going to the gym on a daily basis. I started by doing a half hour on the treadmill everyday 5 days a week,then I moved to 7 days a week. Pretty soon I was feeling like that was not enough... I started doing 45 minutes everyday. That was satisfying but I felt like I could do more. So for the last few weeks I have been doing an hour everyday. Four or five miles a day. I can see the change happening in my face... my arms... my tummy. I can feel the change happening in my body and brain. This week however has been different...
This week... I have gotten enough sleep. I am on a creative roll... my days fly by and I am loving my life at home. So leaving for the gym...and a tough run has been less appealing.
They say it takes three days to form a habit and twenty one days to break one. I find that to be roughly true. I am definitely addicted to moving. More so than anything else... I feel high for hours after I walk or run or dance. This week has been a challenge though, I have been fighting myself. Just when I felt I was in a groove the tests...they came.
I have been realizing how closely my daily saga before the gym matches my life saga. It goes a little something like this. I start realizing I need to go to the gym today... the afternoon wares on. About 2 pm I start thinking I should go before the gym gets crowded and there is no parking. I have a moment of excitement and motivation knowing that I will be doing something great for myself and that I will be feeling incredible afterward, followed by an hour of resistance and exhaustion.
I start to say either to myself or to Justin that maybe I will give myself a break today... I am tired, I have been working hard or I don't feel well, then either out loud or in my mind I start to argue with myself. I realize how much better I will feel if I just do it. I never regret actually going... it is the not going that I regret.
Now...here is the best part. Lately... I end up going. Everyday. Even though I have to go through that whole process. Everyday. I go.
I realize that I am accountable to me. Only me. I realize that this act of going and fighting through discomfort and stress and exhaustion is truly the best part of my day. It is a way for me to triumph everyday. It is a daily reminder that I am important to me and it is a practice of learning to trust myself again. These are lessons I need. The simple daily act of working out for an hour is transforming my body... my mind and my life. It is my religion. It does not afford me the opportunity to flake out. The only one to suffer if I do that is me and I finally understand that in a very real way.
This week... I have gotten enough sleep. I am on a creative roll... my days fly by and I am loving my life at home. So leaving for the gym...and a tough run has been less appealing.
They say it takes three days to form a habit and twenty one days to break one. I find that to be roughly true. I am definitely addicted to moving. More so than anything else... I feel high for hours after I walk or run or dance. This week has been a challenge though, I have been fighting myself. Just when I felt I was in a groove the tests...they came.
I have been realizing how closely my daily saga before the gym matches my life saga. It goes a little something like this. I start realizing I need to go to the gym today... the afternoon wares on. About 2 pm I start thinking I should go before the gym gets crowded and there is no parking. I have a moment of excitement and motivation knowing that I will be doing something great for myself and that I will be feeling incredible afterward, followed by an hour of resistance and exhaustion.
I start to say either to myself or to Justin that maybe I will give myself a break today... I am tired, I have been working hard or I don't feel well, then either out loud or in my mind I start to argue with myself. I realize how much better I will feel if I just do it. I never regret actually going... it is the not going that I regret.
Now...here is the best part. Lately... I end up going. Everyday. Even though I have to go through that whole process. Everyday. I go.
I realize that I am accountable to me. Only me. I realize that this act of going and fighting through discomfort and stress and exhaustion is truly the best part of my day. It is a way for me to triumph everyday. It is a daily reminder that I am important to me and it is a practice of learning to trust myself again. These are lessons I need. The simple daily act of working out for an hour is transforming my body... my mind and my life. It is my religion. It does not afford me the opportunity to flake out. The only one to suffer if I do that is me and I finally understand that in a very real way.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
The Judge
Recently I had a conversation with a friend of mine who is also a writer. We were discussing journaling and our many good intentions to do so. My good intentions have landed me two shelves full of beautiful and inspiring notebooks that have one to two journal entries in them and about ten pages of notes, lists and various works of poetry. The rest of the pages are blank. I can never bring myself to throw them out because of those two entries and the random poetic pieces but also because there are many blank pages left to be filled. I also cannot seem to resist buying new ones with the promise that "this time" I will journal. It seems I am addicted to notebooks and furthermore...blank pages. More on that later.
My friend apparently has the same problem. As we were comparing notes on our countless quarter full journals and what to do with them, I suddenly was inspired to blurt out a truth about myself as a writer. One that I have kept to myself for my whole life, out of a sense of shame for my own vanity and delusional thinking I suppose. The revelation was that I always write anything...and I mean anything...(we are talking scraps of ideas here) as if someone else were reading it or was going to read it. Now...this may at first sound like a wise thing. For why else write if no one is going to read it? Alas, no. This is a really really horrible way to create. Basically if you feel that someone is always watching or criticizing or judging your work, you are probably not only going to do poor work but it will also be entirely inauthentic.
The few pieces I consider to be excellent or my best work are the ones I was compelled to write in an electric moment of inspiration and abandon. If someone is always watching over your shoulder you are going to be less inclined to be honest and vulnerable and well...imperfect. The whole point of journaling is to be authentic and real and imperfect. Now this also translates to poetry. I suppose that my poetry is basically my own way of journaling. It is the language I speak...the record of my life...the glass I see through and the most authentic translation of my soul. This perceived judge in my head has been putting undue pressure on my process as a writer. Actually I believe that judge/ or the idea that someone is always watching, or looking or examining has caused me an unbelievable amount of stress in every area of life. In order to create as an artist effectively you must first start at an imperfect...rough and raw place. It seems silly to me that even in my most private moments I can feel silly or critical of whatever it is I am doing or creating... I have fought through this my entire life. My friend heard this...understood it and connected to it. She said that she has done the same thing. This woman whose writing I both admire and aspire to!
In that moment. I felt liberated and understood. I had done what I have struggled so hard to do by telling this truth about myself, I had validated another person in the process and by naming the block I have been able to recognize it when it happens, confront it and move past it. A revelation indeed.
As for the stacks of notebooks? I have kept them all this time not knowing what to do with them. It seemed to make more sense to buy a new one for a fresh start. That was how I did things most of my life, but these days I am immersed in process and imperfection and learning to build on stops and starts. So today I wrote a few lines in a lovely old notebook. The judge in my head would have liked a fresh book with blank promise but I think I prefer a much loved, messy, inconsistent window into my psyche. Poetry is my ongoing journal and of course the occasional list.
A.L. 3/15/2011
My friend apparently has the same problem. As we were comparing notes on our countless quarter full journals and what to do with them, I suddenly was inspired to blurt out a truth about myself as a writer. One that I have kept to myself for my whole life, out of a sense of shame for my own vanity and delusional thinking I suppose. The revelation was that I always write anything...and I mean anything...(we are talking scraps of ideas here) as if someone else were reading it or was going to read it. Now...this may at first sound like a wise thing. For why else write if no one is going to read it? Alas, no. This is a really really horrible way to create. Basically if you feel that someone is always watching or criticizing or judging your work, you are probably not only going to do poor work but it will also be entirely inauthentic.
The few pieces I consider to be excellent or my best work are the ones I was compelled to write in an electric moment of inspiration and abandon. If someone is always watching over your shoulder you are going to be less inclined to be honest and vulnerable and well...imperfect. The whole point of journaling is to be authentic and real and imperfect. Now this also translates to poetry. I suppose that my poetry is basically my own way of journaling. It is the language I speak...the record of my life...the glass I see through and the most authentic translation of my soul. This perceived judge in my head has been putting undue pressure on my process as a writer. Actually I believe that judge/ or the idea that someone is always watching, or looking or examining has caused me an unbelievable amount of stress in every area of life. In order to create as an artist effectively you must first start at an imperfect...rough and raw place. It seems silly to me that even in my most private moments I can feel silly or critical of whatever it is I am doing or creating... I have fought through this my entire life. My friend heard this...understood it and connected to it. She said that she has done the same thing. This woman whose writing I both admire and aspire to!
In that moment. I felt liberated and understood. I had done what I have struggled so hard to do by telling this truth about myself, I had validated another person in the process and by naming the block I have been able to recognize it when it happens, confront it and move past it. A revelation indeed.
As for the stacks of notebooks? I have kept them all this time not knowing what to do with them. It seemed to make more sense to buy a new one for a fresh start. That was how I did things most of my life, but these days I am immersed in process and imperfection and learning to build on stops and starts. So today I wrote a few lines in a lovely old notebook. The judge in my head would have liked a fresh book with blank promise but I think I prefer a much loved, messy, inconsistent window into my psyche. Poetry is my ongoing journal and of course the occasional list.
A.L. 3/15/2011
A Writer Writes
I am writing because I have nothing to say. I am writing because I promised I would today. I am am writing as an exercise and not an exorcism. I am calling the fleet footed messenger Mercury to bring me the words to put down on the page. There is static on the line...Instead Saturn sits on my roof like lead and won't let Jupiter deliver the goods while Uranus bears water and pours it down over my city... I call on Mars to kick Saturn's butt off of my roof but he is busy trying to woo Venus who not long ago was dating me but moved on because I learned about gravity.
AL
3/15/2011
AL
3/15/2011
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