Going Mapless

Sunday I got lost. Only I didn't.

It started with an itch. En route to visit my family in McMinnville, Oregon, I didn't want the old familiar highway with its traffic stops and brake lights and impatience. I sought the long, quiet alternate route I barely remembered. It was a road I learned to drive on nearly twenty-five years ago, learning to take curves at the proper speed.

That's how I found myself weaving and dipping over long, swoopy hills. Mapless. I hoped to know my way by feel. I had never paid attention to the road names, only the trees and farmhouses. Now things have changed, and I couldn't be sure I knew what I knew. I turned right when I should've stayed left. I bore south (or what I thought was south), and the miles stretched on. Finally, a couple signs looked familiar. There was Tile Flat Road, and Scholls Ferry, and there was the exhilaration of hilltops and shady pines, and a sense I could find my way onward.

I read somewhere that taking an alternate route is good for the brain, creating new neural pathways. Certainly I could feel that. The sun was shining, and the farms were green and lush, and circuits were firing in my thoughts at some deep level. By contrast, always going the way I know holds no thrill. There is no adventure, no challenge, and I'm not calling on my instincts or inner resources. I'm not doing anything different. Left here. Right here. Yeah, yeah, same old thing.

Sure, there's no risk of getting lost, if I go the way I know. But there's no chance of finding new beauty, or recovering a long-buried treasure, or being surprised.

When your heart calls out for a new way, take the chance. Go ahead and get a little lost.

By car or foot or bike, take a path you aren't sure of, perhaps one you almost remember. By pen or brush or song, push yourself to a place of hope and risk.

The Right Things

Randy Pausch, late author of The Last Lecture talks about the importance of doing the right things as opposed to doing things right. "If you do the right things adequately," he explains, "that's much more important than doing the wrong things beautifully."

Is writing the right thing for you? Or perhaps it's painting, gardening, going for a walk, visiting an elderly friend in a care facility. Chances are, if you're focusing on perfection, you're not spending enough time doing the thing you need to do.

If it's right, do it. Even if you're doing it wrong.

Make a list of the right things you are already doing in your life.

Snow Falling on Cedars

It’s hard to accept wrinkles and rips and heartaches and stains. We hold so tight to the way things are. Yet over time, disappointment will find us, and perhaps a thief or two. Moths will consume our finest wool. Those we love will let us down. Rust will nibble the shine from our baubles.

It’s easy to get stuck in wanting things to be the old way, wanting them never to be different. In the Portland Center Stage production of Snow Falling on Cedars, Ishmael (played by Vince Nappo), can’t move on with his reality. He can’t accept the pain of losing his first love, Hatsue (Olivia Oguma), a Japanese girl. She has made the difficult decision to end their relationship. For, unlike Ishmael, Hatsue can look beyond her pain and accept reality for what it is. In that war-torn land of the 1940’s, laden with prejudices, an interracial marriage would sever family ties and set them up for a life of isolation.

It was bittersweet to see Ishmael and Hatsue laughing and leaping as children (charmingly played by Nappo and Oguma) picking strawberries or digging for clams on their Pacific Northwest island home. They fell in love only to watch the threads of their lives unravel into separateness. It was a reality Ishmael could not accept.

Ishmael goes on to fight in the second world war, and in doing so, loses an arm. Life has betrayed him. He blames the Japanese. Most of all, whether it makes sense or not, he blames Hatsue.

Hatsue, however, makes the most of her reality. She marries the self-contained, quiet Kabuo, a Japanese man (Bruce Locke, in a striking performance). Although blessed by her family, this marriage takes place amid the degrading shambles of the internment camp where they have been forced to wait out the war years.

When we can’t accept reality, we blame others. We make excuses. Frozen in time, our hearts freeze as well. We end up hurting those around us.

When Hatsue’s husband is accused of murder, Ishmael holds crucial information that could alter the trial. A man crippled by pain, Ishmael has the power to cripple an entire family, causing his beloved Hatsue’s children to grow up fatherless. There are so many lessons, joys and wisdoms to be gained in this beautiful production based on the novel by David Guterson. I could almost smell the nubbly cedar branches as I sat in the quiet of the Gerding Theatre (a few rows behind Guterson, in fact). I could almost feel the rainy mist.

I love a story that gives me something to live by. Like the moss quickly greening our cabin roof in these winter northwest rains, life changes fast, breaking things down. Patience, I tell myself. Things will change. Internment camps have been torn down. New prejudices, unfortunately, have arisen. With love and patience and stories we will ride out every change.

Declarations for the Decade

Here's an exercise I shared with my Wildfire Women students last week. You've just completed a decade of life, the first decade of the 21st century. Think of it as a journey. You've acquired gifts, souvenirs, talismans. Perhaps you've picked up some useless baggage as well.

As you prepare to board your flight home, you must visit the customs counter and fill out a Customs Declaration Form.

So write a list or paragraph about what you've gained over the past ten years, materially, figuratively or spiritually. Be silly or solemn or any way you want.

From my own journey, in random order: One antique sofa, two sunburns, a trek in the Swiss Alps, a brother-in-law, two sisters-in-law, six backpack trips, one deathbed good-bye kiss, two driver's ed students, a nephew, an achilles injury, 100,000 miles on my odometer. And I find the list goes on.

Other questions on the Customs Declaration Form:
What is the estimated value of this item? and
What is the purpose of your journey?

Tell me, what do you have to declare?

Journaling Out Loud

When I began, I was self-conscious. It felt like I was shivering naked at the edge of a public swimming pool. I felt watched by "the voice." Even though it was my own voice!

And then I kept on, and created one of the most useful habits in my life: recording my thoughts with a voice recorder.

It's handy-wonderful when taking walks. Hey, I'm multi-tasking! But this is much nicer than talking on a cell phone. I'm pursuing ideas out loud, at a gentle pace, with only myself as audience.

You have to push yourself to find solutions. It's uncomfortable to start something new. But the problem of "not enough time to write," or "no time to journal," surfaces in the lives of writers day after day. Could it be the answers are simply all around us, but we aren't willing to try something new?

I challenge you to find a new way to fit writing into your routine. It might mean getting a voice recorder. Nothing fancy. They start at thirty bucks. It could be you already have one languishing in a drawer. And you don't need voice recognition software, or the ability to turn the audio files into text - that's just your brain procrastinating, making everything more elaborate and expensive. Most of the time, my "writings" stay in the recorder.

This bit of journaling sorts my life. It brings me to a wide open vista. I breathe cleanly. I can see for miles. I'm no longer worried about how I sound, or how I look. My voice becomes my best friend.

B-a-a-a-c-k

Yup. I'm back. And glad to be.

Blogging vs. Networking Energy.
There's something sneaky about social networking: it puts a face, or many faces (even cartoons and avatars) on "those people out there whom I want to talk to." Which is not a bad thing.

Until I lose my urge to communicate with "those people out there," whoever they are, my readers.

Social networking gives me the idea, the illusion really, that I'm communicating. It takes away my hunger to share with my reader - who in reality, is more or less unknowable, anonymous.

When I social network, I lose steam for the blog. I only have so much "cyber energy" to begin with! Journaling and writing get my best attention.

And so I apologize to my blog readers for my nearly month-long absence. Part of it was busy-ness. Part of it was letting my leftover energy go to Facebook. When I blog, I may not have many cute little faces to look at (except those of you who identified yourselves - thanks!), but I care about sharing with you.

Energy Leaks.
I once heard an author speak on her policy never to talk about what she's working on. Was it because she wanted to protect her ideas? No, she explained. It was because if she began speaking about her project, she would lose that energy that whispers at the base of your skull, at the tips of your typing fingers, Gotta tell someone . . . Once she'd gotten that story told, she would lose the need to write it.

So watch for energy leaks and drains. Be mindful of your goals - even small actions may contribute to something much bigger and more meaningful. At the same time, even small energy leaks can detract from your purpose.

What are some ways you preserve your energy for writing?

The End of the Christmas Wrap Roll

Rap about wrap.

Frozen Pond

...and what you have to say about it.

Spaghetti Sauce

Ragu or Hunts or Prego or Grandma's or your own recipe?

Mimes

Silent night.

For those of you who've just joined us, we're writing ten minutes a day until Christmas, a random prompt each day. Today the prompt is "mimes." You can start with, "I've always thought mimes were rather . . . "

Dashboard

Dash away.

Firehouse Dog

What's the story?

Parcel Post

Write the phrase, and see what follows.

Today's Prompt: Toothpaste Tube

I have given it everything I've got, guys. I'm flat as a strip of bacon. And I'm tired of having the two of you come into the bathroom every night and squeeze me differently. The Mrs., always from the top, the Mr., here or there where I least expect it, creating new lumps in my spine. And did you ever think to ask if I'm ticklish? I'm tired, I tell you.

I remember when I was fresh and minty and new, when you took off my cap, my metal was silvery and my insides were inside. Now there's a smeary blue-white ring around my metal nozzle. I've expanded in all the wrong places. My cap barely fits.

Really, I've had it. Go on and misuse another Tube of Toothpaste. You're not going to have me to squish around anymore; I'm outta here.

Toothpaste Tube

Ten minutes. Your thoughts.

Squeegee

Needs a story from you.

Mashed Potatoes

A lumpy, yummy prompt.

Piano Bench

...is worthy of your musing.

Spotted Cow

How many spots are up to you.

One Thing Great About Being Me

Well, what is it? Don't be shy. Write for ten.

Doctor Dolittle

If you could talk to the animals, which animal would you talk to first? What would be your first question?