April 29th, 2011
Common Roots Cafe
Minneapolis
Eating the best egg, cheese, and tomato on a sesame bagel in all of the world
Sun blasting (dare I say too warm) through the windows, warming my back as I write

Today in class we did a “perspective switching,” exercise, writing about our lives in third person.  The reason we do this is to stand outside of ourselves, widen our perspective, and cultivate compassion for ourselves and our journeys.  When we write about our lives as if we are standing outside of ourselves, we can view our lives from a different angle, illuminating parts of our lives that we may miss in the first-person “I” perspective.

One of the most common, endearing, and validating outcomes that arise from this exercise is a consensus of feeling “different.”  We all can remember feeling “different” from our peers and sometimes even from our families.  Isn’t it ironic that this feeling of separateness is actually the very thing we all share in common in this human journey of life?

One of the students in my class shared her writing with all of us.  I wish you could have been there to hear her words as she read.  Plucked the tears right out of my eyes.  I’m damn near still crying.  To preserve her anonymity, I will refer to her as Brave.  Because that is what she is…

She was the girl who didn’t mind getting in the mud.  She was the girl who would rather play with the boys and trucks than with girls and barbies.  She was the girl who wouldn’t want to come in from a long day outside.  She was the girl who didn’t care what other people thought.

She was the girl who started maturing early.  She was the girl who in middle school got her first boyfriend.  She was the girl that started seeing she was different than all the other girls.  She was the girl that was “overweight.” She was the girl who didn’t feel good enough.  She was the girl that used scissors and lighters to try and take the pain away.  She was the girl that wouldn’t stop losing weight.  She was the girl that only weighed 92 pounds at 14 years old.  She was the girl who was wanting to be skinny at any cost.

She was the girl who got pregnant at 15.  She was the girl who realized she had to give up skinny for her baby.  She was the girl who was told she was going to be a failure if she didn’t get rid of her baby.  She was the girl who proved everyone wrong.

She was the girl who struggled with school and having a baby.  She was the girl determined to be successful.  She was the girl who thought she wasn’t going to make it.

She IS the girl who is graduating on time.

She is the girl who proved everyone wrong!

I am grateful to “Brave” for sharing her story, for it is the within the stories we share that bring us together, that deepen our understanding of ourselves, and that bring us closer to personal and global healing.  Let us be brave and compassionate toward each other with whom we share our wild, wild journeys on this beautiful blue planet.

April 15, 2011
Common Roots Cafe
38 degrees, gray, wind that sneaks down your neck
empty coffee cup,
sitting cross-legged in a coffee shop along Lyndale Ave.
willing words from my head through my fingers

It is within the pages of our journals that we develop an art that cannot be taught in any classroom, an art that can only be practiced and honed.  It is an elusive art, rarely mentioned within the walls of writing classes, yet more important to the writing life than good grammar and spelling will ever be.  It is an art that is useful in any and all situations and endeavors outside of the classroom.

Eloquence derives from the Latin roots: ? (a shortened form of the preposition ex), meaning “out (of),” and loqui, a deponent verb meaning “to speak.” Thus, being eloquent is having the ability to project words fluidly out of the mouth and the ability to understand and command the language in such a way that one employs a graceful style coupled with the power of persuasion, or just being extremely graceful in the interpretation of communication.

When we write about our lives, about the experiences and emotions and people and hunches and dreams and memories and humdrum and pain and hope, we are grabbing words from clouds to give shape and form to the wordless emotional and spiritual life.  When we write about our lives, we are practicing the art of eloquence.

This is what happens when we write: we clunk along at first, trying to name the nameless, to get to the bedrock of who we are, of why we act the way we do, of why we feel the way we feel.  It’s not easy.  It’s not easy to pin down thoughts into words.

Yet.

When we continually meet ourselves at the page, our writing becomes fluid.  We develop the ability to name and understand.  Our writing begins to lift off the page, curling and swirling above and around our lives, and then, then, we begin to transcend who we are and grow into who we are meant to be.

Here’s to the art of eloquence.

Friday, April 8, 2011
Bob’s Java Hut
Minneapolis

Last night I was on my couch, crying, because I put effort toward toward my dreams, and I was fooling myself, thinking I have control over the outcome.  Silly me.  I only have control over my actions, and then I must let it go, and ride under the sunshine and breathe in the blue sky and be blessed.

This morning, I woke early, kissed my now six-year old baby boy sleeping next to me, and went into the Treehouse and stretched my body.  It felt good.  Isn’t that enough?  To kiss my son, to wake with my health, to know my family is healthy and safe.  Yes, it is enough.

This morning I received an email from a friend named Hope.  Her name and her message are no coincidence.  Her guru friend Gerald, Gerald of the Wise Quotes, said to her, and she wrote to me:

fear knocked at the door
faith answered
there was no one there

This morning I realized that I get caught up on reaching that goal that none of us really reaches if we are evolving, growing, reaching.  As long as there is sun and water, love and friendship, we will continue to grow toward our sun, grow into and beyond our dreams.  And I realized that what I am doing, writing, being, drinking tea, loving, and crossing the street safely, is enough.  Perfect.  A life.  Enough.

-

This morning, we wrote about our lives, beginning with the words, “I was the girl who…”  I love this from one of the students in my class:

I was the girl who hung out with the weird one-eyed girl.
I was the girl who wore four ponytails on top of my head.  -A.A.

So here is your writing exercise: Beginning with the words, “I was the girl (or boy) who…” tell the story of who you were as a little girl or boy.

For example, I was the girl who had the bad Dorothy Hamil haircut, who wore hand-me-down clothes and liked to play “explorer” along the side of the creek.  I was the girl who loved to ride my bike, no brakes, down the 57^7h street hill, through the stop sign at Beard Avenue below.  I was the girl who loved to run, to play tag with the boys at the park, the girl who was running without looking and ran into the drinking fountain and got a bloody nose.  I was the skinny girl who walked up to Don’s Superette each week and spent all of her allowance on candy….

Enjoy your week, enjoy this moment.  I leave you with a quote by the extraordinary Mary Oliver:

Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.