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Be A Turtle

17 Tuesday Apr 2018

Posted by in Health and Wellness, Writing

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I recently had one of those experiences where someone says something, a simple statement, yet it takes hold in my mind and that simple statement blossoms into deep meaning.  I think I’ve mentioned T-Tapp before. I like its focus on linear alignment and I think it helps my back although, with the physical limitations from my car accident, it isn’t an exercise I can perform on a daily basis.  My limitations frustrate me and I have trouble both accepting and admitting to them.  Fortunately, others aren’t so reticent.  A few weeks ago, I was perusing the T-Tapp forum on Facebook and a woman talked about her experience with the exercise, stating she wasn’t well enough to practice every day but was “turtleing her way through”.  I saw what she was saying, laughed, and forgot about it.

Well, not really.  I began to see memes pop up on my Facebook page: pictures of turtles, tracks in sand, and messages like “any progress is forward progress” and I would think “turtling my way”.  During this time, I was finishing a book on the culture of the non-elite in Ancient Rome and Aesop was mentioned several times.  I already had Aesop on the brain and, as I saw these memes in my feed, I began to think about the Tortoise and the Hare fable.

Do you remember this tale?  If not, briefly: The hare was laughing at the tortoise for being slow and awkward.  The tortoise challenges the hare to a race and the hare, thinking it’s a good joke, accepts.  The hare takes off, leaving the tortoise far behind, but stops halfway to the goal to play, snack, and take a nap.  The hare sleeps longer than intended and, upon waking, finds the tortoise no where in sight.  The hare races towards the finish line and finds the tortoise already there, waiting.

I’ve always read this with my focus on the hare, thinking it was a lesson on the dangers of being a bully and being arrogant.  I re-read it with my focus on the tortoise and two things caught my attention.  One, the tortoise good-naturedly, issues the challenge.  To do so the tortoise had to be aware of the hare’s character but, more importantly, self-confident.  The hare making her the butt of jokes did nothing to shake her assurance.  Two, the translation of the fable I have says the tortoise “plodded on, unwavering and unresting, straight towards the goal”.

That struck me.

I have such expectations of myself.  I think that can be a good thing-drive is important-but it ceases to be good when my expectations are unreasonable.  I’ve pushed myself in every aspect of my life, unwilling to admit I am subject to the physical and mental limitations I have.  I should write more words per day.  I should be further along in my spiritual walk.  I should be in better shape.  While all of these are worthwhile goals, I tend not to take into account my car accident.  I hate thinking of myself as a disabled person, and I don’t really, but I can’t deny the injuries left me limited.  Accepting those limitations aren’t always easy but it helps to have a mantra.  Over the last few weeks, mine has become “be a turtle”.  I tell myself that on a daily basis.

Any progress is forward progress.  Even if it’s one word written, one step taken, one prayer, it’s one more than I had yesterday.  Like the tortoise in the fable, I move unwavering toward my goal, though I admit I do rest 🙂

I was given a gift for my 17th birthday; a turtle pendant.  I haven’t worn it a great deal but I’ve kept it in my jewelry box.  I’ve begun to wear it as a reminder to be a turtle but also as a reminder of the fullness of time.  It’s been one or two years since I turned 17 and, at that time, the pendant was just a gift from a friend.  Gratefully received and appreciated but just a gift.  Neither she nor I knew it would take on such meaning for me at this point in my life.  A simple gift.  A simple statement.  Not simple at all.

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My birthday gift.

 

 

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Celebrating Poetry

21 Wednesday Mar 2018

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Happy World Poetry Day, Everyone!

I love poetry and have been amassing a collection for years.  I can’t say I have a favorite poet but will say I’m partial to Edna St. Vincent Millay, Robert Frost, and re-read The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam on a regular basis.

To celebrate World Poetry Day, here’s one I was inspired to write after spending some time reading The Song of Solomon.  I haven’t been able to think of a title but here it is.

My pulse pounds in my ears

My blood rushes through my veins

My entire being is poised, waiting,

Anticipating the moment my Beloved comes.

My heart beats his name

The rhythm perfect, yet not

Missing something-poised, waiting,

Longing for the moment my Beloved comes.

My whole self strains

Hoping for the sound of his voice

My eyes are closed-poised, waiting,

Dreaming of the moment my Beloved comes.

My lips part

My breath stills

I am here poised, waiting,

Yearning for the moment my Beloved comes.

A Resolution I Can Keep

07 Sunday Jan 2018

Posted by in Writing

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The first week of 2018 is coming to a close.  How are everyone’s resolutions going?  I don’t usually make resolutions but, moving forward, I am resolved to be kinder to myself.  I tend to be hard on myself, demand a great deal of myself, and then fall into negative self-talk when I can’t meet my own expectations.  In 2018, I resolve to say positive things about myself and focus on what I believe is my calling.  Writing.

I didn’t always think writing was my calling and, by ‘calling’ I mean the one thing I loved to do above all other things.  Writing was a hobby, nothing more.  After all, there were many other worthwhile things I could be doing.  I liked reading, enjoyed words, and always wrote even if it was just in a journal but it was always the thing I did to keep myself sane while I pursued that worthwhile thing.  And yet, there was always an image in my head: an example a friend set for me that always had me asking myself, is this worthwhile thing something I love doing?

That friend is Tara Novak and the example she set for me occurred on a New York trip we had opportunity to take with our High School drama group.  Tara is an immensely talented violinist and she brought her violin on that trip.  In the early morning, Tara was practicing her violin in the stairwell of the hotel our group was staying in.  That has always stayed with me.  With her talent, no doubt Tara could have taken a few days off practice and no one would have ever noticed.  She didn’t.  No matter what others might think or say, Tara was running scales before breakfast, honing her craft.  I never asked her if she did so because she loved violin too much not to play: whatever her reasons, her example is the standard I have measured my choices against.

I have taken enjoyment in many things and, perhaps they were worthwhile, but none of them was the thing I’d do in a hotel stairwell.  The only thing I’ve never wanted to take a day off from and, yes, would do in a hotel stairwell, is writing.  I love words.  Reading them, writing them, finding that one word that perfectly expresses what I want to say.  Words are my passion.

Pursuing that passion isn’t always easy.  I have some physical limitations from the car accident that can make writing difficult and I am not always nice to myself when I come up against those limitations.  I tell myself if I was a better writer, more talented, I would be able to write less drafts and my book would not be taking so long to complete.  I find Tara’s example a comfort in these times.  She wasn’t in that stairwell playing Bach’s Chaconne from Partita in D Minor (though she could have done if  she wanted!): she was playing scales.  I like to think of my writing that way.  I have thousands of words and, even though they aren’t yet honed into a manuscript, each word is like a note in a musical scale: the necessary practice for the manuscript that will come.  I remember Tara in a hotel stairwell on those days writing doesn’t go well or I’m especially tired.  She reminds me to never give up and I am able to show myself kindness.  I will always be grateful.

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Not a stairwell but I did recently get some work done in a hotel room. It came equipped with a lounge chair.

If you’re interested in how practice truly does make perfect, you can find Tara Novak on Facebook and Twitter as well as her website.

I Have Made Dirt!

07 Saturday Oct 2017

Posted by in RW Lifestyle

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Hello, Everyone!  It looks as if all my posts from Vegan Wayfarer were uploaded here with no problems.  I should probably fix some of my older photos but I know I probably won’t.  Chalk it up to learning and move on, right?

I’ve been adjusting to a new schedule at a new job and working on my manuscript so haven’t been posting here.  It turns out blogs don’t write themselves and do not benefit from being ignored.  However, you know what does benefit from being ignored?  Compost.  (How’s that for a segue?!)

I admit it, I began composting with the best of intentions but then got busy and let it fall by the wayside.  Still, the compost bin continued to do its thing and, when I checked it earlier in the year, it was full of lovely black soil; fragrant, rich, intoxicating.  There’s something thrilling about vegetable scraps and shredded paper (printed with vegetable inks) turning from a hot mess-literally and figuratively-into nutrient rich soil just waiting to be used for planting.

My composting adventure didn’t start out all that well.  I ordered a compact bin I figured I could handle from Home Depot and, when it arrived, assembled it in my front room before carrying it outside to its home by my fence.  It’s dual chambered; the concept being I can add scraps to one side while the compost cooks in the other.

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My compost bin and a tub of compost ready to use.

I began adding scraps from my cooking processes and they began to ferment inside the bin.  Then came the smell.  I always used to watch “Labyrinth” and laugh at the bog of eternal stench, then I began composting and it was no longer funny.  Before my neighbors could camp out on my front lawn with pitchforks and torches, and before my family could happily toss me to them, I went to Google.  Google educated me in such terms as “green” and “brown” materials necessary for a healthy compost bin.  My compost was all green with no brown, a situation I quickly remedied.  The smell abated and the crisis was averted.

Even left forgotten, the compost bin did its thing and I ended up with half a bin of lovely, lovely black dirt.  It smells like the richest potting soil and inspires me to use words like “loam” and “worm casings”.  I let it get wet when it rains and stir it with a pitchfork, an act that makes me feel like I’m already a gardener.  I can’t wait to use it.  I’m going to try my hand at planting herbs first.  I’m having trouble finding bulk herbs in my local grocery stores and I wince at paying 4 bucks for six leaves of mint.  I’d also like to try my hand at growing tomatoes though I’m aware they don’t do so well in Colorado.  Once I’ve nailed down sprouting and growing a few things, I’ve got an old fort in the backyard I’d like to use for gardening.  There are already uprights for beans and places to hang pots.  But first things first.  No worries.  I’ve purchased a book on gardening in small spaces and have the fall and winter months to educate myself.  Next stop, seedlings.

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I was going to try to get a picture of the entire fort but the wasps had laid claim to the place I was standing. I let them have it. For now.

Developing My Writing Brain

21 Sunday May 2017

Posted by in Book Reviews, Writing

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I would love to be a word genius: stories spilling out of my brain with no need for editing or grammar checks.  That’s not how my writing process goes, unfortunately, so I do a great deal of reading.  Reading is my favorite thing and, among the amazing fiction I read for fun and the history I read for research (and fun), I also read about writing.  Some of the books I read are craft and others are writers writing about writing.  Most I read and put back on my shelf but I just finished a book I thought worthy of mention: Fire Up Your Writing Brain by Susan Reynolds.

This book doesn’t cover craft-not really.  Rather, the book contains tips and tricks derived from neuroscience to take what I already know as a writer and make it work more efficiently.  This is a book I’ll have to study and my favorite part were the quotes included from different writers.

There were three things I read on my first pass through this book that stayed with me:

First, a little blurb about Mark Zuckerberg was included stating he buys multiples of the same shirt in order to minimize how many decisions he makes in a day.  He’s quoted as saying; “There’s a bunch of psychological theory that even making small decisions about what you wear, what you eat for breakfast, etc., can make you tired.” (Fire Up Your Writing Brain, page 162).  The TBI I sustained in my car accident years ago means it’s easy for my brain to get overwhelmed.  Planning my meals, multi-tasking at my job, researching, writing my manuscript, posting to my blogs…it can get difficult for me to keep it all straight.  This quote struck me.  I’ve already been looking for ways to simplify my life and reading this has caused me to make doing so a priority.

Two, no one is perfect and yet I keep expecting my writing to be so.  The section entitled “Your Expectations Are Too High” on page 194 spoke to me.  In it, Ms. Reynolds states “The best advice anyone can give inexperienced writers is to write a first draft as quickly as possible, as good books are not written, but rewritten and rewritten and rewritten.”  This is something I’ve heard many times from many sources but perhaps, this time, I was ready not just to hear it but take it to heart.  I finished a first draft years ago: all 611 pages of it.  It’s been whittling and paring and cutting that mass of research and character background into something more readable that’s been a problem.  I have difficulty not tweaking this, re-writing that, what if this, and would it be better if… What Ms. Reynolds’ book is helped me realize is it’s still too early in my process to expect perfection.  I need to turn off my editing brain for a while. Easier said than done but I’m pushing through.

Three, it’s important to have a writing space.  I’m fortunate to have an office downstairs where all my books are neatly on their shelves, I have a desk, a comfy chair, and a place to put my feet.  While simplifying my life, parts of my office have become a dump site for papers I have to scan before I can shred, blank cards I have yet to fill out and send to friends and family, and other detritus I’m can’t throw away before I look at it.  Writing in this room feels different than writing anywhere else in the house.  Because of my books?  I can’t really say.  However, I need to get the room organized so I can work there without feeling anxious about mess.  This too is now a priority.

I gave this book 5 stars on Goodreads.  The information in it is bound to be more useful than I yet realize.  This is one that definitely goes on my bookshelf; just as soon as I get the shelf dusted and sorted.