Recovering a Sense of Power

Week three of The Artist's Way was a difficult one for me.

Many of the weekly tasks had me spend time reflecting on my childhood and I have to admit, it was uncomfortable.  Don't get me wrong, my childhood was basically a normal, happy time.  I played make-believe for endless hours with my friends, laughed with my family as we played card games around the kitchen table, and discovered a love of reading.  I remember drawing copies of the sketches from the Art Institute ads in my mom's Reader's Digest magazines (you, too, can be an artist!), figuring out song melodies by ear on my little keyboard, and doing endless paint by number pictures.

I have many happy memories from my childhood.

But, I found myself stumped when asked to list five traits I liked about myself as a child.  I could only think of one.  What was up with that?  I really struggled with this and needed an extra day to complete the task of naming five.  I couldn't think of a single thing that I just listed in the previous paragraph.  It is so strange, I was basically a happy child, but had a real issue complementing myself.

Instead, all that came flooding into my head were the embarrassing, shame filled moments.

After my own consideration, along with some welcome insight from my daughter, I realized I was blocking my embarrassing memories at the expense of my creative self.  Kait paraphrased Brene' Brown who observed that if you "numb the dark, you numb the light."  When I buried my negative memories I was also burying my creative side.

I am not going to detail my embarrassing moments here.

Those are for me and my morning pages to hash out.  This week, however, helped me realize the importance of writing in my morning pages every day.  Not only did all the shameful memories pour out on to the paper, that process helped me let go of them.  I was able to took back with adult eyes and realize that I can give my childhood self some grace.  Funny how looking back without the shadows, I now realize I was creative and artistic as a child, I just forgot.

I can move on.

It is not an easy thing to do, forgive yourself for being a child who does childlike things, especially when you remember the negative reactions of others.  Whether it be a friends laughter at your expense or an adult's reprimand when you didn't realize what you did was considered wrong, it is important to forgive and let go of the negative memories.

I don't want to numb my creativity any longer.

Me and the neighborhood kids (I'm the tall one!)

Recovering a Sense of Identity

How do we recover our sense of identity?

For starters, we need to let go of our secret doubts.  You know, the little voice in your head who says:  That's not very good.  You are making a fool of yourself.  Grow up.  You will never have THAT kind of talent.  Who do you think you are?  Why even bother.  You don't have any spare time the way it is and now you want to do more?  Art is a waste of time, you should be doing something productive.  You are too old to be a beginning artist or writer or singer or musician or anything else creative.  What are you thinking?

Wow.  Where does all that negativity come from?

As young children we think we can do anything.  Each new discovery is exciting.  We want to try it all.  Have you ever heard a child say no to finger painting because they might not be good enough?  Or say no to banging on the piano because they can't read music?  Or fail to break into dance or sing along when their favorite song comes on?  To a child, no is the most dreaded word they could imagine.

How did we move from I'll try it all to Oh no, I couldn't?

I was a shy, gawky, little girl with thick glasses and buck teeth.  I was taller than most kids in my class, skinny as a rail, and wore my sister's hand me down clothes.  In the winter I stuffed my feet into bread bags that lined the inside of my boots, wore pants under my dresses to keep my legs warm and hoped I wouldn't outgrow my shoes until the new pair was purchased in the fall.  I walked to school every day.  If I ever ate at school because it was too cold to walk home, I had a bagged lunch.  

My family was somewhat poor, but I was pretty smart.

I was a top reader, good at math, and craved approval.  In my child's mind, when teachers realize you are book smart, you don't think they care about your artistic side.  I vaguely remember music and art classes, but that was not where I was encouraged.  I was encouraged to enter writing and speech contests, which I perceived as intellectual pursuits, not creative ones.  I don't really remember artistic creativity being a priority in grade school.  My school emphasized the three R's (Reading, wRiting, and aRithmatic).  

Move on to junior high school.

In junior high we were encouraged to take choir, band and/or an art class.  I took choir and art.  I got good grades in both, but don't remember anyone ever actively encouraging me in my more artistic endeavors.  I joined the Forensics team at a friends suggestion and enjoyed the one act plays and other presentations we did, but felt it was just another after school program for the "smart kids" instead of realizing how much this program actually nourished creativity. 

And then we enter high school.

I had to choose - art classes or choir.  I could not do both.  (To be fair, I don't think this was a school rule, but a rule I may have placed on myself.)   I was expected to go to college one day so naturally I had to take college prep courses.  So, for my one creative outlet, I chose music.  I enjoyed the class and our concerts, but the music teacher never really encouraged me as a singer.  I wasn't selected to be part of the Chamber Choir, I was relegated to the chorus in our high school musicals, and I enviously watched as my friends seemed to be recognized and encouraged by their art teacher.  

They were part of a secret society I was not invited to join.

So, I continued to sing in the background, virtually ignored my artistic yearnings, and took up writing for the yearbook while continuing to do readings as part of Forensics.  And even then, going to state as part of the Forensics team, I never felt I was as good as the other students I would listen to.  They were the true talents, not me.  I was just there because they needed someone with good grades to fill a spot.  As a senior, I was an editor of the yearbook, but again, thought I was only there because I got good grades.  I did copy and helped with layouts - the creative kids did photography.

After that, I just quit trying to do anything creative.

Those secret doubts have deep roots.  We need to consider people most important to us, both in our past and present.  The ones who helped determine what was expected from us, whether they realized it or not.  The people who frowned when our creativity didn't match their subjective standards.  The loved ones who kindly nudged us into a sensible major in college so we could have a productive career.  The people closest to us who neglect to positively recognize our efforts to live a creative life, maybe because they have their own fears to battle.

Insecurity is a bear to beat.  But, I am trying...

Thank you for the Music

Dear Pastor Jeff,

Many years ago, you turned around one Sunday morning, looked me in the eye, and asked if I wanted to be part of a new worship band you were putting together.  Why, I will never know.  You saw, or maybe heard, something you knew needed nurturing, encouragement, and community.

With my heart pounding wildly, I said yes.

The years I spent singing gospel music with the worship band at Glen Cary were some of the happiest I remember.  I loved that group of people - you, Carol B, Jim, Roy, John, Becky and Lisa.  We sang gospel songs, improvised harmonies, pushed out of our comfort zones, sang solo verses and duets, and I didn't want our time together to end.

I never thought I was good enough to sing in front of other people.

I never thought I was good enough when my friends and family asked me to sing at their weddings, when I sang solos in church musicals as a teen, even when someone would give me a complement on my singing.  I wanted to be confident in my talents, as good as people told me I was, but I never really believed it.  You told me it didn't matter what I thought, that music came from the heart.  No one expected perfection.  If we were loving what we did and had fun doing it, people would respond.

You were right.

I had fun and made special friendships.  I gained confidence. I wanted to sing and sing and sing.  We made a couple of CD's to share with family and friends.  Then one day you left and the band was never the same.  We lost that creative man who brought us new music, who experimented, who pushed us to try new things.  We lost our heart and soul.  And I pretty much stopped singing.

Now, I volunteer to cantor on occasion, but it is not the same.

I miss that gospel music we all used to sing.  I can still hear your riffs and improvisations, your encouragement and experimentation, even though you are no longer here.  I keep hoping another opportunity to sing gospel will pop up, one that will bring the same joy.  And it might.  I think I just need to pay attention, keep my heart open and be willing to say yes.

Thank you for everything,

Julie

Part of the process of rediscovering my creativity is recognizing those people who encouraged my insecure, budding artist.  Week one suggested writing a thank you note and mailing it to one of those people.  Since Pastor Jeff is now singing with that Gospel Band in Heaven (and Roy, no doubt), this will have to suffice.  

While I am not writing them a letter, I do have two other people I would like to recognize.  A special thanks to Mrs. Mushinski (sorry for the spelling, it is probably wrong), my sixth grade teacher, for encouraging us to think outside the box and be creative in all of our assignments.  And thank you to Mr. Richardson, who encouraged me to write and be part of the yearbook.  As you once told me, not everyone can say they published a book, but I could.

My Inner Artist - Morning Pages

My daughter gave me a book for Christmas called The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron.  

I began to skim the introduction and realized this was not just a book to read casually, but a book on how to recover your lost creativity,  Along with insights by the author, it is a workbook full of daily and weekly tasks.  Some tasks, like the morning pages, are to be done consistently every day throughout the entire twelve week process.  Others are to be done once a week, and still others are tasks to be completed as part of a specific chapter.  At the end of each chapter there is a check-in to help determine how things went that week.  Instead of an easy read, this was going to be work!

Work that I decided to commit myself to do.

Over the next twelve weeks, you can follow me as I enter this journey to recover my creativity.  I will try to explain what I am doing and why.  My plan is to  highlight one aspect of my journey each week.  Part of the process is to learn to let go of my rigid habits and way of thinking, embracing the more creative side of me.  So, don't be upset if this initial plan changes.  I have a feeling evolution is inevitable!

To begin at the beginning, what are morning pages and why are they important?

Every day before I get on to my usual tasks, I am to hand write three pages of whatever comes into my head.  In preparation, I purchased a pretty notebook, consciously choosing the smaller steno size for this purpose.  As I grumbled through my first day of writing, though, I realized I chose a college ruled notebook instead of wide ruled.  Smaller pages, but no less writing.  Guess the joke was on me.

My first few days I grumbled a lot in my morning pages.

Funny thing about that grumbling, it made the rest of my day better.  I guess my morning pages got my complaints out of the way...  Why do I have to get up when it is still dark?  How can I write these pages without having to get up a half hour earlier? I have to get up too early!  I hate getting up when it is still dark...

Who knew I had so much negativity?

I think the grumbling is part of the process.  Once I got that out of the way, I found my next days pages were not so focused on the negative.  I found myself rambling on and on.  Some thoughts were important but most were seemingly insignificant.  There was no rhyme or reason to what I wrote, no plan.  Which, now that I think about it, is probably part of the rebirth process.

I am such a planner that writing random thoughts in no particular order is totally out of character.

Some days, I was using my morning pages to unconsciously work out problems.  My pages are giving me insight into what I really want...what I enjoy...and what I don't.  Other days I started out writing about a specific memory, but it quickly evolved into something totally different.  Part of the rules of morning pages is not to re-read what you wrote (at least not until the book instructs you to).  So, there is no way to go back and second guess my previous days pages.  Or to be embarrassed by what I wrote.  Probably a good thing.

Surprisingly, I have been consistent about writing my morning pages each day.

The pages force me to think ahead: get my lunch packed the night before, decide what I will wear before I stare down the clothes in my closet, and get out of bed early enough to write without worrying I will be late for work or whatever thing I am committed to do.  They clear my head and get me ready to start a new day without endless worries bogging me down.  Even if I start with nothing in mind I always manage to fill three pages.  My daughter thinks I sound more positive when we talk.  And, I actually feel more upbeat than I have in a long time.

I guess I am off to a good start!