The Daily Writes

Writing Is Torture

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This is what I told my writing coach today. I sat right down on her sofa and verbally unloaded all the latest information in my head about my life, about writing.

I told her, I am stuck, full-fledged writers block, and it is miserable. I try to write but can only get a few sentences down because I find myself so terribly boring. I don’t want to hear what’s going on in my head, I hear myself all the time and wish I could change the channel. I asked her, “Why would anyone want to be a writer. This must not be a choice, who would want to do this? Writing is torture.”

It made me realize that this desire to write that I’ve had as long as I can remember, since my fledgling work on Cheerios before I was 10, this is not a choice. This drive is built in, hardwired into my psyche. Because who would choose this?

My hope is that one day I can birth something interesting. That one day I’ll be able to get down on paper something that is befitting the decades of working and wishing. But I’m fairly certain that even if this happens I may still feel like a writer, shitty and hopeful at once.

Flying Erasers

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I attended a parochial school and had nuns as teachers through fifth grade. They wore habits and were very old school. But they provided me with a lifetime worth of stories and a good education.

My fourth grade teacher, Sister Geraldine, used to use a long wooden pointer to pound on your desk and get your attention. She could also spot dirt or something out of place from 10 feet away. She seemed superhuman, and scary.

In Fifth grade, Sister Antonia was friendly and less exacting, but she had the precision aim of a World Series pitcher. When she taught she often used the blackboard. With her back to the class she could sense if a student was misbehaving and with one swift move she’d grab an eraser, pivot and throw it at the offender. She was always dead on with her aim and to this day I can visualize the clouds of chalk dust that rose when the eraser hit its target.

In Sixth grade we did not have a nun, but I think it was that year that a nun came to our class to talk about her experience being ‘Called”. She shared with us how God had spoken to her and told her that serving for him was what he wanted her to do with her life. She talked about the convent and being a nun. I remember leaving that class for recess and wandering around, praying the whole time that God would not call me, I new at that young age that I would not be a good candidate.

I’m not Catholic now but I look back fondly on my 12 years of parochial school. The rules were strict but clear, the education was straightforward, and we learned manners. All things I value now.

Momentum

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I’ve been giving some thought to momentum. It seems that in my life, almost everything is easier to do with some momentum. A little energy is the momentum to get out for that morning jog. Writing regularly helps you write more. Eating healthy is easier when you’ve already started to do at least one little thing.

But there is a benefit in a dead stop too. I have struggled with various stops in my goals and efforts over the past few years. The daily list I have for myself, the trifecta of things that I know make me a happier me and in turn a better wife, mom, friend, businesswoman, this list is hard to check off.

There are three things on this list: exercise, write and meditate. None of these have to be done to the extreme, 20 – 30 minutes is enough to get me sweating and clear my mind. 10 – 20 minutes of writing keeps my practice up. And as little as five minutes of meditation will calm my very busy brain.

And yet, while I know these are things I want to do with my time on a daily basis, somehow I do not do them. I think about doing them and then…inaction. Nothing. I’m sure everyone has this type of procrastination in his or her lives at various times. I’d like to understand, see some type of study or research about why grown, disciplined individuals can have goals in their heads and not make any progress with them.

A blog post I recently read said that you have to write down your goals in order to act on them. If you don’t write them down, they are just thoughts. So today I started a list. Writing – Check.

I also woke up in the dark and with the help of my husband, bundled up my two-year-old son and went for a very hilly jog for 20 minutes. Exercise – Check.

Meditation, not likely, but I will take two out of three for today.

Pinata

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Today we invited a few little neighborhood friends over for a piñata party. My son’s caregiver brought him one for his birthday, filled with balls and goodies. It was nothing like the piñatas I remember from my childhood. This one was huge and came pre stuffed with the things that make kids feel happy.

As parents of mostly two year olds, we spend a lot of time telling our kids not to hit or grab. The piñata party was an experience in the opposite. One at a time we handed our children a plastic bat and then told them to go ahead, hit it. They all took turns, looking a little sheepish and happy. After a few rounds with no budge, the parents jumped in and I have to say, it felt good to haul off and hit something. I could see that I wasn’t the only grown up that felt that way.

When the piñata did finally burst open, little cars, plastic reptiles, all kinds of cool little things (including tiny Sun Maid raisin boxes) flew out onto the ground. There was a moment of silence while all the kids looked at the toys hesitantly. Then we told them, get in there and grab some of those toys. They did, although they all seemed pretty reserved.

The piñata was a very thoughtful gesture from our caregiver. So simple but so much fun and one of the most carefree things we’ve done with our little one lately. It made me determined to find more abandon in our days.

The Cleanse

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Earlier this week I started a cleanse program. Note, this was not a fast, but something I wanted to do to clean out the system a bit and hit the physical and mental reset button.

Working with my acupuncturist, I geared up and was ready with a diet of mostly veggies and lean meat, no booze, caffeine, sugar, grains, really just veggies and meat. For 21 days. My dear husband wanted to do it with me so we prepared together.

Combined with the restricted food, there were supplements, meant to support the body and assist with ridding oneself of toxins. All food based and not a big deal for 21 days.

We launched on Monday, feeling ready to go through the withdrawals, the irritation and come out on the other side feeling healthier. It all went well for most of the day, but around 4 pm I started to realize that things were headed south in a big way.

I can only liken the following five hours to the worst hangovers I’ve had in my life. I couldn’t stand or open my mouth for fear of being sick. The bathroom floor looked surprisingly comforting to me, I didn’t want to move much. The reaction was unexpected and violent and after it was over I aborted the cleanse mission, at least the supplement part.

Those who know me know I am crazy in the head about my body and weight. I keep it at bay most of the time and have improved over the years but it will always be an issue. While sick on Monday, I wondered about the lengths I would go to feel good about myself. And also wondered if age and maturity may mellow me out.

The good news is that I think I am smarter than I was five years ago. Still not normal but then again that is way too aspirational for someone like me.