Looking Back, Learning Something, Going Forward

It’s snowing–like the early days when I first moved here to Mount Shasta. The blanket of white is in place and now the snow is falling heavily, coating the tree limbs and sticking to the walkways, driveways and streets. I probably won’t go very far by car today…and if it’s icy, not on foot either. I’m fine with that, for today. I have plenty to do here.

Last week I shampooed the carpet in my dining/office/art studio–an all-in-one room. I was expecting company at the end of December and it felt like a good start towards cleaning and preparation. That and baking pies, cooking meals and freezing them. Then, I got the notice that my daughter’s family couldn’t make it. Their son, my grandson, has three mandatory basketball games scheduled over the Christmas holiday! I thought this was a time to gather family together! I wrote to the coach at the high school. I objected, to no avail. Apparently no one else has challenged this tradition in the sixteen years that it’s been happening.

So, change of plans. I am sifting through my writing to see if it might be of use in future projects. The thing is that I like my writing. I learn about myself when reading an early journal. I witness my predicament as a woman at a certain stage of life. I realize the links this writing has with other women across the planet. I appreciate when I write as if I’m a writer that someone might actually read. I have fun employing metaphors. In rereading something I wrote all those years ago, I recognize the passion I felt at the time.

Here’s an example that took me on a journey. I wrote in third person–it’s been noted how writing in third person gives a degree of security when sharing something that you deem to be very personal.

They were skimming photos of nieces and nephews that he’d known from their past life together. She barely flashed a photo of herself with her new boyfriend but it was enough to hit him like an icy splash of water in his face. It smacked his dream down–the dream of her coming home and resuming family life with him. She noticed his response and felt sad but not like she should fix it.

I wrote this on the heels of my divorce after thirty years of marriage. The divorce was a long-time coming. I chose not to leave while our two daughters were in school. And then I left, gradually, but finally.

A good friend of mine has said more than once that “When your spouse dies, you grieve this very big loss and society expects that of you. However, when you get a divorce, there is less recognition and compassion for this very big loss. ” That would include the loss of your ideals, your dreams, your mate, your growing old together, family gatherings where you can both be amicably present. There can be a sense of having failed and sometimes shame. it’s every bit as hard as death and usually as final.

I had every reason to leave. He played the part of an abusive alcoholic with occasional bouts of sentiment. I played the part of the battered wife who tried harder. We were young, nineteen. Both of us fresh from dysfunctional childhoods, both lacking a real sense of who we were and what we desired for our lives. These many years later, I feel the loss although less potently. I have reviewed time and again, contemplating if there was a point where we could have healed our marriage. I realize that I had sacrificed too much in trying to make it work. Both have to want it and both have to try. There is that lopsidedness that women employ to try to make it work. It’s got to be a mutual effort or not at all. My mom, in her final years, made a wish that I would have someone to grow old with. Her marriage of seventy years modeled the second class and disrespected position that she held within their home. I wouldn’t want that and I don’t think that I want to care for a man in his waning years.

Taking a walk has been a way to gain perspective when I’m facing a difficulty.

Her lower back ached like an old blues song, whiny and deeply felt. Each breath tugged at the ache; a yawn immobilized her. This one-hour walk which had seemed like a good idea, a positive way to begin the new day, had turned out to be a test of her endurance. Why this pain–this relentless sob of pain? It caused her to mark each step; no sudden uncalculated moves.

Reading this early writing, taken out of the context of my larger life, I recognize the struggle of someone (me) who was trying to find my way while clearing out the clutter of other’s ideas of who they think I should be. I had been, like my mother, the woman who endures and stays in a marriage no matter what. Then, I no longer was
that woman.

She wondered what her life had been about as she lay there on the sofa staring out the cottage window–the new poufy-valance curtains she’d sewn defying the ruggedness of her environment. The heating pad warmed the small of her back while the hot water bottle heated her stomach–she was a toasty sandwich in between. And there were no definitive answers. She was as dichotomous as the opposing genders, as sun is to moon, ocean to desert; wizened parent to defiant teenager. Everything she desired she didn’t desire. Grown up while staunchly rooted in a forbidden childhood. “This isn’t good for you!” “But I want it!” tantrums at times.

The story continues until it doesn’t.

“…Growth of a Purpose.”

” I began to have an idea of my life, not as the slow shaping of achievement to fit my preconceived purposes, but as the gradual discovery and growth of a purpose which I did not know.”

Joanna Field

Joanna Field was the pseudonym chosen by Marion Milner when publishing her books. Her first book, A Life of Ones’ Own (1934), was a chronicle of seven years of her life as she traced what made her happy and what she wanted from life.

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It seems that some people (how many do you know) appear to be born into their purpose while most others stumble along trying to discover their purpose. And even if you have a sense of your purpose, few people actually get to live from that knowledge. You have to consider “Can I get paid a living wage to live my purpose (or passion)?” Do you wait until retirement years to do what you love and answer the call that you always knew was there but didn’t quite fit in with your parents’ or society’s notion of what was an acceptable profession and/or would earn you a comfortable income?

Human beings on the whole are a study. And we continue to be studied and analyzed and categorized across the various genders, cultures, belief-systems, how we govern ourselves and you-name-it categories. And we study ourselves by other’s criteria typically in the form of self-judgment, self-criticism and self-denial. I have an acquaintance who mirrors this to me on occasion. She reflects on herself and her choices and her dissatisfactions. However, in her reflections she continually finds fault with herself for not landing on her specific purpose or getting to the root of her discontent. In self-criticism, she can’t rise to an occasion of celebrating who she is and what she brings to the table. “WHAT DID I COME HERE TO DO?” she wonders as she wanders through her life, estranged from herself.

I sometimes note that this friend has really good qualities of cultivating her friendships. Is that a purpose? Hmmm. Why not? Because you don’t make money at it or it’s not a profession or a career. However, it is an essential and prized quality, often overlooked as a life purpose. If she could look at who she is as a friend, what she brings to it, how she celebrates others, perhaps, within that there is a life purpose, one she could even make money at if she translates the qualities it takes to be a good friend into something marketable. I don’t like that word a lot. However, as women, and as a single woman, it is important to find what you love and then figure out how to make it into a deliverable service that others want to give you money for.

I tend to witness the “gradual discovery of a purpose” over the course of my life. Someone once suggested that you return to your childhood likes and recognize in that your purpose. What did you lean towards almost organically? If your dreams, hopes, desires, natural tendencies weren’t vandalized by parents or authority figures, perhaps in there you can see where you purpose lies. What I enjoyed doing always revolved around making things–learning to cook gourmet meals at a young age, crafts delivered in the mail monthly that my family enjoyed once I put them together. Playing school–teaching. If I rummage through those early years and into my young marriage, I can see the woman whose salvation lay in how I took the broken pieces and wove and rewove my life through making things, through writing, through painting.

Maybe my purpose has more to do with qualities of resilience through creativity, through art, through cooking and each one of these isn’t complete unless I find a way to share them with others. That’s a key piece of the purpose behind any gift that you may have…how do you share it with someone else. The benefit for me is in the process of creating. the completion of that process is in some way sharing it with others…whether through a blog, through an art exhibit, through a dining adventure.

Valuing our gifts in a world that doesn’t…that’s another topic entirely!

Goals

Goals can give a context within which I live my life.  For a long time, my main goal was survival.  Then, it morphed into the desire for wholeness.  Occasionally, I’ve had a weight loss goal.  Some new years, I’ve made a resolution or two.  How well I stuck to those resolutions varied.

Are you goal-driven?  Are you curiosity-driven?  Are you intuitively guided?  Something else?  All of the above?  Recently, I listened to a podcast by Elizabeth Gilbert and she admitted to being curiosity-driven…that following her curiosities is not only the way that she writes books, it is the way that she lives her life.  Interesting.  Adventurous for sure!

If I’m honest with myself, I would say that setting a goal and achieving it in material terms, hasn’t been my forte.  Recently, there has been a change in the circumstances of my life.  I am now responsible for the maintenance of my little cottage.  As a direct result of that change, I’ve started saving money.  It’s a high priority on the goals list that I jotted down on January 1st, 2020.

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I was thinking about the word aspiration as compared to the word, goal.  One definition of aspiration is “a desire or ambition for which someone is motivated to work very hard.”  To aspire to something isn’t quite the same as setting a goal.  Designing a plan to reach that to which you aspire implies that you have now set a goal.

I don’t consider that I’m goal-driven in the sense that our culture appears to–acquiring things.  I decide on what’s in front of me to do next.  I don’t follow my curiosity as much as I’d like to except when I am painting.  And that curiosity calls forth my intuition as a work of art evolves.

Anyway, following is this short video by Elizabeth Gilbert on purpose, passion and curiosity.  I would add that besides being curious, she is also goal-oriented.  She works with a publisher and has a contract to write a certain number of books.

 

Deepening

 

What helps us to deepen our writing?  We put something down on paper.  Is it superficial or honest only to a point?  Ask yourself, “Am I holding something back? Have I told the whole truth?”  Even if you are writing fiction, these questions apply…within our created fiction, we strive for plausibility.

One thing you soon discover about writing is that there’s almost always somewhere else to go with a piece.  There is something more to be said.  On the June 29th Blog, Invocation of the Muse, you were invited to write for twenty minutes from your list of inspiring topics.  Now what?

Deepening

WRITING PROMPT:

Review what you wrote.  Find one key sentence in your piece.  Let that sentence take you into a deeper truth or story.  Elaborate.  Remember that effective writing is found in the details.  Let the force of your passion continue to guide your writing.  For now, give yourself permission to belabor a point where you feel called to do so.  Write for another twenty minutes (at least).

Afterwards, read what you wrote aloud and sit for a moment with where your writing has taken you.

WRITING TIP:

Writing is not about controlling the words, it is about freeing them.  It is about freeing your voice to speak what it really wants to say.  PERMISSION.  How does it feel to have permission to speak freely?  Write down your response.  Depending on your life experiences, it could feel anywhere from exhilarating to normal to dangerous.  Every feeling is welcome here.

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Consider how else you might deepen your writing?  Any ideas?  Write them down and try them out.