In November, I was hit by a delivery truck (while a pedestrian) in a parking lot. This mostly impacted my already shaky left shoulder, which has been frozen (Google “frozen shoulder” for more info.) thrice this decade.
My answer to this accident: begin Mandolin lessons, even if it hurts. Life is too short to not (at least) attempt learning my favorite instrument.
Last week, on the day after Christmas, my feet slipped out from underneath me while I was taking out our puppy (our 65-pound puppy) at 6 am. I fell and struck my upper back on the stairs leading out to our patio. I had the leash around my right wrist at the time. My fall jerked puppy June back and the leash pulled the tendon away from my right thumb. With the wind knocked out of me, I looked up at the stars on the patio (it was a warmish morning and I was in my pjs only–no jacket to insulate from the cold cement or the hard steps) and wondered what Louise Hay would say about the energy involved in these two upper back injuries, so close together. At that moment, my back hurt so much, my thumb injury hadn’t yet registered and would only be caught by the orthopedic doctor during the ensuing morning spent with my daughter at a local urgent care.
As I face towards 2020, I can hardly type and I can no longer practice my mandolin, on which I was already learning my second song and had been surprising myself with my dedication to practicing each day.
At the end of a very long Minnesota winter, I spent four days at a cottage on the North Shore of Lake Superior. I tend to wake early when my soul is near Lake Superior; she is my muse. On the third day of our stay, I rose at 4:45 a.m. with this phrase in my mind:
I do it to speak to the joy inside of me.
While brewing a cup of green jasmine tea, I watched a faint pinkish glow spread across the eastern horizon of the dark frozen lake.
Settled in with my tea, sitting in the quiet, I turned my rising mantra into a question:
What do I do that speaks to the joy inside of me?
Here are the answers that came to me that morning:
I willingly rise at pre-dawn, when I am called awake;
I brew my favorite green jasmine tea (repeat often);
I show up to places ripe with the energy of creation, whether it is to a pre-sunrise morning over a lake or showing up to my computer and/or notepad regularly to spin a story from my dreams, from reality, or (ideally) both;
I forgive myself when I fail, over and over to show up to the energy of creation. This business of showing up is simple, but not easy. I must continually forgive myself and begin again;
I listen, I pay attention, I notice where the flow is in my life. Even when my entire life seems stagnate and frozen like the lake, flow is always present somewhere, deep down;
I dress in warm clothing at dawn and brave the extreme cold to take photos;
Even on an 11-degree day, even when the frozen lake seems silent, seagulls still sing at dawn. So too, I listen for the songs rising in me, the ones on the surface and those residing in my deeper currents;
When taking a photo, I consciously determine what to keep inside the frame of the photo and what to keep out. Thoughts are like this too, thoughts come with choices; if we are paying attention, if we are being mindful, we can direct the flow of our thoughts;
When the rising sun becomes too powerful to continue watching across the lake, I turn 90 degrees and watch its light glint off frozen boulders of lake ice or turn 180 degrees and watch its light dancing against the cottage wall. So too in life, I’ve learned to turn, to turn 350 degrees if I need to. By shifting my perspective, I will undoubtedly find beauty even when I can’t walk forward or backward; and,
I allow the dishes to wait when my soul and spirit have things to say; I offer up my mind and full attention to taking my soul’s dictation. Taking time to really notice and observe the creation in front of (and inside) me will provide fuel for my days necessary “to do” list.
*Video from a December visit to the Great Lake, Superior, when she was not yet frozen.
Back home now, I embrace this list, this invocation to joyful living; I embrace this list with the awareness that it is by know means the definitive guide. I will revisit it often. Meanwhile, I’d love to hear about what things and/or actions speak to the joy in you.
Normally, by this point in the school week, I would have long since written the requisite blog post for my Immersion in Publishing class. This week, however, I’ve been dragging my heels. When I paused to assess the reason for this uncharacteristic procrastination, I realized it was because I was putting off an ending.
With this post, I am completing my last assignment for this class, which is the last class of my MFA program. The moment I post this on my blog, I will essentially be done with my MFA (aside from a few final responses to classmates and one last class this coming Thursday). As much as I’ve looked forward to (even counted down the weeks) to the ending of my MFA program, now that it is upon me, I feel myself hitting the brakes. Why is that? I think it’s because I know I’m entering the void: the void created by the absence of the MFA program.
The truest thing I’ve learned over the past three years of doing this MFA work is, I am a writer. Submitting pieces and receiving rejections is a part of the game. Having an essay or poem rejected is an ending (of the hope you had). It creates a different sort of void. To fill that void, I’ve learned to do one of three things: revise the piece (again), put it aside to mature (and then revise), or submit it immediately to another publication. This game is always half terror, half hope. But play I must; the act of writing is what I love.
And now, I step into the void. I promise myself, I’ll keep on writing.