Steward your story.

I’m working on telling a significant part of my story. And, in writing out certain moments and dialogs, I’ve found myself wishing I’d lived them differently. Wishing for more wit. For more color. For more bravery.

In reflecting and writing about this period of my life, I’m keenly aware of how I’m choosing to live out the rest of it—the todays and tomorrows of my story. I’m starting to live my “now” with a bit more wit and color and bravery. I can’t rewrite the past, but I can have a serious say in how today and tomorrow will be written.

I don’t know if you’ve ever taken a hard look at pivotal moments of your life, but it’s a great exercise is self awareness. I’d recommend it to anyone.

Because, at the end of those tough chapters, when the plot has reached its resolution, you will see that your “ever after” really is more happy than you thought.

If you were asked to write about a pivotal, life-changing season of your life, which one would you choose?

Snapshot 01122012 : An honest look at an honest moment.

I rolled out of bed two hours late, knowing I was not going to get it done today. “You are a failure of a human being.”

Those words flew through my brain faster than I could stop them. Ouch. What a low blow, self. I could hear the announcers calling the shot: “Mean-Mandy is picking a fight with herself and it looks like she’s winning.”

Alright, where are my boxing gloves? And where’s the coffee?

He was in the kitchen, all kind-eyed and studying my face. My inner fight had actually been going for a few days now. He was even the victim of a sucker-punch or two. I didn’t want to say the wrong things anymore, so I planned to behave myself during our Family Devotion Time.

Coffee warm, I let the couch hold me up beside him. We talked. We read Buechner’s words about guilt, and my mind wandered through the INTJ personality description that says we expect too much out of other people.

Maybe sometimes I expect too much of myself as well.

I tuck my toes under his leg and I tell him that I’m frustrated. No, I’m not frustrated, I’m just not able to think straight today and I don’t like this because I planned on doing some serious writing and I can’t make my brain move in a straight line for more than three minutes so there’s no way I can spend a handful of hours chipping away at those 4,000 words.

I’d already faced a sad day this week. And a tired day. And a frustrated day. Now I’m in a muddy day and I didn’t plan for this and I’m having a hard time sleeping and I’m trying to work with myself but I’m supposed to be writing.

“You don’t have to write.” He reminds me, “Not today. You can work on your process. You have a process for down days and frustrating days, and now you can make a process for muddy-brain days.”

I groan. If things moved faster in my head, I’d launch into all the reasons why I don’t want to do this.

“Everybody has limitations.”

His careful words made me want to cry.

His advice: “Do things that don’t require much mental exercise. No intense writing sessions. Instead, try walking on the beach for some Vitamin D, or paint journals, or have some time with friends, or do some house-work, or some photography. Do the things you want to do but can’t do because you want to spend your time writing. Today you get to do those things and it can be a great day and you can get stuff done!”

So I wrote this post two hours later as an update on how things are going. Except I refused to tell you how little I’d accomplished in those past two hours. Instead, I thought real hard about forgetting the to-do list or the clock on the wall. I gave myself permission to wander through this muddy-brain day and as an exercise in self-exploration.

And I reminded myself that when I was little, my favorite thing to do was play in the puddles and make mud pies.

Where do you want to go before you go?

This was prompted by the Trust30 writing challenge based on Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Self-Reliance.” The purpose was to spend 30 days discovering what really matters to you. This post is quite the example of how that plays out, written as the words hit my brain. Just watch the process:

This time they asked me what’s one place I want to go before I die. My answer comes easily.

I want to go to Paris.

“What will you do to get there?”

My answer comes with much difficulty. I don’t think I ever will. I don’t. Drew has already been. Drew has seen the world from the eyes of a young brilliant college student on summer-abroad-trips. My eyes will probably never have a second pair of eyes as travel companions, since his aren’t wanting for that experience anymore.

Maybe I’ve learned that big dreams turn into big disappointments, so I just brush this aside. I see it as less-than-likely, so I dismiss it. But to stand on those roads. To smell that air. To see those sights. To hear those sounds. I’ve always wanted to go. Always.

And then there’s the finances of it all. This is always top concern: how would I/we pay for it? The truth is, if we had that kind of cash laying around, I’d probably apply it to some legit studio time and get some more songs out there in decent form. With all this writing, I seriously need to do some recording.

So Paris is out.

Recording-studio is in.

Now I’ve just gotta figure out how to make this recording situation happen… hmmmmm

What about you? Where do you want to go before you go?

Is consistency *that* important??

from 750words.comThere’s this really neat daily writing website out there, called 750words.com, and I signed up about six weeks ago to be more consistent in my morning writing routine.

And so it began. I’m great for 3ish days, then I slack off for a billion. Then hop back on the wagon for a few days, as is indicated by the Xs on the pic up there.

The intent is good. My intent. The site’s intent. Everybody’s intent. But, the follow-through is bad bad bad.

And I’m holding this up beside everything I’ve been reading about how to better sharpen and command our creativity. And, do you know what they all say? And, they do. They ALL say this:

They all say write every day. Create every day. Do this every day.

Every day.

Every day.

Every day.

It’s rolling through my brain like an echo (not the good kind). Like one of those haunted house creatures that are laughing at me.

Every day.

Maybe I’m crazy, but I consider myself a fairly serious amateur artist. Well, I did, until I checked in at my 750words.com page and the laughing echo started in my head and I had to ask: if I can’t even get the every day part of this down how am I ever going to really do this?

I’m just being honest here.

I mean, seriously, is consistency that important?

Maybe we should start a writing site called “2-to-500words.com”…. catchy? eh?

My last fifteen minutes…

She said that I should set a timer and write the story of my last fifteen minutes of life.

So I did, and I nearly cried my way through it:

I get on the phone & call Drew. He doesn’t answer because he’s in small group. That’s ok. He knows everything that’s important anyway. But I tell him that I love him. And I tell him to either find another woman or adopt those kids or both… He deserves to love and be loved. And I wish it could still be me. But it can’t. And I’m sorry.

2 minutes.

And then I call my parents. And tell them that I love them. And that I’m proud that they are my parents and that I want them to stay in touch with Drew if they can. Even if he marries someone else. And, well, I probably call their home phone since they’re both at work (this is my last 15 minutes and I’m writing this as I see it). I leave them a message together. It would take too long to call each of them separately and there are a few more people I need to communicate with. This makes me feel like a horrible person. But it might be true.

4 minutes

Then I get on the email — cheap, I know. But I send an email to all the people that really matter to me. It has to be email because it’s fastest. And I can copy/paste and send to enough people at once.

This is what I say:

If you’re getting this, it’s because I care very much about you. My time is short. I apologize for this not being more personal. Just know that in the last minutes of my last hour, you were on my mind. Thank you for your friendship, love, and support. My life was made better because of you. It was made pretty near perfect, actually. You made it a better place. And I’m glad I knew you. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I didn’t want to spend time with you. My introversion got in the way of relationships sometimes. I know that. But I want you to know that you are massively important to me. And that’s a big deal. So thank you. And, please, be yourself. That’s the greatest gift you can give the world. Because you were a gift to the world when you were born.

Ok. Then I hit send. Or at least try to. By now my hands are probably shaking. Even though it’s only been 8 minutes.

I’ve got 7 more to go.

What am I leaving behind? What do I have to show for myself? My songs. What is going to happen to my songs? Will Drew sort through them? Should I make a list of my favorites for them to pay attention to? Will anybody care? Or will the songs end up in the digital dusty cardboard box of my computer, just sitting there untouched. Probably. Whatever. I did what I could. And nothing happened. It’s over.

Who else? My nieces and nephews… Ok. I need to get something to them. I probably write this down on paper–whatever is around me. And I write it fast. And I tell them to obey their parents, because they have good parents and they love them. And I tell them that I love them and think they are amazing and my world and the whole world is better because of them. And I tell them that I really do believe they can do anything they want to do. And that’s not just a cliche (and one day, when they’re older, they’ll understand what cliche means) and that they have amazing personalities and can really do some good in this world. And I tell them to live it out as best they can.

I probably should type this out. Because writing takes too long. Change of plans. I type it.

4 minutes left.

This is the part where things get ugly. I review my life and my faith and wonder what’s about to happen. (Who wouldn’t?) It’s the whole life-flashing-before-my-eyes experience. Sheesh. I didn’t do some stuff right. I did other stuff ok. And I did great at a few other things. I need to pray. So I do. And I get all “I’m sorry” on God. And then, man, it all gets quiet on the inside. Not the peaceful all-is-well kind of quiet, but the panicky quiet. You know. When there’s too much in your brain and your body feels like it’s going to explode. And I brace myself.

2 minutes.

I sit with arms folded across my body, like I am right now. And I stare blankly into the future, or end, or crossing, just like I am staring at this blinking cursor on my computer screen right now. And I wonder what’s about to happen.