Isn’t it?

Even staying still and not doing a thing.

Too much stillness=stagnation.

I would say that the big obvious risks are more dramatic, but the little ones have changed my existence and experiences just as significantly.

When I was young, I was instructed, and tried, to do all the ‘right’ things so I could insure that nothing bad would happen. The things that were ‘correct’ according to the world as my parents saw it, were not always easy for me, but I struggled to do them. I often became frustrated with myself for falling short or ‘failing’.

If ever I risked listening to myself and following my inner voice, I would feel both good and bad. Bad for not complying, good for not complying.

I did that enough to get used to it. Sort of. The more I do it, the easier it gets.

What I think I learned, is that I can trust my intuition. If something feels off, I know its not right for me. It might be right for another, which was another thing, because I was taught growing up that there was only one right way. Anything else was wrong.

I spent years doing everything ‘wrong’, because I had to. (I was sure I was wired wrong).

Wrong is an interesting absolute.

Life is luckily long enough to learn a thing or two about perspective…

I risked not listening to my parents, society, teachers, friends, religious leaders, anyone, when the direction felt off. I risked following through with things that resonated. (I listened enough to regret listening too).

Little things that added up to a somewhat feral heart. No apologizes now, looking back I was practicing courage. I didn’t know it at the time, but the big and little risks of listening to me incrementally helped me see me, and be me and know me better.

Which might be the whole point…at least for me because I spent so long caring about trying to care about things that weren’t. Along with what everyone thought about me and my wacky ideas.

Here’s what is actually wacky: caring about what anyone else thinks enough to not listen to one’s own self.

I was trained to care, even when I didn’t. I learned that I should for many wacky reasons. Stir some guilt into the equation and its a wonder I ever stopped.

Life is long enough sometimes…

is what I ask whenever I’m having a particularly rough moment.

Often I can’t see any good solution, but I never want to decide there isn’t one because I know there is a vast intelligence out there working out much bigger, much harder problems than I’m probably having.

I trust that time, combined with me letting go, will adjust perspectives and usually move things.

Asking that one question is helpful because it keeps me from starting on the all-is-lost-downward spiral that I may otherwise be about to fall into.

Sometimes, I even remember past issues that felt insurmountable, then gently played out into better than I could have imagined scenarios.

I have several examples, but here is one I’m experiencing right now:

Back on the east coast, many of the issues we endured previously have resolved and been replaced by good things. On this first day of May, I already have a fun new position teaching cooking class and meditation. My book is being sold in three separate locations, I dropped off paintings ready for hanging in a gallery, yoga is even better than it was, I just today got my keys to a studio/work space.

Its starting off in a completely different way than other years.

I had to let go of many things, many concepts, many beliefs. I had no choice but to let time do its magic. Plus I think I had lessons I needed to learn. How to care differently for one thing and how to disern what truly matters.

A lot can change as the years pass. Asking good questions is one way for me to find some perspective and remember there are possibilities I wouldn’t have thought of.

In most people’s world, not a big deal.

Plus the sun is out. No clouds just bright and clear.

How am I dressed? I’m quite sure it doesn’t matter since I have on my warmest gigantic coat.

Ugg boots are not warm enough, really how practical is suede when it rains, (this happens unpredictably often, even if its not mentioned in the forcast). My coat has a hood. This is very practical. Plus I have no shame.

Yesterday I was walking behind two girls without coats. My hood was zipped and buttoned around my neck. Hardy, these New Englanders weren’t bothered by the cold wind blowing relentlessly off the water. (Directly into our ears). Not even a little.

Me? I can’t look at the weather ap without feeling depressed. Walking in 36 degree windy weather isn’t my favorite. Neither is knowing its going to be like this for at least ten more days straight.

Thankfully its not going to rain every day.

Thankfully I just have to get myself to yoga.

Thankfully, I know I will acclimate.

Thankfully I made it through this whole long day…

Am I?

Its a more typical early Spring New England day, today. Aka: rain/wind/cold and gray

We had wacky summer weather for most of the week since we arrived.

Its only been ONE week! That alone is something to take in.

The gift?

I have yoga! Every day. My muscles are feeling it, but so is my brain!

Breath attached to movement is good for so many things.

Stress for one thing. Staying focused.

I am so much more chilled out than I was when I first got here.

My first full day was rough. I skipped yoga because the class was advanced and my ankle had just driven across the country. By bedtime I was completely overwhelmed. So much all at once and nothing real to do but worry about things that I truly don’t usually worry about. (No yoga for me for at least two weeks)

By 2 pm I was already depressed.

Six days of yoga and meditation and I am light. I’m calm. I’m fine.

The weather forcast is bleak, Morale is down. Problems are multiplying. News is unavoidable.

BUT

Im managing.

I’m regulating.

I’m okay.

Plus I know I’m lucky.

I didn’t go to yoga the first day back.

I wish I could bottle the affects if a good yoga class and pour that into my coffee.

It must be the combination of breathing consciously, moving, stretching, community and over all good vibes. I leave better than when I came in, every time . Not really distillable.

My life is used to yoga. Its not like going to the gym.

I think the gym is good, strength training is important, you just don’t get the complete whole mind/ body/ spirit treatment there and I seem to have gotten myself accustomed to having it.

Plus I find the yoga experience resets my mind when I get knocked out of alignment. If I need to regulate my nervous system, again yoga. Its a pretty well kept secret, that little magical reset.

I feel somewhat optimistic today. There will be fun. Joy is always around here, even if I have to search for it a little.

I’m okay. Two classes later and i really am.

Here’s a great question:

“…is it foolish to let what you love consume you?”

Asked and answered by Makenna Caras of Spinning Visions. If you haven’t read her blogs, I recommend you do. She can WRITE.

Her answer:

“Not if you know how to start again…”

I had a few artistic moments when I was young that helped me start to piece together some of who I was. Little, not super interesting glimpses of what would later be referred to as talent. Moments of unexplained obsession that only make sense in hindsight.

I was born loving anything art. No one, not even I, understood why aesthetics meant so much. What WAS that feeling that I overwelmed me?

In college, where I discovered that I could be competitive, I would do something amazing and then fear, that I could never do it again.

Which, I later learned, is a universal fear for creators. What if that one project is the best thing I’ll ever be capable of.

With art, excellence can happen unexpectedly, almost accidentally. Leaving the artist to wonder, (quietly to themself) ‘how did I do that!?’

Over the years I’ve done art that has made me feel that way. I’ve also created art that makes me cringe and question how I could call myself an artist at all.

I had to learn a few things about success and failure.

Because it happens that you can pour all your love into something, and fail miserably, epically,

publicly.

But if you know you can start again…

When I really know that something unbelievable could show up, in fact, probably will, if I just start again. Well

The real reason that ‘resting on our laurals’ or overthinking failure is problematic is the paralyzing fear it can cause.

I poured my self into my Beatrix picture book project. So much time and love, and utter consumption; I struggled for actual years over the possibility of failure.

In my heart, I know its a solid project, but the publishing world loomed scarily, my letter writing skills lacking…

Then

I did something that surprised me.

I started again. I came at the monster from a completely different angle. An angle I hadn’t thought of before.

I learned. I grew. I did what felt impossible only a few weeks ago.

Knowing you can start again.

Overcoming the crazy fear of starting again.

Knowing how to GET yourself to start again.

Actually starting again.

That is the answer.

(I have sent six submission letters. Six!)

I’ve been circling this querying process for a little while.

I’m not unfamiliar with most of it. I’ve attempted writing a query letter (several actually). I’ve researched agents. I’ve participated in workshops. I even signed up for the query tracker app.

I have had many thoughts and several conversations about publishing. Both traditional and self and even managed the Amazon KDP thing.

Tradional publishing is a long shot.

Even worse, it feels tedious and time consuming to research agents and fit a query letter to their very specific specifications. I have abandoned my efforts part way in, over and over again for no other reason than sheer intimidation. Blame it on my ADD, I have yet to complete this whole process!

Its very much a maze that I haven’t figured out yet. Find an agent who is open to picture books who isn’t closed to submissions, who I can find on the app, who accepts emails and attachments, but likely prefers sample spreads pasted in the body of a very limited word count email. My clerical and tech skills are always challenged.

The main warning you hear is: don’t get anything wrong. Prefection shows you did your research. anything less than perfection becomes trash. Agents are very busy and don’t have time to bother with writers who can’t follow directions.

Uh.

Is direction-following in my DNA?

I know people do this. It doesn’t even sound hard…but…well

I decided to attempt some low stakes practice. I wrote a picture book, story boarded it into the right amount of spreads and edited it down to under 600 words.

For whatever reason, throwing the manuscript I spent years working on, to the wolves of what sounds like impossible odds, is harder than floating this one I tossed off in one day.

So here goes nothing. According to research, my story about an octopus who is appreciative and curious has the right arch and the right beginning, middle and ending to fit traditional publishing.

Now lets see if I can follow through and complete the maze…

I also crashed this abstract figure drawing class.

I have been doing a little painting in between all the busy-ness of being here in in California. Smaller canvases.

Its funny how I sometimes stumble into things. (as if some unseen force knows me better than I know me)…

I randomly wound up in a class about color theory.

I have many reasons why NOT to go to a class about the color wheel. Luckily, I didn’t think, I just went.

And it was fun. Helpful.

After all these years in the business of art, I still need the reminder that this is who I am. There are days when I forget. At younger ages, I often gave up art. Decided to try something else, only to be dragged back by some serendipitous encounter. My first college major was not art. I have rebelled against my own nature often enough over the years.

Still, I’m open for a session where we are there to just paint.

Some days, I guess I’m meant to be painting…

My ankle feels better also. Probably from resting it. Quiet moments with paint, I’ll try to remember…

I have many things I’m working on at the moment, which I like. When I’m busy, I’m pretty happy.

As an artist, it’s important for me, to have at least one thing I’m working on that is my own.

After time off of this particular project, I decided to circle back. It happens. There are times I’ve nearly given up on something only to revisit it with fresh eyes, a new perspective and a jump in motivation. My first book is a good example. Many parts of getting it to completion were things I didnt know how to do. Lots of those things were hard and technical and I needed help with. When I came back, I was more ready to do the hard things.

So it is with this book. I worked so hard on making it into a perfect PDF. Its formatted, spelling and punctuation are flawless. The spreads all work and flow. But now I have to pour my efforts into query letters and selling. You know, the hard part.

I once heard an interview with a famous author who said she knew her book was good, she knew it would sell, but she also knew the hardest part would be to get it published. Several rejections later, which everyone knows is typical, she was right.

Page count, word count, hooks and precision. Here we go…

The story without cover or notes is 32 pages. Thats the right amount, but I have much to work on. So much.

for hours already this morning. I never know when a flow state is going to hijack me.

No complaints here.

I suddenly realized my feet are cold, actually I’m suddenly aware of my whole body feeling cold, probably a good idea to get dressed and have a hot cup of coffee.

This full body lack of awareness is a weird artistic super power. Drifting into this state is sheer brain peace. Its hard to describe, but trust me, it feels like a connectedness to a easier relm.

Its not cold outside. There is a Santa Ana today in California so I might just sit outside and warm up. Funny to be brought back by the sensation of cold on this spectacular morning.

When I bump out, its back to the cold ‘real’ world. Only. Which one is really ‘real’? What is truly cold? Checking the clock, its been three hours?

I’ve been thinking about peace again lately. This, not surprisingly, has once again worked its way into being a central theme for my paintings. These days when unpeaceful thoughts or conversations cross my path, my new habit is to look inward. And then like a subconscious nudge from I guess myself, it flows out onto paper or canvas. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I kind of enjoy that I am (surprised). as I generally would not have the conscious thought “Today I think I will paint a hand.” but this morning an open hand found its way into my painting, it kinda became my painting and I love it.

Its such a gesture of love and openness and gentle nurturing. I appreciate the little reminder that we are all more than what we think we are. We are powerful in deeper ways. Love is the strongest vibration. Love is safety and peace. Nurturance. It might be the perfect way to feel peace. Prehaps we could all enjoy a little nurturing now and again. I might offer that to myself since, well, I painted it…