For those who get excited about such things, you might want to know that Anne of Green Gables is turning one-hundred this summer. Lucy Maud Montgomery first published her much-loved story in 1908, and a century later, generations of us still dote on her.
Like many teenage girls, at thirteen I discovered a heroine who had red hair and a fondness for breaking slates over boys’ heads. The adventures of Anne Shirley– all 8 books and 7 hours of VHS footage– became my master narrative of early teenage existence. I dreamed of going to a ball in the world’s puffiest sleeves. I wanted my own Lake of Shining Waters and a gaggle of girls to recite Tennyson with while I sailed away in a broken dory. And of course, I wanted to be rescued by Gilbert Blythe in a fishing hat, while I positioned my nose high in the air. (I am a feminist now, so I do question those “boy rescues damsel in distress” fantasies…but I still LOVE that scene.)
I guess I secretly wanted permission to be that spunky, that romantic, and that incorrigible. Anne Shirley did not edit herself or hold back her adventures, and everyone loved her– except when they thought she was a perfect heathen. It sounded like a fun life. I think for all of us Anne fans, her spirit is really just a portal to feel and love and walk our “ridge-poles” boldly.
This summer in Prince Edward Island a commemorative festival is being held in her honor. (Oh, if I could only go! One day that dream will come true.)
Monday, August 11, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
More on Reality, Dreams, and the Space In-Between
I am going to dream for a moment without edits. I am going to pretend I have a full pallete of paint available. I am going to get rather messy with it and cover my hands and fingers, so I can fling it on the canvass rather un-carefully and watch the colors collide. There is something in me that wants to learn to create without reserve, to see what happens when I let go of controlling the substance. I feel that way about words on a page and I feel that way about life and my dreams. Where is the balance of technique and freedom to all of this? How much of a story, a relationship, a dance, a life’s dream ought to be crafted and planned, and how much of it must come by surprise?
This morning, I find myself in the midst of planning the future of my dreams, or at least trying to connect with the dreams gestating in me. With the fall approaching, there are so many decisions to be made about school applications and what I am going to do with my business and where I could potentially see myself living if school takes me away from Seattle.
As I think about my next steps in life and where I might possibly be a year from now, I am stuck between several thoughts: the practicalities (money, primarily), how much I appreciate my life here in Seattle and the people with whom I am journeying, and the need to allow myself to enter the expanse of my heart’s desires. There is so much to consider as I come to these next steps. I can’t throw out either practical needs or the depth of my connection to Seattle, but I also can’t shut out the quickening of desires.
I think that when we speak the words that are true of our desires, we help actualize those desires. So what do I want? It has been nearly two years since I quite a job that actually gave me health benefits, a regular schedule, and a good-sized salary. I journeyed through a grad program that gave me invaluable gifts, but ultimately was not a program I wanted to finish. I started writing a book, which is leading me deeper into the practice and struggles of the craft of writing. I find myself in the midst of this demanding book project, but I am also realizing I am in the midst of something quite larger than a book: I am trying to figure out what my writing will mean to me. How has it become the rhythm of my days? Sometimes, I have to check in with myself. Am I just obsessed and that is why I work so hard and prioritize so much of my life around writing? Or have a found a path that is truly part of my life’s most significant work, and I need to allow myself the freedom to keep plunging into it?
This morning, I have been researching MFA programs, which is a rather significant shift in thought from pursuing PhD programs in interdisciplinary studies. I am torn between the two, but for a time this morning I let myself skip around in MFA websites. I don’t have conclusions, but I did experience a clarity of desire:
I want a program with diverse faculty and staff. I want to talk with writers from other cultures and parts of the world.
I want a program where I get to travel. I want to be able to write in settings that inspire rest, contemplation, and risk-taking. I miss England and quaint cottages and ivy-laced buildings.
I want a program where I get to study and learn and practice teaching. Apart from writing, my other truest passion is teaching, and I want to be in a place with freedom to explore different approaches to pedagogy.
Whatever my degree ends up being, I don’t want to be locked up in academia. One day, I want to walk into a jail or a room of unruly adolescents or a retirement home and work with people on telling their stories and finding their voice. I want to teach at a college, too, but I need to be able to work outside of typical classrooms.
This morning, I find myself in the midst of planning the future of my dreams, or at least trying to connect with the dreams gestating in me. With the fall approaching, there are so many decisions to be made about school applications and what I am going to do with my business and where I could potentially see myself living if school takes me away from Seattle.
As I think about my next steps in life and where I might possibly be a year from now, I am stuck between several thoughts: the practicalities (money, primarily), how much I appreciate my life here in Seattle and the people with whom I am journeying, and the need to allow myself to enter the expanse of my heart’s desires. There is so much to consider as I come to these next steps. I can’t throw out either practical needs or the depth of my connection to Seattle, but I also can’t shut out the quickening of desires.
I think that when we speak the words that are true of our desires, we help actualize those desires. So what do I want? It has been nearly two years since I quite a job that actually gave me health benefits, a regular schedule, and a good-sized salary. I journeyed through a grad program that gave me invaluable gifts, but ultimately was not a program I wanted to finish. I started writing a book, which is leading me deeper into the practice and struggles of the craft of writing. I find myself in the midst of this demanding book project, but I am also realizing I am in the midst of something quite larger than a book: I am trying to figure out what my writing will mean to me. How has it become the rhythm of my days? Sometimes, I have to check in with myself. Am I just obsessed and that is why I work so hard and prioritize so much of my life around writing? Or have a found a path that is truly part of my life’s most significant work, and I need to allow myself the freedom to keep plunging into it?
This morning, I have been researching MFA programs, which is a rather significant shift in thought from pursuing PhD programs in interdisciplinary studies. I am torn between the two, but for a time this morning I let myself skip around in MFA websites. I don’t have conclusions, but I did experience a clarity of desire:
I want a program with diverse faculty and staff. I want to talk with writers from other cultures and parts of the world.
I want a program where I get to travel. I want to be able to write in settings that inspire rest, contemplation, and risk-taking. I miss England and quaint cottages and ivy-laced buildings.
I want a program where I get to study and learn and practice teaching. Apart from writing, my other truest passion is teaching, and I want to be in a place with freedom to explore different approaches to pedagogy.
Whatever my degree ends up being, I don’t want to be locked up in academia. One day, I want to walk into a jail or a room of unruly adolescents or a retirement home and work with people on telling their stories and finding their voice. I want to teach at a college, too, but I need to be able to work outside of typical classrooms.
(If you happen to be of the praying type, I would love your prayers and thoughts for these decisions about school and life that seem to be waiting these days on my doorstep.)
Monday, July 14, 2008
Thoughts on Reality
I have been doing a lot of thinking the past year about reality versus dreams. Here’s the problem, the best I can deduce it: if a person just submits to the harsh facts of reality, she does not try to re-create that reality. And yet, if she is always looking at her dreams, she is naïve. When I consider the reality of what I want to accomplish with my writing career, it is rather a dismal picture. Writers need platform and influence these days; publishers want important names. At this point in my 27 years, I have neither. I just have a passionate heart and a devotion to the craft. I also have gumption, says my friend Letha.
When I was 14, I remember my best friend Debbie and I deciding we wanted to live on Lopez Island for part of our summer break. We had fallen in love with this little gem of an island just off the coast of Washington. It is small and quaint and the friendliest island in the San Juans. After having taken a short weekend camping trip there with my mother, we were smitten with its charm: Everyone who passes you on the road waves, even if they just lift two fingers off the steering wheel. I noticed a cat bite actually made the news in the crime section of the Lopez newspaper. The dandelions that line the island roads have the look of dainty wildflowers. The island “dump” has all the hand me down books, furniture, clothes, and old appliances stacked and ordered and available to anyone in need. The bakery is the gathering place in the tiny village and home to the most amazing, fresh baked goods you will find.
After my first trip to Lopez one summer, I was determined to return and stay longer. So as 8th graders, Debbie and I went downtown to the Spokane library and asked the lady at the reference desk for the phone book to the San Juan Islands, which is a book the thickness of my thumb. We proceeded to look up the names of all the businesses on Lopez (I think there were 40) and sent letters in the mail offering our services in exchange for room and board. We eventually heard back from the lady who owns the Lopez Bakery. She did not want us to work; she wanted us to come and play and delight in the island. Which is exactly what we did. The summer before I started high school, my mother drove Debbie and I the 7 hours across the state and then we all took a ferry to the island. After meeting Holly B. (our hostess), my mom confirmed we had indeed found a kindred spirit. My mom left the next day, feeling good about my adventures.
Debbie and I had our own little cabin on Holly’s property. We dug potatoes in the garden, enjoyed her outdoor solar powered shower, ate strawberry scones and cinnamon rolls, rode bikes around the island, made friends with her 3 sons, and learned the pace of island life. It was a dream–the re-creation of reality. We infused reality with our desires and were able to live what we had imagined. And yet, we needed others to help us create it. We needed our mothers to believe in our adventures and we needed Holly’s exuberant hospitality to two strange girls.
I have been thinking that any one person’s dream requires many midwives. I am happy to carry my writing dream, nurture it, and let it gestate. I am grateful for the many people in my life who have offered love and grace to my journey– who have, if even for moments– been midwives to the life inside of me. But I am aware that reality is very stubborn. So, today, I find myself telling reality that I am more patient, more creative, and more persistent than it. I want to discover many “Lopez Islands” in my life– those places where reality gets to participate in my dreams.
When I was 14, I remember my best friend Debbie and I deciding we wanted to live on Lopez Island for part of our summer break. We had fallen in love with this little gem of an island just off the coast of Washington. It is small and quaint and the friendliest island in the San Juans. After having taken a short weekend camping trip there with my mother, we were smitten with its charm: Everyone who passes you on the road waves, even if they just lift two fingers off the steering wheel. I noticed a cat bite actually made the news in the crime section of the Lopez newspaper. The dandelions that line the island roads have the look of dainty wildflowers. The island “dump” has all the hand me down books, furniture, clothes, and old appliances stacked and ordered and available to anyone in need. The bakery is the gathering place in the tiny village and home to the most amazing, fresh baked goods you will find.
After my first trip to Lopez one summer, I was determined to return and stay longer. So as 8th graders, Debbie and I went downtown to the Spokane library and asked the lady at the reference desk for the phone book to the San Juan Islands, which is a book the thickness of my thumb. We proceeded to look up the names of all the businesses on Lopez (I think there were 40) and sent letters in the mail offering our services in exchange for room and board. We eventually heard back from the lady who owns the Lopez Bakery. She did not want us to work; she wanted us to come and play and delight in the island. Which is exactly what we did. The summer before I started high school, my mother drove Debbie and I the 7 hours across the state and then we all took a ferry to the island. After meeting Holly B. (our hostess), my mom confirmed we had indeed found a kindred spirit. My mom left the next day, feeling good about my adventures.
Debbie and I had our own little cabin on Holly’s property. We dug potatoes in the garden, enjoyed her outdoor solar powered shower, ate strawberry scones and cinnamon rolls, rode bikes around the island, made friends with her 3 sons, and learned the pace of island life. It was a dream–the re-creation of reality. We infused reality with our desires and were able to live what we had imagined. And yet, we needed others to help us create it. We needed our mothers to believe in our adventures and we needed Holly’s exuberant hospitality to two strange girls.
I have been thinking that any one person’s dream requires many midwives. I am happy to carry my writing dream, nurture it, and let it gestate. I am grateful for the many people in my life who have offered love and grace to my journey– who have, if even for moments– been midwives to the life inside of me. But I am aware that reality is very stubborn. So, today, I find myself telling reality that I am more patient, more creative, and more persistent than it. I want to discover many “Lopez Islands” in my life– those places where reality gets to participate in my dreams.
Monday, July 7, 2008
A Celebration of Dancing Feet
I am captivated by this 4-minute video.
An ordinary guy from Seattle started traveling around the world doing this silly dance and videotaping himself in different countries. He puts the clips on the internet. He gets semi-famous. A gum company (Strident) then hears about him and decides to pay for him to keep traveling all over the world and videotaping his silly dance, with others joining in. What he created is hard to put to words. It is a stunning piece of art. Trust me. You need to stop whatever you are doing and watch this.
May I recommend that you watch this video in the largest version you can on your computer screen. You'll need to see the human faces from all over the world.
You can get more information about this guy and his travels here.
On an annoyingly comical note, I read on his blog this story of someone who wrote into him (thousands of people write to him) who had this profound insight to share about his adventures:
"My question is what's the point? Has nothing to do with gum except raising the price because they're sending Matt all over the world for no particular reason. What's it have to do with gum? Are you doing anything on these trips? How about spreading the gospel of Jesus Christ and saving some souls."
My question is do some people try to be this annoying or does it come naturally?
Geesh.
Can you really watch this video and miss the beauty of God and humanity that is utterly on display here? I think there is more wonder and worship and joy in life here than in many church pews....
An ordinary guy from Seattle started traveling around the world doing this silly dance and videotaping himself in different countries. He puts the clips on the internet. He gets semi-famous. A gum company (Strident) then hears about him and decides to pay for him to keep traveling all over the world and videotaping his silly dance, with others joining in. What he created is hard to put to words. It is a stunning piece of art. Trust me. You need to stop whatever you are doing and watch this.
May I recommend that you watch this video in the largest version you can on your computer screen. You'll need to see the human faces from all over the world.
You can get more information about this guy and his travels here.
On an annoyingly comical note, I read on his blog this story of someone who wrote into him (thousands of people write to him) who had this profound insight to share about his adventures:
"My question is what's the point? Has nothing to do with gum except raising the price because they're sending Matt all over the world for no particular reason. What's it have to do with gum? Are you doing anything on these trips? How about spreading the gospel of Jesus Christ and saving some souls."
My question is do some people try to be this annoying or does it come naturally?
Geesh.
Can you really watch this video and miss the beauty of God and humanity that is utterly on display here? I think there is more wonder and worship and joy in life here than in many church pews....
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Pilgrimming
I look out my window at Seattle and reaffirm my love for her…
even as something in my wise gut tells me she probably doesn’t have me for keeps. So much of me just wants to hunker down in this city and end my twenties here and build my thirties here. I adore her; she was the first city I really ever fell for. Before that, I never considered myself a city girl. I liked wide-open spaces. Too much pavement made my soul feel claustrophobic.
This weekend I traveled to Yakima, Washington for a wedding, and I remembered again how restful I feel with wide-open landscape, crickets in the evening, and the conspicuous absence of sirens. My friends and I built a fort and slept outside on the porch; somehow, it felt like being a kid again, and I loved it. Who knew little old Yakima, Washington could sweep me off my feet? I wish I could rent a cabin and have a writing retreat there. I want to hear crickets, drink evening tea, and write stories.
This next weekend I am traveling again, but this time to a city– Indianapolis. This will be my second trip back to the Mid-west in 3 months to attend a conference. I love exploring a new place and I so admire the women who are putting on the conference, so I am pretty thrilled at the chance to go. The conference is on Christian Feminism (and you thought that was an oxymoron.) It is run by the Evangelical and Ecumenical Women’s Caucus; I found out in early June that a full scholarship (including my airfare and hotel) was being provided for me. Incredible!
I will be meeting some wonderful writers (including Letha Dawson Scanzoni, a new friend of mine), as well as hopefully talking with some professors of Women’s Studies and Literature. I noticed several of the speakers at the conference have backgrounds in the academic disciplines in which I am interested.
It is time for me to get serious about graduate school applications in the fall. I am currently looking at programs in Literature and Cultural Studies, which would let me look at books as cultural artifacts, and then I could bring in studies of psychology, religion and feminism. My heart starts to flutter when I imagine being back in a classroom. It is hard for me to stay out for too long…but the process of being accepted in somewhere won’t be easy. And the process of being open to moving will take some time in my heart, too.
even as something in my wise gut tells me she probably doesn’t have me for keeps. So much of me just wants to hunker down in this city and end my twenties here and build my thirties here. I adore her; she was the first city I really ever fell for. Before that, I never considered myself a city girl. I liked wide-open spaces. Too much pavement made my soul feel claustrophobic.
This weekend I traveled to Yakima, Washington for a wedding, and I remembered again how restful I feel with wide-open landscape, crickets in the evening, and the conspicuous absence of sirens. My friends and I built a fort and slept outside on the porch; somehow, it felt like being a kid again, and I loved it. Who knew little old Yakima, Washington could sweep me off my feet? I wish I could rent a cabin and have a writing retreat there. I want to hear crickets, drink evening tea, and write stories.
This next weekend I am traveling again, but this time to a city– Indianapolis. This will be my second trip back to the Mid-west in 3 months to attend a conference. I love exploring a new place and I so admire the women who are putting on the conference, so I am pretty thrilled at the chance to go. The conference is on Christian Feminism (and you thought that was an oxymoron.) It is run by the Evangelical and Ecumenical Women’s Caucus; I found out in early June that a full scholarship (including my airfare and hotel) was being provided for me. Incredible!
I will be meeting some wonderful writers (including Letha Dawson Scanzoni, a new friend of mine), as well as hopefully talking with some professors of Women’s Studies and Literature. I noticed several of the speakers at the conference have backgrounds in the academic disciplines in which I am interested.
It is time for me to get serious about graduate school applications in the fall. I am currently looking at programs in Literature and Cultural Studies, which would let me look at books as cultural artifacts, and then I could bring in studies of psychology, religion and feminism. My heart starts to flutter when I imagine being back in a classroom. It is hard for me to stay out for too long…but the process of being accepted in somewhere won’t be easy. And the process of being open to moving will take some time in my heart, too.
Friday, June 6, 2008
For Your Viewing Pleasure
So, I think this 3-minute youtube clip is hilarious.
Maybe you have to be an aspiring writer to think it's so funny. I am not sure. But every time I want to distract myself from writing, I am tempted to watch this...again.
Maybe you have to be an aspiring writer to think it's so funny. I am not sure. But every time I want to distract myself from writing, I am tempted to watch this...again.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Ted.com
Have you discovered this web site? You need to.
There are fabulous 20 minute talks by some of the world's most interesting people. Who doesn't have 20 minutes to be inspired?
I recommend the talk by Malcom Gladwell on how to be happy. You can click here to listen.
Oh gosh, I still have such a writer-crush on this guy. His great hair, his high-anxiety body language, his New York Times bestselling books...so adorable. I thought I had transferred my crush to Yann Martel, but I am smitten all over again by Malcolm.
Sigh.
There are fabulous 20 minute talks by some of the world's most interesting people. Who doesn't have 20 minutes to be inspired?
I recommend the talk by Malcom Gladwell on how to be happy. You can click here to listen.
Oh gosh, I still have such a writer-crush on this guy. His great hair, his high-anxiety body language, his New York Times bestselling books...so adorable. I thought I had transferred my crush to Yann Martel, but I am smitten all over again by Malcolm.
Sigh.
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