You might be surprised to know that even after 13 years of blogging, I can be paralysed here at the keyboard. It’s not “writer’s block” in the sense of having nothing to say. Rather, while I can (and often do) mentally compose sentences, paragraphs, whole posts detailing recent activities or sights or perceptions, I am then assailed by a conviction of the absolute banality, irrelevance, foolishness, and insignificance of anything I might share with you. This conviction is accompanied by a profound discomfort at the notion of exposing these banal, irrelevant, foolish, and insignificant words to a wider audience than my current household. . . despite your kind encouragement over the past years.
I’ve told you this before, I know, but while it may be tedious to read, writing it out is one of the best ways I know to get past it. There’s no sign that I’ll get over it — something about writing it now that I’m retired and, obviously, older, seems to stir up that vulnerability even more — but if you’re tolerant (thank you!), I’ll just write myself through it, again. . . .
I took an online Zoom workshop on Saturday. Danielle Krysa (aka The Jealous Curator; author of several books including the brilliantly titled Your Inner Critic Is a Big Jerk) spoke and led us through a series of exercises designed to help us “Make Our Creative Gardens Grow.” Much of the work we did in the allotted time was focused on recognizing the “bad seeds” that had been planted long ago — beliefs that we harboured about our creative skills and abilities and endeavours. We strategized ways to uproot those weeds from our gardens and ways to replace them by planting new ideas.
Most of the participants I saw across the four screens of participants’ thumbnail images were most likely there as artists (the workshop was sponsored by Opus, our biggest regional art-supplies store), but I worked on suppressing my Imposter Syndrome and found much advice that resonated both for my amateur art/mark-making and for the writing I do here.
And you know, really, Nike pretty much captured it with the slogan “Just Do It.”
I was going to write something, here, about the struggle I’m having these days trying to establish and maintain a credible sense of purpose, of value in my life. Nope, too big a topic and perhaps too dangerous a one for a rainy Monday. The Nike slogan, though — and the strategies Danielle Krysa’s workshop offered — steer me back to my own belief in process. In the daily doing, the domestic quotidian. And in showing up. Just Keep Showing Up.
So today, in the interest of getting my blog engine warmed up again in this new year, I’m showing up with the pages I sketched in my journal the first two days of the year. I have an idea that I might Just Show Up here more often, but in shorter posts, over the next little while; we’ll see how that goes — it would fit with an approach I’m taking to my art-making. Again, just doing it, just showing up for a set period each day and committing to process.
That’s it, then! Your comments are welcome, as always, but please know that I’m not — in any way, at all, truly! — fishing for compliments here. My intention is simply to share my process, to offer a tour dans les coulisses (backstage, in the hallways, behind the scenes) in the hope and belief that it might somehow reflect what some of you experience — and/or illuminate the process for those of you who can’t imagine such (as you might call it) overthinking. Beyond the immediate intention, that is, of getting our conversations going again. As much as I appreciated having a break, I do miss our community here. So let’s chat. . .
xo,
f
Oh, and gratuitous What I Wore photos, since those always seem to satisfy curiosity 😉 These two are of me (with, and without, my mask) in that supposedly impractical dressI bought late last year, worn with my visibly mended, 11-year-old, leather “motorcycle” jacketand a pair of ankle boots I bought in Paris almost ten years ago. . .
Oh, I love the edginess of a dress with a motorcycle jacket and boots. Must drag my old Roots leather jacket (not a moto jacket, but still) bought back in the mists of time. Ha… so many things I own were bought way back when.
Process is everything, isn't it? And "just showing up" is my preferred way of getting started. I am a planner in most other things in my life. But not a very good creative planner. I prefer jumping in and deciding if I want to swim or not, and in which direction, afterwards. One can always delete, delete, delete later. Maybe that's why I don't keep a written journal anymore. Too hard to delete. I find the physical task of writing less fun than working on the computer these days. That may change back eventually. I kind of miss having the written document to look at.
Now I'm off to the closet to unearth my old jacket. xo
Frances, this post felt very close to how I am feeling about writing and blogging and I feel a bit like a stuck record – because unlike you I keep saying this but never show up!
Daily there are ideas bubbling away, but when I start to write, they get crossed out to nothing before they reach the page.
It's not a search for perfection – but me self censoring to a point where I have nothing to say, or it seems so anodyne I think why bother?
Just showing up and making a start is definitely the way out of it – so thank you for the nudge.
As an aside, while you are not fishing for compliments – I love seeing your journals – your handwriting and drawing very evocative.
keep buying the best clothes, and writing these wonderful posts. M
As I face the loneliness of enforced sequestering, the blogs I read become my "socialization". Your blog is one of my "must reads each day". Please, just by posting your thoughts…trivial or otherwise becomes, for me, a moment of connection during my day. Thank you for you contribution to my day.
I've been blogging for 12 years and your first paragraph describes exactly where I find myself quite often these days. Thank you for the reminder to "Just Do It!"
I believe just showing up is all anyone of us can do right now. One foot in front of the other, one word from a keyboard, and then another.
Yup, you’ve got this!!
Waving from here, under an umbrella 😉
Ali
I am so with you. I write all day, every day, mostly about economics, for work. I haven't written about life in France for weeks. With everything locked down, life feels so reduced to inside my home, hence so BORING. I don't know where to even start.
I love the peeks of your journals. They remind me of my mother, who was very artistic and creative.
Your outfit is very cute–you look like somebody in a creative or artsy field but not wacko, a line that too many cross in their efforts to be edgy. Kudos on the rad mask. I really need to up my mask game. I made a bunch of simple white ones last spring and have just stuck to them, but I see women here really making them part of their outfits. Might as well–masks are here to stay for at least another year, and I bet they will become a winter staple after that. It will be as weird to see somebody maskless at the supermarket as to see them without pants.
I agree about the importance of just keeping on, showing up, one foot forward. Due to it being winter and being in lockdown again here in UK, there isn't a great deal to say at the moment but I think that has much to do with the time of year, let alone everything else that is still blowing my mind into a whole new hair-do, as Eddie Izzard once said. Oddly enough, as I type this, someone on the radio is talking about exactly this thing: the importance of daily ritual, living the best life you can under the circumstances. A synchronicity that needs recognising. Much as I deplore the present situation, with danger and difficulty ever-present, I would be dishonest if I didn't say that the past year has taught me to sieve out the unnecessary and look instead for things with true meaning. Weekly Zoom chats and Messenger meetings, speaking with my adult but distant children, watching the weather change each day…all help to keep me hopeful. Until this ends, I refuse to do other than kick some serious ass into each day, no matter how small it might be. You are not alone.
At coming up tp 13 years blogging, I cut back my posts because after noticing that what stimulated my thoughts, namely, exposure to a varied, interesting city and the world beyond that, had dried up. I feel like a cook without a kitchen. Though I still find writing it satisfying, the whole world is sequestered, so this is the season to do it. Your workshop sounds like a good one for you at this time. From here, you seem to be "Just Doing It" very well.
One of the thing I most admire about you is your willingness to just do it whether it is writing, sketching, putting together an outfit, dealing with the domestic quotidian–even in the face of your fierce inner critics, the day-to-day slog of a pandemic, the flicker(sometimes flame) of worry about relevance in retirement. Your voice is the voice of us all and one we appreciate because you often say what we most fear. And in the telling, you release the demon for us all. And we can laugh.
Thank you for just showing up, and for sharing your vulnerability. I feel like I'm in a waiting room and not interested in doing much at all. Waiting for retirement at the end of the month, and more recently, waiting apprehensively for what will happen next in the country south of us.
This dress is so beatiful in the edgy combination,I love it!
I doubt that anyone here expect some film set action (and I doubt that there is a party all the time as well),we love the way you write,the way you think,the way you ask questions,the way we discuss-and keeping up showing a little bit of your life and your musings is a soothing ritual-we can keep calm and carry on,or: it is ok not to keep calm all the time. Both way, it is sincere and authentic- a rare quality
Dottoressa
Sue B: The dress, boots, and leather jacket combo always seems to work to make a dress more practical/street/everyday. Have fun with it, right?
Marob: Yep, just do it! And not just because I want company in my vulnerability 😉 I've found value and resonance in anything I've read of yours, even if just small daily observations. . . and thanks for the kind words. I honestly wasn't fishing, but sincere and thoughtful appreciation is always welcome.
Anon at 7:47: Thanks for letting me know this. Helps affirm my sense of purpose here.
Elaine: You're very welcome. It's a funny old occupation, this blog-writing, isn't it?!
Ali: Thanks! And yes, umbrella and rain boots — and perhaps an ark?
The dress and jacket combination works well. I don't have a leather one but might haul out my jean jacket to wear with a midi dress and my new Lugg boots from H&M. You have inspired me!
I understand the feeling of being stuck, but I do thank you for showing up. 90% of life is just that as a certain NY comic/filmmaker once said.
I, like Lorrie, am also "waiting apprehensively for what will happen next in the country south of us."
That feeling of dread, combined with the news this morning of the death of a beloved family friend (Covid/Pneumonia) and the other news that my mother will not get the vaccine this week but possibly next as the Federal government is not getting the vaccine out to BC as fast as they promised, has made me feel very – flat – today. But your post cheered me up. Something else to cheer people, look up the new Moynihan Train Depot in New York. The Times has a wonderful article on it. It looks stunning. Somewhere to visit in the future I hope? Brenda
That one line in this post about “recognizing the bad seeds planted long ago” really spoke to me. I grew up convinced that I had absolutely no creative or artistic talent whatsoever, that anything involving my hands would be a disaster. In elementary school I blamed my inability to draw on the fact that I lacked the 24-pack of pencil crayons that the boy next to me had; later I blamed it on the fact I was left-handed (please don’t tell me you’re left-handed!) Finally I just accepted the fact that artistic talent was a gift bestowed on my brother and not on me, never thinking about the many negative comments from teachers, family and friends over the years. Not that long ago I had a rather heated discussion with a good friend who maintained that anyone could be taught anything. I adamantly stated that NO-ONE could EVER teach me how to draw or sing (excuse the caps, but I probably did raise my voice,) Fast forward a few years when I started reading your blog and was captivated not just by your sketches but by the whole process you described. And to make a long story short, I was inspired to check out a few online tutorials (nothing that involved a real person looking over my shoulder, mind you!) and voila, I was actually surprised by the result. My few scribbles actually looked like the thing they were supposed to represent. And now,I feel totally justified browsing in art supply stores whereas before I would have felt a total fraud. I suppose I’ll have to apologize to my friend now, though the jury’s still out on singing!
Frances in Sidney
TofFrance: You say so many kind things here! Thank you! I can see that writing for contracts would lessen any enthusiasm for creative writing, but you're obviously such a creative person (the design of your rental apartments!) I hope you can find other outlets. . . As for that mask, it's funny because I'd probably prefer a plain one now, but I made this early on, during our first stay-home when shops were closed and supplies were limited — I ordered a yard or two of a few fabrics and made a bunch for family. This one suited me well enough and I've so far felt no need to have more, except that sometimes it does seem a bit noisy 😉
Annie: I loved that synchronicity in your post — and thanks for mentioning me there. Agreed: there are some aspects of this past year that I've benefited from. Not sure I wouldn't have preferred to learn them in other ways . . .
Duchesse: I suppose I feel as if this is a good opportunity to practice turning inward or at least close by for stimulation. . . But the barrage of stimulation, of data, we've adjusted our dials to over the last decades makes it tougher to find satisfaction. . . I'm doing a bit of thinking about that, hoping the time will be enough to effect a correction of sorts.
Mary: Thank you! It's good for me to hear that you find some resonance here. That connection is what keeps me showing up.
Lorrie: It will be strange for you to enter retirement during this time — But I can well imagine the anticipation is eclipsed right now by that apprehension, which I share.
Dottoressa: Thank you!
Brenda: I can picture that combo on you — very cute! 90% — the same percentage as the perspiration that accompanies the 10% inspiration 😉 (oh, that comic/filmmaker — really become persona non grata now, despite all that talent, UGH)
I'm so sorry to hear about the death of your friend — and I hope your mother gets her vaccination soon — Paul's aunt and uncle, mid-90s, are in an assisted-living facility (in their own suite there, at least) in Ontario, and there have been a few cases detected in residents and staff. We're all holding our breath.
Going to go check out that Moynihan Train Depot — we need ALL the vicarious travel!
I must confess that I find it extremely difficult these days to keep just showing up. I feel the world is crumbling around me – from the rising Covid-infection numbers in this country to events on the other side of the Atlantic. And something very similar seems to be happening in my personal world: My landlord terminated my contract and I have to move out of my flat within three months, after having lived in this place for almost 30 years. I found a place to go to, and all will be well in the end, I am sure. But right now I stand in the midst of chaos, sorting and culling, having to take a million small decisions every day and being confronted with memories of times past, opportunities missed and people long gone. But showing up (on my ladder, tackling the next book shelf) is the best I can do.
Sorry, forgot to put my name here.
Frances: Isn't it surprising? Not only did those "bad seeds" get planted without us recognizing what they were, but we watered and fertilized them along the way. I was absolutely sure — I knew! — that I wasn't "artistic." Now, I see that while my innate talent is arguably limited, there are skills I could learn that allow me to play . . . and to work enough to express myself in a new way. If I'd started earlier or if I spent more time, I could achieve even more mastery at the level of craft. And you can as well. Good news all around.
Eleonore: I'm so sorry to hear this — I remember that this threat has been ongoing for a few years, and I imagine that once you are resettled, there will be a peace of mind you can't have had with this landlord. But what a bad time to have to make such a big move, such an emotional one (and leaving the sweet garden you built). Take care, my friend. One book shelf, one step, one day at a time. . .
Eleanore my heart went "clunk" when I read you are being forced to move at this time…especially after 30 years. Showing up in any big way, these days, can only be done to the best of our ability, day-by-day…with as many days in between where we coast or surf the persistent waves rolling into all of our lives.
Understand completely how exhausting the million little decisions of "will I save this; do I need that" are so hard on your mind and spirit. I would rather dig a ditch all day than encounter the reminders a huge move brings about.
Am so impressed you found a new place so soon, but sorry the state of the virus spread makes it so you probably can not have much help from friends or family to do this onerous task in the middle of a pandemic.
A.in London
Imposter Syndrome is real, isn't it? I managed to shake the Internal Editor off my shoulder in November, doing a modified version of NaNoWriMo – I wasn't trying to write an entire 50k novel, just to make some progress on the one I've been working on for a while. So I told myself I just had to show up and write every day, and to my immense surprise, managed 40k words over the course of the month! You and Nike are absolutely correct.
A. in London: I hope Eleonore sees your comment and knows we think of her. You're spot on about the troubles she faces, having to move at this time. Eleonore, I hope that the continuity of your place at the lake helps. . .
Carol: Oh, it is SO real!! And/but Congratulations on your 40K NaNoWriMo words — you didn't let the IS stop you!
Even though I am late coming to this post, and I just came from your previous post, you connect so eloquently here to something I too have been feeling and thinking. I was thinking it in my own blog post today, but not really exploring it as openly and creatively as you do. Kudos for that. You are brave in ways i am not. But Imposter syndrome is such a real thing, and it so hampers our ability to just be who we are and accept that this in fact more than enough. Always looking forward to your blog, even though I have apparently been trapped deeper in the slough than I had initially realized. Thank you for tossing me a lifeline.