The disfigured butterfly

It was nearly 5:00 p.m., and I was finally able to drag my body out from underneath the covers where I’d spent the entire day and night before. It wasn’t that I wanted to get out of bed. My head had been throbbing with the pain of a migraine of epic proportions. The thought of food made me want to hurl as if I was the whale holding Jonah in my belly. Light stung my eyes and made them water. I couldn’t even stand the sound of my own breathing anymore. It was just too loud for this migraine. But I needed to get up. I needed to spend a few minutes with my husband after his long day at work. He wouldn’t have cared if I had stayed in bed, under the circumstances. He’s just that kind of guy! In fact, he ate dinner at the kitchen table in near darkness – blinds closed, no lights on and a dark, damp day made the sun seem as if it had set hours earlier.

There are many things that bring a sense of calm to this weary and anxious mind: music, writing, reading. But all of those things would have brought more pain. While conversation was light, I didn’t want to just sit there for the rest of the evening so I decided I would color. Yes, I said color. I love coloring! Maybe it takes me back to the simpler days of my childhood when my imagination came to life in the wild pigments I displayed on paper and keeping the colors contained within the lines was my biggest worry of the day. But, this 40-something woman still likes to color from time to time!

I squinted my eyes every time I selected a different pencil for the masterpiece I was working on; a butterfly. Each time I began to spread a new color across the page, I realized that the color I had chosen wasn’t exactly the one I had in mind. It wasn’t as green as I’d thought. It wasn’t as crisp or soft as I’d hoped. Before long, my masterpiece looked like a confused collection of strange hues. And then I realized: each new project I take on as a writer never ends up looking the same as I imagined.

The last year has had me chasing two dream projects that seem to be crumbling before my eyes. I have given my heart and soul to both of these projects and kept pushing and pushing, believing that I was following the right path – choosing the right colors. My intentions were pure: To honorably tell stories that I believe need to be told. I have traveled the world over, giving of my talents while asking for nothing in return (including money) and all of it because I believed in both projects. And I believed that my efforts would lead to something bigger and better. I have met some of the most amazing people along the way; many of whom have become my dearest friends and Sisters.

Yet, I feel I have been betrayed, ignored, pushed aside, misled, and had numerous carrots dangled in front of me only to watch them be snatched out of my grasp as soon as I reach for them. I’ve been stuck in the middle and asked to answer for things other people have done all while not having the necessary information to satiate curious appetites.

Why do I keep picking the wrong colors? My writing life looks as confusing and disfigured as the butterfly with all the wrong shades. I have come to doubt myself as a writer; as someone with something of value to contribute based on years of experience. How do I keep writing? Will the ones I’ve been trying so hard to reach notice if I stop spreading my wings? I just don’t want to deface anymore butterflies with every new dream. I don’t want to be the blemished butterfly anymore.

The Unkept Journal

I am so excited to be traveling a couple of hours north of Indianapolis to spend the weekend with some of the women from my church small group. We’ll be hanging out at the Mahseh retreat center on Lake Bruce, and I am certain it will be a wonderful time of fellowship and rest. Outside of the beauty of the area and the women with whom I’m spending time, I get to do a mini-presentation on journaling. I decided to share some of my notes with you.

I call this the Unkept Journal because I hate keeping a journal. Keeping a journal can have a negative connotation. Part of being a successful journal writer is the psychology behind it. And if you feel something is negative, you probably aren’t going to be too passionate about participating. Besides, our lives are filled with keeping things: Women are kept. The house is kept. The yard is kept. Doesn’t that sound heavy? Well, just let it go. Don’t keep a journal. A journal is meant to be like friendship or a nice glass of wine – light, engaged, enriching, pleasing, and yes, spontaneous at times.

I recently read the book Writing Through the Darkness: Easing your Depression with Paper and Pen by Elizabeth Maynard Schaefer. In it, she says, “Journaling is journeying inside yourself to see what really lies there below the surface. It is crawling on your knees, using an archaeologist’s brushes to clean off the artifacts of your mind – the memories, ideas, emotions and plans, be they ancient or recent, fragile or sturdy, simple or ornate. Journal writing is focused on healing and recovery.”

How do you get started? Start simple. Here are the basics:

• Pen – I recommend writing long-hand instead of typing on a computer. Writing long-hand discourages something we all do when we sit down and pound our thoughts on a keyboard; edit. When you start editing, you stop writing. And editing is a form of self-criticism. Allow yourself to melt into the feeling that comes with putting pen to paper.
• Paper – That one seems rather obvious considering the first point, doesn’t it?
• Place – Write anytime you can share your thoughts with yourself without being interrupted by anyone else’s demands on your attention. If that’s while you’re soaking in a tub, then soak. If it’s by a river stream in the mountains, go there. Just be intentional about not letting anyone or anything interrupt you.

Now you’re probably wondering: What do I write about? Journal from the heart. Use writing prompts if you have to. (There are lots of terrific books out there that can help, such as the one I mentioned above.) Ask yourself questions:

• What surprised me most about today?
• What moved me most today?
• What do I most want to remember about today?

Don’t force yourself to write every single day if your personality and lifestyle won’t make that possible. Don’t re-read everything you’ve written. Write when you’re bored, happy, grumpy, annoyed, or just gazing out into space. The unkept journal is much more likely to bring you joy and help you look forward to writing than a journal that is kept.

Do you have an unkept journal? How do you make it work for you? I’d love to hear your comments.

The Canadian Tenors, continued

In continuing with where I left off on my post from March 18, 2010 on how The Canadian Tenors helped me return to music in such a way that has filled me with such profound joy (and every other emotion you can think of), I have decided to do what comes naturally – spread the word through more writing!

I confess that I’m being a teeny bit selfish in my efforts but it’s really not a “bad selfish”. It’s a win-win. You see, my dream is to write a book about them. I’m a story-teller, and I believe theirs is a story that needs to be told. Every day I read posts and comments about how their music and voices have positively impacted so many people; how they’ve returned smiles to sad faces and breathed new life in empty souls. God is doing something special through these men, and I am determined to tell the world about them! It’s the least I can do considering all they have done for me. So, that’s the selfish part. (Feel free to help me in my efforts in whatever way you feel led!)

The not-so-selfish part is that I really do want the rest of the globe to know The Canadian Tenors for all the reasons I listed above. I’m a writer and an expert in public relations. I know they’ve got a top-notch group of experts stationed in the neighborhood to our north. But why not give them an extra hand in the publicity department here in the US? Again, it’s the least I can do for them.

So, here’s what I want you to do. If you live in the Buffalo, NY area, please tune in on Saturday, May 1 at 8:00 pm to your local PBS station (WNED) to watch the debut of Live at the Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto. You’ll be blessed with an evening of spectacular music hosted by The Canadian Tenors with special guests such as David Foster, Sarah McLachlan, The Faith Chorale, Fern Hill Children’s Choir, and Mark Camilleri(MD).

If you’re not in the area, feel free to bug your local PBS affiliate to get the program aired. And, there’s always the DVD that’s coming out in May. Pre-order your copy here: www.shoppbs.org.

Trust me on this… you won’t be disappointed!

The Canadian Tenors: Live at the Royal Conservatory of Music Toronto

Sleepless in Indy

How much sleep do you require to be fully functional? Me? Oh, about 10-12 hours. No, seriously. Sleeping has always been one of my favorite hobbies. Beyond that, I just need a lot of sleep. Always have.

One of the downsides to anxiety and PTSD is that sometimes you sleep a lot and sometimes you don’t sleep at all.I have actually gone for days with no sleep. And I have fretted for years over my strange sleeping habits. I can recall being absolutely frantic if I didn’t get enough sleep, fearing that my lack of rest would result in one of the worst motor vehicle accidents ever known to man. All of it caused by me.

As a youngster, I required copious amounts of sleep but when you’re young, you’re also invincible. (Aren’t you?) Oh, I still enjoyed sleeping but I found ways to cope. After 9/11, sleep became my bitter enemy. Sleeping pills eventually became my BFF before they turned me into something straight out of the movie “Pet Cemetery.” Once I was able to ween myself off the pills, I tried sleeping without an aid with much success at failure.

Being married makes sleepless nights an even greater burden. I mean, a wife is supposed to be at her husband’s side in their bed at night, right? But I eventually discovered the guest bedroom, hoping that I would be seen as the respectful wife for wanting to ensure her husband got enough sleep to go to work and bring home the bacon, which I would then cook. Instead I often felt like the unrepentant wife who was only looking out for her own comfort. At first, Kurt would notice my absence.

“Come back to bed, honey. It’s ok,” he would say.

So, I returned to our bed only to curse the incredibly bright light on his digital alarm clock – a light I am certain the International Space Station can see clearly without the aid of a telescope – his snoring, and the cat, who followed me from bed to bed and made sure I felt like a sardine crammed into the proverbial can no matter how much room there was for both of us. My restless body syndrome had me bouncing around like the best of jumping beans, giving me more ammunition for guilt over keeping Kurt from a restful night.  But now, he doesn’t even know when I leave. Each night he goes to bed next to his wife and won’t know whether she’ll be there when he wakes up the next morning until his eyes are forced open by the screaming of his alarm clock (which can also probably be heard on the Space Station).

When I was single and starting out as a writer, I loved writing until the wee hours of the morning. But that usually meant I had to sleep half the day. Not exactly the ideal scenario for married life. But I have learned to let go of the angst. Our good friend, Larry, showed me the way. When he confessed his own sleeplessness, I learned that he didn’t fight it. He’d get up and read or pray or both then return to bed for another hour or two before waking rested. Sheesh. Why didn’t I think of that?

Before I discovered the guest bedroom, I would flip and flop to find the perfect position and then clinch my eyes shut as tight as possible, willing myself to sleep. I would pray, count sheep and go through the alphabet thinking of boy and girl names for every letter. I tried melatonin, exercise, deep breathing, reading, watching TV, wine. You name it. I would go to bed earlier and earlier every night only to fall asleep quickly but wake up again at some ungodly hour. After hearing Larry’s story, I was inspired to try it for myself.

At first I would watch Red Eye with Greg Gutfield on Fox News Channel or play on the computer. But Facebook can be a lonely place at 3 am unless you have friends in foreign countries or you know other locals with insomnia. Eventually I decided to try writing, which, by the way, is what I do for a living.

It was just like the old days when I felt free to be creative – just me, the pen, the purring of my kitty and the silence of a world at rest. But if I was up in the middle of the night writing, I’d require some amount of sleep during the middle of the day. Was that such a bad thing? I am a writer, as I have already established. Where do I need to be at 8 am? No where. Writers don’t work 8-5. My part-time PR gig affords me the leisure of coming in usually no earlier than 10 am, and I’m usually home by 1:30 or 2 in the afternoon – which, by the way, is a terrific time for a nap!

I check emails, return phone calls, do a bit of cleaning or grocery shopping before hubby comes home and I’m cooking bacon again. He and I spend our evenings together before he retires for the evening. Even if I’m not sleeping at his side for 8-10 hours every night, I am still at his side. He’s no worse for the wear, and I am at peace knowing that no one is missing out on anything by me working in the middle of the night for a few hours. Besides, what I’m working on at that hour could help pay the mortgage! And that’s never a bad thing.

So, if you’re sleepless in your town, check me out of Facebook. If I don’t answer, I’m probably just allowing creativity to rule the night.

A Change In Course

People who know me know that I’m a driven, goal-oriented person. When I jump into something, I give it my all. As a Christian, I believe that giving your best in anything you do is the right thing to do. And, as a Christian journalist, I have always felt that it was my calling to communicate truth.

I have also never been one to shy away from the spotlight. We could psychoanalyze that for a while but it wouldn’t make a difference. The older I get though, the less I feel the need to be the center of everything. And the older I get the better I listen – to God!

There has never been any doubt that God called me to become a writer/journalist. As I look back on the past 10-plus years, I can see His hand clearly in everything in my life, including 9/11. Today, I am a better person because of all of it. I have struggled for the last year or so with the whole writing part of my life. There have been times I simply didn’t want to write. I felt anxious, pressure to write and to write well. For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why I just dreaded doing what I love to do so much.

And then I listened! God has changed my heart! He hasn’t completely taken away my desire to write but He has shown me what I need to be doing with my life instead of building a business centered on writing. Today, my greatest desire is to be a mommy. That is how I will leave my greatest legacy.

Today, I no longer desire to be a successful business woman. In fact, I don’t even want to be in business! I no longer desire to be in the spotlight with my award-winning, best-selling book. I no longer feel the need to prove everyone else wrong about their politics and religion (even if they are wrong!) through my writing. I do still want to tell everyone about Jesus Christ, but perhaps I’m just the seed planter, or the water-er.

These days my life is filled to the brim with hopefullness in the adoption process. We’re planning our garage sale which will be our first big fundraiser. We’re painting the guest bedroom and preparing it to become a nursery. We’re reorganizing other bedrooms to accommodate for guests, an office, and Kurt’s man-cave. We’re thinking of baby names and wondering how the dog and cat will react with a newborn in the house.

I haven’t entirely shut the door on Fletcher Communications or on the writing world. I still have a couple of clients but I will no longer be actively building the business or seeking out new projects or clients. I’m still available to lend a hand to my networking and social media buddies. But there’s a change in course now. This is my life, and I am well pleased!