it calms me

Sometimes I get writers anxiety, which is kinda like writers block but narcissistic like, "can I do this? I don't even know what I am doing? What were they thinking letting me do this?"

Nothing new for me. In school, at my previous job, I always would sit down at the computer feeling inadequate and paralyzed by a general ACH! feeling. Would write about 3 words and delete it, repeat at least a dozen times.

And always when I am trying to bury that feeling in obsessive application of Softlips or drawing a pyramid doodles.

But what always gets my mind working again is this blog. Telling you a funny story about a cat or embarrassing David with an interpretation of a previous conversation. It maybe small, but it always works. After I click publish, I settle down and get to work.

Anne Lamott writes in Bird by Bird that she conquers this feeling (yay it is normal!) by keeping a 1 inch picture frame on her desk. Her challenge is just to write enough to fill that tiny space. That small box is less overwhelming that the expanse of a blank document.

Blogging is my 1 inch picture frame.
I just need to fill a tiny bit of this space to unlock what lies trapped under heavy chest, racing thoughts and sticky insecurity.




I also listen to Tibetan bowls, which strangely fills the quiet. Next time I'll share my I'm-on-a-deadline playlist which is very heavily weighted with a Batman soundtrack. It works. Really.

Out of the Cube: One Month

I spent the last five and a half years driving to the same building downtown and in the same cube, well when they finally gave me one. I remember being so excited I actually had a cube, and drawers and a bulletin board to pin pictures of Catasauruses and doodles.

But corporate life was hard for me. I can follow instructions, but not very good at following rules.
Last night I told David that I followed a recipe and then qualified that with well, not all the way but mostly, kind of.

That's me in to the letter. Great employee, hard working and willing to go the extra mile but resentful of rules for the sake of documented I-told-you-so's.

The initial plan in September was to become a freelance copywriter. To be really really out of the corporate world. I still might be headed there, or not. I like the idea of the career un-path. No lines, no ladders, just whatever opportunities come my way.


So I've been a journalist for one month. And I have lots of thoughts.

1. It is a lot harder than I thought to explain to people what I do. Journalist? Yes, a reporter. Like in the media? Yes. I write news stories. But just about real estate? Yes. And you write for the internets? Yes, like a millennial Kermit the Frog.

2. I am constantly battling self confidence and fear of incompetence. It is terrifying putting myself out there for the world to judge. I feel like a tiny baby reporter taking my first steps in a marathon race. Deer.in.headlights.

3. Which brings me to my next observation, this could not happen without the most incredible teacher in the world, my Daddy. Daddy what would you ask this person in an interview? Can I say this? Can I put a quote as the first sentence? But how do you know _____?

Where David spends hours trying to build me up and tell me I can do it, all daddy has to say is

"Stop thinking so much. Just get some words on the page and move on."

Just a month writing and I have more professional respect than ever for his work, his talent, his presence in this industry. He hasn't been with the Chronicle for 10 years and I field at least 3 or 4 emails a week asking if I know Ralph. Legend.

It makes me proud to add my maiden name in my byline. It is meant to be there.

Paying Attention

Eleven years ago I had a prophetic dream.

One has to have a great deal of courage to announce that but there it is. Ask me sometime about that very real experience. I didn't place enough faith in what I experienced, but in September when I had another dream (not prophetic but still profound) I knew to listen.

MeeMaw visited me at work and told me she needed to talk to be. So we walked to the elevator and chatted about the future and pleasant things. A group crowded into the elevator and before the doors closed she took my hand and said "It may drop but it isn't going to fall." Half way down the building the elevator started to drop, I was the only one to notice even though we were falling so fast my feet left the floor. MeeMaw held my hand tighter and pulled me back down and the drop slowed and then stopped and we all exited the elevator.

I woke up in September crying, not sadness but pure emotion, a wellspring. I knew I had to quit my job and last week I put in my two weeks. All the logical brained people in the world are probably getting a little uncomfortable at this point. Maybe if I called it faith or fate or some other acceptable word it would seem less impulsive. (I once had a therapist tell me I was impulsive after my intake exam. And? Never considered it a negative to be willing to take an inspired risk)

After making my mind up that I was going to leave, and then changing my mind, and then deciding No, I need to do this, only to have my confidence wane and several more months of back and forth I was offered a job.

Providence or promise. I will start the new year as a writer, a journalist.
All because I was paying attention and learned to listen.