1st Anniversary

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February 20th was my 1 year anniversary of my last day of working for CBS. For many of my coworkers it was a sad day. Had it ended 10 years earlier, I would have joined them in their sadness. As it was, I had stayed too long and there was nothing but joy and elation knowing I would never drive onto that over-crowded, parking-spots-barely-wider-than-a-Prius, cars-parked-just-inches-from-each-other-so-you-have-to-wedge-yourself-into-whatever-door-opens-wide-enough-to-get-into-and-climb-over-the-seat parking lot. That was if you actually found a spot on the lot. Always fun walking past all the empty executive spots and parts of the parking area filled with trailers and set storage as you hiked in from the public lot nearby. That way you were sure to arrive at your job, having been reminded that you had absolutely no value to the company. Even the sets got better parking.

But of course the parking wasn’t the real issue. That was just more irritation that made an already unpleasant situation even more unpleasant. Lack of opportunity was the real issue. My naivity of the business led me to think a network job would provide more opportunity for upward mobility than freelance. Oh, foolish me. It would have been hard to turn down the steady work, but if I knew then what I know now, I would have. I had made those hard decisions before. When I was just starting out and desparately needed a job, I turned down steady work in a bookkeeping firm, and an exciting job as a green room attendant at the Columbia Records recording studio. It was hard, but in both cases I knew it would not lead where I wanted to go. If I had known the truth about where the network job was leading (nowhere), I have no doubt I would have turned that down as well.

I definitely would have turned it down had I known they could use me as a daily hire, with no rights or job security, for 20 years. If I had a problem I would go to the network and they would say, “You aren’t an employee. We only hire you for this production. Go talk to them.” And if I went to the production company I was told, “You don’t work for us, you are hired by the network, go talk to them.” I existed for 20 years in no-man’s land. At any time they could have called me, without severence or notice and said, “Your services are no longer needed” and that would have been that. Instant unemployment. Nothing I could have done. This could happen if the host, a producer, or even director decided they didn’t like me, or something I had done. I’d seen it happen to others. One wrong Facebook post, one wrong comment made to the wrong person, one bad mistake, and we would hear, “It was best for the show if Mergatroid pursued other opportunities.” Then we quietly went back to work hoping it wasn’t us next time.

Late night television was also the absolutely wrong field for a dramatic writer. There were no connections to be made that could move me forward. If I wanted to be a comedian, or a sitcom writer… perfect. There was also very little creativity, and what little opportunity there was for that was guarded more carefully than Golem guarded his Precious. So for me it was a mind-numbing monotony of monologue jokes, comedy bit, guest intro, guest intro, music or comedian, close. Night after night after night after night after night for 20 years.

The culture on the show was also difficult for me. Rather than pulling together so that we could get farther together, from day one, lines were drawn and groups were set against each other. Resentments and jealousy ate away at the fabric that should have bound us together. Others have talked of such different experiences in the business, and I often wonder how my career would have turned out if I had been part of a tight-knit, supportive team.

But knowing none of that, I jumped into a Late Night Network job with all the optimism of the country girl I was. It took me 20 years to extricate myself, and that was 10 years too long. By then my career was pretty much over. There just aren’t too many women over 50 who break into television writing, if any.

Despite the joy of that last day on February 20, 2015, I was crying when I drove off the lot. It was also our Executive Producer’s last day in the business. He was being lauded and honored… and rightly so. He had an amazing career. However, it wasn’t lost on me that my last day was met with deafening indifference. 25 years in the business and nobody cared. It hurt a little. Oh, who am I kidding, it hurt a lot. It was a sucky way to leave.

Regardless, it was the right thing to do. The year since then has been magnificent. I am free! I am no longer working in a job whose main goal is to make a few people at the top rich. I am now working in a job whose main goal is to, yes, make enough profit to stay open, but equally important, our goal is to help people be physically and mentally well. The job doesn’t follow me home. It doesn’t stress me out so much that I can’t write when I have the time. and that has allowed me to get 45,000 words deep into the best work I’ve ever done. On my job I am given credit for my work. At least so far my boss hasn’t denied I exist and claimed that she does it all herself. Sometimes she even spontaneously thanks me for things, not just waiting until I make a mistake to acknowledge my existence. Imagine! Oh wait, I don’t have to anymore. There are opportunities to be creative with marketing and writing articles. There are also silly ways to be creative in decorating the studio and dressing up the anatomy skeleton. I just can’t seem to get away from working with skeletons. In every way, despite the huge downgrade in pay, I have gotten a huge promotion.

While there’s clearly a lot of bitterness in this post, I know it is beginning to fade. One of the things I found delightful about my fellow Missourians – few ever ask me what I did in LA. Because of that, I rarely told anyone about my life in Hollywood. I didn’t want to talk about it, or even think about it. I just wanted to bury it. However, a year later, the stories are starting to leak out. It gives me hope that eventually I will remember more of the good than the bad. Because honestly, it was quite an adventure for this South Dakota farm girl, even if it didn’t turn out exactly as I’d hoped.

Happy freedom anniversary to me.

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Homeless

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Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about home. The other night I was driving “home” to a house I rent in a town where I was a stranger a year ago. The road to and from work has already become familiar enough that I can mindlessly drive it, but put me on a road just a few blocks away, and I would be in completely unfamiliar territory. In fact, most of the city is still a mystery. How can I call that home? Do I have a home?

According to Mirriam-Webster, home is a place where one lives. Simple. If that’s the case, then yes, my home is the rented house in a new town. However, the word ‘home’ is filled with so much more meaning in our culture than that simple definition. Sanctuary, refuge, a safe place where you can be yourself – that is all tied into the word ‘home.’

Then there’s “home is where the heart is.” That’s a lovely sentiment, but without my own family or spouse, it still leaves me drifting. It leads right back to asking myself, “What is home, and do I have one?”

Is home the farm where I grew up? That one was easy. No. In fact, I felt so out of place in my community, school, and even family that from the moment I knew I could go somewhere else, I started dreaming of my escape.

At 17 I made that escape to college, and never looked back. I felt I belonged in my college community, and reveled in the friendships I made there that have lasted a lifetime. It’s good to visit those friends, and there is a sense of coming home to people who know me, but it’s still not home.

Perhaps my home is Los Angeles, where I lived longer than any other place. However, in a city of millions, I was no one’s priority, and when I needed help I was usually on my own. Life there felt like a 25 year walk on a tightrope without a net. There was no place of refuge – no soft place to land. When I think of going home, LA definitely does not come to mind.

Which brings me here. Is Missouri home? For the moment it is. It’s where my bed is. It’s where my stuff is. I feel accepted and supported. If I were to fall, there are people who would try to catch me. It’s where my rented house actually provides me security and a safe place to be. But is it home? I’m not sure.

Looking back over my life, I realize that my early experiences of not fitting in have sent me on a lifelong quest to find home. Perhaps it is one of those journeys where I will realize one day that I was always home. The only thing I know for sure is that If I were Dorothy, and clicked my heels while repeating, “there’s no place like home” I have no idea where I would wake up. For now, Missouri will do, and with time perhaps it will become home.

Where is your home? What makes it home to you? What wisdom can you share about finding home?

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Ebb & Flow

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One of the things many of us forget quite often in our chase for happiness, is that life is in constant flux. I’m not sure why many of us believe that happiness and contentment are just a goal away. Once we achieve X, then life will be good. For a while it is. We revel in our new state and think this will be how life is until we die. That’s why it seems so shocking when sometime later stress piles up and things aren’t going so well. Then you think, “Wait a minute! I had this figured out!”

Nothing is ever static. Whatever you’re feeling today will probably change tomorrow. I’ve been doing better about remembering this. Experience has shown that any time there’s an improvement in life, the euphoria from the improvement lasts about six months. Then it’s back to the same old happiness set-point. Something too many people forget is that “this too shall pass” applies to joys as well as sorrows. So, I watched for this shift after my move. Still waiting…

There were small dips along the way, but in general, my joy and contentment of living here has not faded… until the holidays. There were a variety of stresses going on in life at the time, which led to some insomnia.  A part of me was shocked at how quickly my frustration levels rose again. I thought I was back to my old, happy, chill self. It felt slightly embarrassing that my stressed, less-than-my-best-self came back so quickly.

Then I was surprised again when life settled back down and the joy and contentment returned. I was cooking in the kitchen one night when I was suddenly overwhelmed with the joy of it. I find such pleasure watching foxes, geese, joggers, dog-walkers, drone-flyers, metal-detecting treasure hunters, and today – a flock of turkey vultures, doing their thing in the park across the street.  After having an LA-style 45-minute drive going home in an ice storm, my 10 minute commute suddenly seemed notably wonderful again. With the return of the sun, I feel excitement at the coming spring. There will be thunderstorms, afternoons and evenings spent on my sun porch, fire flies, long walks, and all manner of critters singing me to sleep in a thunderous chorus every night.

It’s the same with my novel. While it’s a constant project that never leaves my mind, it definitely has its ebb and flow too. As discussed in my last post, sometimes I’m slogging, sometimes I’m flying. I’m trying to understand the shift. Does slogging mean I’m off course? Just haven’t had time to daydream so I don’t know where the story is going? Or is it just the normal ebb and flow of life.

I am back to a bit of a slog at the moment. Thankfully I’ve learned to fill that time with editing. It frustrates me when the word count doesn’t rise as quickly as I think it should, but the editing has to get done too. Experience tells me eventually an idea will spark and I’ll be off to the races again.

The trick, I’m learning, is to simply relax into it. It’s like surfing. When the wave is coming in, paddle like crazy and catch the ride. And when the water goes back out, let it take you past the breakers so you can catch the next wave. Don’t worry about either phase. They each have their role. Just relax. Whichever state you’re in, this too shall pass. And so shall the next one. Ebb and flow – that’s just life.

 

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Wading Through

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Well, we did it. We muddled through the holidays and made it to the other side. Thank goodness we don’t have to do that again for another year.

Sometimes lessons seem to come in clumps, and lately the clump I’ve been dealing with is wading through the muck. Just keep moving forward and eventually you make it through to solid, and usually better ground.

The first noticed lesson on this subject was when I went back to college at 48 years of age. In some ways it was incredibly easy because I was finally studying a subject I loved. In another way it was incredibly difficult because I hadn’t read critically or written an essay in almost 30 years. Week after week I would face an assignment, tell myself I just couldn’t do it, and contemplate dropping out of the class and trying it again later. Week after week I would realize that would set me back from my desired graduation date and I would give it another try. Week after week I waded through the muck and felt proud of the papers I turned in. It became obvious that if I was willing to wade, there wasn’t much I couldn’t accomplish.

When I decided to pick up and move, I knew there would be a lot to coordinate to make that happen. It was overwhelming. It was scary. So many decisions to make. So much hard work ahead. So much upheaval to go through. I just knew I wanted what was on the other side of that upheaval more than I wanted to continue where I was. So I made one decision at a time, dealt with one unpleasant task after another, and surfed the waves of upheaval. I slogged through the muck, and somehow made it all happen, and pretty smoothly, too.

Most recently I discovered the power of the wade in my writing. Here’s how it goes for me with story inspiration — the idea hits. There’s a brain high that goes with that. The mind starts playing out the story. It seems fresh, original, exciting, and I can’t wait to tell this story. Then, as the high fades, reality sets in. Some of those ideas I had under the influence of an idea are ridiculous and won’t work. When I find enough that does work, I can start. However, once it becomes a daily slog through the muck, it becomes more like work. The excitement fades. It’s just trying to add more to the word count every day.

A couple of months ago, as often happens at this low point in story telling, I got hit with another idea for a book. That idea high kicked in. I wanted to jump ship on the boring slog, and start working right away on the new idea. Thankfully I have enough experience under my belt to know that would be foolish. I’d hit the slog soon enough with the new idea.

So I waded through. Day after day, step by step. Not to say I didn’t do a little research on the side for the new idea, but I didn’t stop working on the old idea. Miracle of miracles, there was an end to the muck, and I didn’t have to wait to finish writing the book.

No, right in the middle of the muck I hit solid ground. I got to the point where I can’t wait to write, because I can’t wait to hear the next bit of the story. With screenwriting I had become a slave to a pre-planned, intricately outlined story to assure I hit all the right beats. Stephen King’s book, “On Writing” took me in another direction, one where you let the story tell itself. I think I’m beginning to master that process, because I’m really and truly excited to know what happens next. Such an exhilarating feeling. Last weekend I discovered a character that I’d included… for what reason, I had no idea. I often considered cutting him… this character was vital to the story, and would have a major character arc. Who knew? The power of organic story-telling is heady.

I think I’m finally getting it. No matter how hard the road ahead seems. No matter how much you want to just give up and crawl in bed and cry, if what you want is across the muck, it’s totally worth it. Put on your hip waders, take one step at a time, over and over and over and over. The goal is always attainable, if you’re just willing to wade through.

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Happy New Year’s Eve Every Day

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Today is the day we Earthlings have arbitrarily decided is the end of one period and the start of a new one. It would probably make more sense to choose the Winter Solstice. That is the day the earth begins to turn it’s northern hemisphere, where we live, back to the sun. However, the pre-Christian Romans chose this day to honor Janus, the God of new beginnings. Then when Pope Gregory XIII came along, he took over that day to remember the naming and circumcision of Jesus, despite the fact that it probably didn’t happen on that day at all. So here we are, celebrating a day as the end of one year and the start of a new year, and pretending somehow that tomorrow will be so very different than today because we use 2016 at the end of the date.

Many people use this arbitrary day to start over, set goals, and make resolutions for what they want to accomplish. It’s a noble endeavor, other than the fact that most of us never really start over, our goals fall away, and those resolutions get broken almost immediately. We just keep doing more of the same, over and over.

I went into 2015 knowing that wouldn’t be the case for me. I had known for some time that our show was ending. I knew there might be a possibility of continuing there, but I also knew that would mean the end of who I truly was. I would be lost forever. Because I had time to make other plans, I was able to set a new course. Looking back, I can see how it all came off as planned, but of course last year at this time, I had no idea if it would work out. I planned to sell my house, but you never know if that will work out. I planned to move across the country, but had no idea if I would really like it in Missouri. I worried that I had been so unhappy for so long that it had become a part of me. I looked forward to 2015 with excitement and some fear.

Now looking back over the past 365 days, the job did end, the house did sell, I did love Missouri, and most thankfully of all, the unhappiness fell away almost instantly and I recovered my true happy, optimistic nature with ease.

Looking forward, I hope the next 365 days brings a cessation of sugar eating, better water intake, less fast food, more exercise and generally better health. I also plan to finish my novel and begin the process of publishing it.

There is no magic about tomorrow. I could have been, and have been, starting those goals now… Well, not the no-sugar thing, but I admit I am weak when it comes to traditional family-made Christmas treats. And the cold weather while visiting family in the frozen tundra didn’t help with exercising. I don’t do frigid cold, which is a big part of why I didn’t move closer to home.

At the end of this arbitrary period, we all look back on the past year and reflect on what we did with the time. It’s over. We can’t change it. We can only accept and learn from it. Yet today, and every day from here on out, we will be creating our year. Our goals and resolutions are long term, but we must not forget that these grand goals are only accomplished day by day. What will you look back on? What will you do? Who will you be? Each choice you make will create the New Year’s Eve you have next year. As stated in the song Unwritten – “Today is where your book begins, The rest is still unwritten.” Write your book well.

So happy new year’s day today and every day. It’s where your next New Year’s Eve reflections will come from. Make it one you’ll be happy with.

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The Joy of Writing

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It seems my posts have been a little heavy lately, so I will change things up a bit and talk about the joy of writing. Quite often I’ll read an interview with a successful writer, and am amazed when they talk about how much they hate writing. They complain about what a painful process it is, and describe their misery. James Joyce said, “Writing in English is the most ingenious torture ever devised for sins committed in previous lives.” I always want to ask writers who hate writing why they do it if it’s so painful. Seriously, isn’t there something out there they enjoy doing more? Why don’t they do that? Just because you’re good at something, doesn’t mean you have to do it. Thank goodness, or I’d still be a teleprompter operator.

Now, I’ll admit that writing isn’t always easy. It requires a great deal of discipline, and that’s something I struggle with. There are times that inspiration seems as rare as tolerance at a Tea Party gathering, and that’s when the mental struggles begin. Am I a fraud? Am I fooling myself? Should I find a new passion? A new dream? Is there any point to this? Yes, that is painful, but that has to do with doubts, not writing.

And honestly, that’s about as unpleasant as writing gets for me. Thankfully the joys are much more numerous. First, there’s the initial jolt of a great story dropping into your brain. For me it has come while watching a TV commercial, an interview about politics, a news article, or from an offhand comment I overhear at a table next to me. When it hits, it’s overwhelming. Conversations, reading, TV, and all thoughts of anything else are brought to a grinding halt. The brain wants to do nothing more than roll that story idea around. It’s play time!

That kernel of an idea leads to the glorious question, “What if…” What ifs are fantastic! They’re exhilirating. For someone who loves stories it’s like a kid walking into a toy store and being told they can have anything and everything they want. The mind starts running down aisles and grabbing things off the shelf. Sometimes when you get something into the cart, you realize it isn’t what you want, and it goes back on the shelf, but all the possibilities are what fill those moments with utter joy.

Eventually the cart is full of all the right things and I sit down in front of the computer. This is where the work comes in. Translating that glorious idea into words that others will enjoy is hard. There are so many things to keep in mind. What voice? Whose story? Building conflict. Changing values. Character arcs. Layers of meaning. Story structure. A satisfying conclusion. You have to juggle all the elements of a story while not losing that initial spark and inspiration of the original idea.

Hard work? Yes. As painful as enhanced interrogations? Not even close, I would imagine.

The other day I’d reached a point in the story where I really wasn’t sure what came next. I hadn’t had adequate daydreaming time to figure out exactly how the villain was going to proceed with his plans. There have been times that means I just don’t write. After all, if I don’t know what to write, what is there to write? But this day I forced myself to sit and write anyway. Granted, I did my best to procrastinate a bit, but eventually I just sat and stared at the page on the screen. I put myself into the character’s place, and imagined what I might do if I were them. Suddenly, as if dropped like a gift from the sky, it was all so obvious. Not only did it make sense to move the story forward, but I discovered an entire layer of deeper meaning to add to the theme of the book. I happily spent the next few hours putting those ideas on the page and watching them come to life. Utter joy!

Yes, it was a struggle to get there, but the joy that followed from breaking through made it seem like a minor anoyance. Perhaps that’s how women who give birth feel. Perhaps there wouldn’t be that joy if there weren’t that struggle. The joy is so much greater than the pain, and I don’t understand talented writers who say otherwise. Maybe that means I’m not as talented as they are. All I know is that I’m grateful that I have a talent and passion for something that makes me happy.

Hearing the story first is a priceless gift, transcribing it for others is a fantastic adventure. Being allowed to pursue this career – all joy.

Write on!

 

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Full of Thanks

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A year ago for Christmas, a friend of mine gave me a gratitude jar. Every time I was grateful I was to write my gratitude on a slip of paper and put it in the jar. At the end of the year, I could look back over everything for which I was grateful. I’m sorry to say that jar stands on my bookshelf empty. (Sorry, Tana.) However, it is not because I was not grateful. If I’d actually followed through, the jar I was given couldn’t possibly have held all the paper slips I would have put into it. A gallon jar, maybe.

I am so very thankful. Lately I find myself thankful for the most basic things. We’ve had some rain, and it made me so grateful that I can afford a warm and dry home. This is not a “yada yada yada, I need to try to be grateful” thought. I am sincerely thankful for the financial resources to have rented a decent house. That has not always been the case. There was a house in LA that I loved simply because it was a house with a yard and I’d been living in apartments. House is being generous. It was a shack. The roof leaked. There was missing siding, and that, combined with the cracked drywall, meant that there was a breeze in my bedroom. No central air or heat. No insulation. Threadbare carpet. Mold under the curling linoleum. I lived that way for 15 years because it was the only way I could afford to live in a house in LA. Now I appreciate a home with a solid roof and walls, and the ability to pay for it more than I ever would have if I’d never lived in that shack.

I am thankful for the people here who welcomed me as if I was a friend who’d been away for a few years and had come home. Uprooting 25 years of life and starting over is absolutely terrifying. They made it seem effortless. I am grateful for each and every person who has graced my life with their friendship and made me feel instantly at home.

There is immense thanksgiving for a job I love. Six months ago I was struggling to learn the names of our clients and put them together with faces. Now I know the names and faces, and enjoy seeing them whenever they come in to work out. Work is a constant flow of friendly faces sharing stories, jokes, and laughs.

Even more, I am thankful work provides variety and outlets for creativity. Years ago I was watching an episode of the Daily Show where they were saying goodbye to a producer who was moving on to another show. Jon Stewart described how he started at the bottom, was really good at what he did, and they thought, “Huh, I wonder if he’d be good at this, too. And he was.” And that happened over and over again until he was producing. As he told that story, I literally started to sob. That was the experience I thought I would have at CBS. I thought when I got to a national network, and people saw me as hard working, responsible, and pleasant, they’d think, “Huh, yeah, she’s good at prompting, but I bet she’d be good at this, too.” And up, up, up and away I’d go. Instead what I experienced was, “She’s really good at this thing and other people aren’t always so good. She’s dependable. She does whatever we ask. Since it makes our lives easier if she keeps prompting, let’s make sure she keeps doing that.” It felt like such a betrayal, though I’ve since learned that’s standard operating procedure there. Why, I have no idea. Seems very short sighted. Anyway, I am now in a situation much closer to the Daily Show.  Yes, some of my duties include taking out the trash, invoicing clients, collecting money, and answering the phone. However, I know on any given day I might be asked to write a press release, or design a flyer, or take on a task that my boss believes I can handle even though I’ve never done it before. Shoot, they even got me to be on camera in a comedy sketch. Work is challenging. There are possibilities. Having been without it for 20 years, I am so thankful for that!

The list could go on and on and on and on and I could probably do a paragraph on each thing I’m thankful for. I’ve come to realize that the things I’ve listed here, and many others, are all the sweeter because I have been without them. So, the very final slip of paper I’d put in this year’s gallon jar of gratitude is for those periods of lack. It’s not something I could have done at the time, but now I see that they have given me much of my joy today.

So, today I am full of thanks… and pumpkin pie… but mostly thanks. May you be as well.

And Tana, next year, I promise… I’ll start actually filling the jar.

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It’s Written in the Stars

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Every now and then I do something completely out of character for me. I did that this week and saw an astrologist. Now, this will probably offend some and cause others to roll their eyes. I put myself in the 2nd camp. You see, I find the entire idea of planets orbiting millions of miles away having anything to do with my life utterly ridiculous. There were other babies born the day and time I was born. Are we all having the same lives? Horoscopes are so vague that they could apply to anyone. Astrology is sheer nonsense on a scientitic and rational level.

However, as one person explained it, there are many people who have psychic gifts, or if that title offends you, people with perceptions outside of the normal realm. Using dates, planets, and charts is just one way to channel those perceptions and gain insight. Others use numerology, or tarot cards, or pendulums… all equally nonsensical in a scientific light. Since I have some of those unusual perceptions and know they’re legit, I can live with her explanation, tamp down my utter disbelief in the system, and see what they have to say.

Why would anyone do this when they don’t really beleive? Simple. It’s an excellent tool for gauging my desires. Last year, when I first consulted this astrologist, I had pretty much already decided to move to Missouri, but there was still some doubt. Was I giving up too soon? If I hung in a little longer would things swing my way? Was life going to be just as difficult there? I wanted to get another pespective and see what my reaction to it was. During that first reading she told me all the planets were aligning and I was about to have a huge career in entertainment. My reaction?… a primal scream in my head that said, “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” While I have no idea if she was right, my reaction told me all I needed to know. I did not want that career. I truly was done with Hollywood and wanted out. That alone was worth the cost of the reading. My decision, despite recurring doubts, was made.

Right now there are no huge decisions on my horizon, but doubt has been creeping back in. Am I up for this? I was so busy being social in October that I got almost no writing done.  Yes, I’m having a great time. Yes, my life is full of wonderful people. Yes, life has slowed down and stress has been reduced to almost nothing. However, this life is not sustainable. What happens in 3-4 years when my entire life’s savings is gone and I haven’t published anything? What if this leap really does leave me crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the chasm, and at an age that it will be hard to climb out? Aaaahhhh! As you can imagine, these thoughts are not conducive to creativity and writing, so I put my logical thought processes on hold, and consulted an astrologist.

Consulting these paranormal people is always a great confidence builder if nothing else. It doesn’t matter if I talk to a psychic, numerologist, or astrologist, they always say the same thing – I am destined to be a writer, teacher, and prophet, (ugh) whose work will have an affect on many people. (ugh ugh) I don’t feel qualified to teach anyone anything, let alone many people. I just want a life full of friends, cats, laughter, and lots of quiet hours in my office writing. As for the outcome… ppphhhhtttt. As long as I can sustain my life, who cares.

This reading was the same. Apparently come next August I need to have this book finished and submitted to a publisher because some moon, or planet, or something is moving into my publishing house. And this book is going to bring in money, launch my career, and potentially lead me back into the entertainment industry when the book is made into a movie. All that sounds great, though I have no idea if any of it is true. However, once again, what made this entire reading worth the cost was the deadline. People have asked, “When do you hope to finish it?” I would just shrug my shoudlers, “I dunno.” Now I have a goal… a deadline. August. This book will be done by August. I am once again confident, encouraged, and ready to make this dream a reality. Despite the silliness of it all, purpose accomplished.

Now, on a fun note, apparently those renewed interests in romance that I blogged about recently are not in vain. At some point early next year, I am supposed to end up in a relationship, and one that finally gives me the deep, spiritual connection I have longed for. Oh my! It will be fun to see if that turns out to be true. A man, a career, and security. It’s written in the stars, now let’s see if I can write it in my life.

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Happy Birthday to Me

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Birthdays are only unpleasant if you are aren’t doing in life what you want to be doing. Even though yesterday was my first step into the second half of a century, which could be depressing, this was a very happy birthday. The increasing number means little right now.

The first half century of my life was pretty remarkable. I often think about myself as someone kind of boring. I’m just a middle-aged woman living alone with my cats. Then I think back on all my adventures and realize I have not lived an ordinary life. Running off to Hawaii at 20. A summer in Yellowstone. A winter at the Grand Canyon. Teaching city kids about nature. Showing up in LA with no experience and still managing to have a 25 year career in television – working with the biggest celebrities, sports figures, and government officials on the planet. I’ve gone caving, had the Phantom of the Opera sing to me backstage, seen Renoirs and Van Goghs in person, attended several Super Bowls, gone ghost hunting overnight on an old ship, made John Candy laugh, ridden the London Eye, chatted backstage with the VP of the United States, gone whale watching, and so much more. I’ve done things I never could have imagined I would do when I was young. It has been a remarkable ride, and I’ve said that if I die today, I wouldn’t be eligible for a refund. I’ve gotten my money’s worth.

However, most of those events happened years ago. For the past few years there has been very little adventure in my life. I went to work. I recovered from work. I went back to work. That was life. Daydreams, which were the power behind most of my adventures, stopped completely. Being a square peg in round Hollywood left me more and more insecure. I built higher and thicker walls, sure I would be rejected anyway. I collapsed in on myself, not sure who I was anymore. For the first time in my life, I understood the term, “soul sick.” No dreams, no joy, no me.

Thankfully, the soul is a resilient thing. Since leaving LA and finding myself in a strong community of friends and coworkers, my soul has returned to life. I find myself more comfortable in my skin. Confidence is growing, laughter comes easily, but most importantly, I can dream about my future again. I can imagine all sorts of exciting adventures happening… even falling in love. Anyone who knows me well is probably picking themselves up off the floor after that comment.

I feel like I’ve received so many wonderful gifts this year. My house in LA was beautiful inside, but had no view other than my neighbor’s houses and a sliver of busy street. Right now I look out across an expanse of field bordered by trees that are just starting to change into a beautiful mix of reds, golds, and greens. I’m have the time and mental clarity to be working on a novel. My commute went from an hour and a half battling LA traffic to 10 minutes on side streets of a small city. My dead-end job is dead, and I’m now doing work that matters, is appreciated, and provides new challenges every day. I went from working in a toxic soup, to one of mutual support and encouragment. What might I have accomplished in Hollywood with this support system? I went from worrying I had no future, to being able to dream of fantastic futures. A completely 180. I am so blessed.

Through a bit of planning, hard work, and a great deal of real estate luck, I have recieved the best birthday present I may have ever been given. I’ve gotten myself and my dreams back. Happy birthday to me.

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Wherever You are is Perfect

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All the advice on building a loyal audience to my blog is to make regular posts. I’m failing at this. Like most people, I don’t like failing. However, being kind to myself is taking precedent over achieving many of my goals.

Historically, I have not been particularly kind to myself. Most of us aren’t. We say things to ourselves that we would never tolerate being said to others. We know how those words create deep wounds and step in to defend others, but then we cut ourselves to the bone. It’s a disease we need to work on curing.

When I first moved to Missouri, I was in an almost manic phase. I had a vision of a perfect life. I didn’t want to fall into old habits. I wanted to pursue social connections and not become isolated. I wanted to find people with whom I fit. I wanted to eat right. I wanted to exercise. I wanted to lose weight. I wanted to write daily. I wanted to meditate. I wanted to keep negative thoughts at bay. I wanted to solve every problem I’d ever had. AND I wanted to relax into my new slow-paced, stress-free life.

Ha! It was like I short-circuited. Since I hadn’t reached my goals, it felt as if what was true today, would be true forever. It hadn’t worked instantly, so it would never work! (face palm)

When I realized I was rushing into things and trying to make it all work at once, I actually learned from my mistakes and stopped stressing so much. I allowed things to unfold at a natural pace, and stopped worrying about where I should be. Shockingly, that has done the trick.  I actually did solve all my problems at once, and have been able to relax into a new slow-paced, stress-reduced (not free) life.

You see, once I stopped beating myself up for not being perfect and recognizing that life is a process, the social connections were far easier to make. When someone is telling you you’re a permanent failure, it’s hard to believe you’re likeable. Then I joined a group class at work, where I not only exercise, but get to do it with fun, supportive people. That ticks off the boxes, making connections, exercising, and losing weight. The more I work out, the less eating garbage appeals. I’ve started to meditate again. I’m not doing it daily, but I’m doing it more days than I was. I’m definitely reaping the rewards of that. As I slow down and focus more on being present, joy comes flooding back into daily activities. Even turning on the faucet can be miraculous if you’re in the right mindset.

So, what’s been learned? Acceptance. That, wherever you are is perfect. It has to be. It’s where you are.  If you want to be someplace else, then take a step in that direction. It still won’t be exactly where you want to be, but it will be perfect for you, because where you are now is one step closer than where you were. That’s the only way to get there. One perfectly imperfect step at a time.

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