Pathways to Deeper Work

It's an interesting irony that I'm writing the final post of the Summer of Self-Love on my tiny Raydem keyboard.

I'm on the road again.

And I'm feeling oddly blocked as I write this evening.

Natalie Goldberg would tell me to write about just that until something else opened up. Lynda Barry would tell me to write tic tic tic until something else opened up. Teachers I highly respect have developed ways to write through the blocks. They both understand that blocks are temporary and that they are pathways to deeper work.

Blocks are pathways to deeper work.

Blocks are pathways to deeper work.

It's the difficult and the dangerous places of the soul that open us to deeper expressions of our own depths. The harder roads lead to the most wondrous finds. The conflicts we meet, rather than avoid, open the way to treasure.

We have to keep with it, stay engaged, be willing to meet ourselves there.

The greatest battles are within the self. Being willing to show up and choosing to be present for ourselves are the most courageous acts we undertake. They are key to self-mastery, to personal sovereignty.

And being soverign in the self is everything.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

WILD THING copyright 2018 Katherine Cartwright

Taking a Bite from the Apple

I had my first honeycrisp apple today.

I found it at the farmers' market, just down the table from the peaches and nectarines. I don't know what possessed me to buy it, with the profusion of summer fruits that are still around. And my passion for peaches.  

It was a little sign that the seasons are changing.

One thing is passing away and another is on the horizon. And I've given you two cliches for the price of one. But there is wisdom in those cliches. Hard won from generations of people watching the seasons come and go.

 

I'm feeling reflective this evening. Tomorrow is the last day of this writing project and there are so many thoughts going through my mind, so many threads I'd like to explore. 

But they all return to the apple I picked up at the farmers' market today. 

One apple. 

And I've eaten already it. 

It was good. Not as good as a ripe peach, of course, or a handful of Rainier cherries. There's something amazing about what we can eat fresh and local in the summer here. It's like a burst of wonder. 

For me, fall feels cozy and comfortable. Winter? Well, if I'm talking about what I like about winter it has to be the freshness of the air. And spring for me is the feeling of sheer renewal. 

Summer is my burst of wonder. The flowers, the blue skies, puffy white clouds, soft breezes, and the deep greens of a fertile, producing, abundant Earth. Long days that stretch into cool evenings. A season that feels endless. Deep restoration.

This time of daily writing has been deeply restorative and I am grateful for it. As I think about what's next, I understand that writing will continue to be primary. There is much to think about after spending three months doing something regularly and with intention, and I imagine I'll be reflecting on this experience to unearth my discoveries. 

For now, I smile as I think about taking a bite out of the apple and understanding that I know something now that I didn't know before.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it. Most of them usually are.

 

Tracking the Wild Geese

It's 7:18 in the morning and there's not a sound on the street.

I've been up for a few hours, writing, having tea and some broth. I wrote in two journals and drew a comic. I try to draw a comic every day. I wrote a letter to my daughter and pondered writing one to my mother. But I'll see her on Friday so I decided to be the letter instead of writing one.

Off in the distance, between two tall trees in the foreground, a small flock of geese flies by and I find myself wondering where they are going. At the end of August, the geese begin to be on the move. I have to take my car in for an oil change in about an hour and a half. 

I appreciate these quiet early mornings when I slip into them.

The peace is so palpable, I sometimes want to go back to bed and sleep in that peace. 

I picked up a journal yesterday and it happened to fall open to a page from a few weeks ago, a day that I had been noticing that I hadn't really been paying attention to the goals I created at the beginning of the summer, and I have to admit there was a little harshness from my inner critic going on in my thoughts. 

I talked to a good friend last night and happened to mention it to her. It had been on my mind all day and I was doing some bargaining with myself to see if I could pull out a Hail Mary pass around all this. I also mentioned to her that I had kept my word to myself around this daily writing practice. And that today would be my 90th day of consecutive writing and putting that writing out into the world. 



Ninety days. 

I had to stop and ponder that one a bit.

It feels like a huge accomplishment. To show up for writing every day for 90 days. There were days I did not know how I would do it and learned that I could, even if I could not see in the moment how it would be possible. Some days I simply put myself in front of the computer and opened a new post screen. On some of those days I brought the challenge or the conflict to the writing. Other days I simply surrendered to what wanted to emerge even if I thought that I did not want to write about it. I learned I did not have to write a long essay each time. Sometimes there was simply a clear, short, powerful thought. And that was enough. Sometimes I was not thrilled with what I wrote. But I put it out there anyway. And grew to love even that imperfection. The next time it happened I was able to marshall myself better because I knew I could do it. Some days I realized I would not have a computer with me and I was gifted the tool that could bridge that gap, my tiny Raydem keyboard that works with my iPhone.

The common denominator in all of this is that I showed up for what was most important to me. And it was the consistent showing up that helped me to learn just how important the writing is to me. I think when we make a point to show up, what is not important falls away. And it is not that what falls away is not ever going to be important, although we might find that to be true. The core teaching here is also about timing. 

What might be important now?

Now.

All those other things are still on my list. I've put them onto a more recent page in a notebook I look at every day where I go to organize around what is alive for me. 

I won't make any declarations about all that here and now, because now what it important is this writing. 






The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.





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The Wake-Up Call in the Noisy Trucks

The sound of jackhammers has been replaced with the sounds of loud, noisy big trucks.

They rolled down my quiet street at 6:30 this morning, heralding another phase in the public works project in my neighborhood. The water pipes in the municipal system were replaced in the spring and they have been working on repairing the streets, sidewalks, and curbs throughout the summer.

It's been a mysterious and unpredictable process.

It was clear what the jackhammers were doing, what the noise and the disturbance were all about. Tearing up concrete. Preparing the ground for the coming work. 

But these trucks outside? What are they doing? I really don't know. It's a bit of a mystery to me and I trust that someone knows. At some point, the project will be over and the street will be back to normal - a transformation completed and a return to calm. 

There has been chaos for months. But the water beneath the street has been flowing smoothly through the new pipes all this time. It's the outer parts of things that are disturbed and seem off. 

It was interesting how the project went - a rush and fury to replace the pipes. I think the work was completed on our block in a day or two. They went block by block and had a way to bypass the system and keep the water working, for the most part, turning it off for hours at a time, and then on again, before the new pipes were in place and the water could be permanently rerouted. 

And then, nothing.

Nothing went on for a long time.

And then, jackhammers. 

I noticed them because I was writing. I was in a place of vivid noticing. I am sure there were jackhammers before also, when they replaced the pipes. But I was away when they were working on my block and the blocks around mine, a pleasant coincidence. 

Still, I notice that with transformation, there can be a seemingly invisible inner process that sparks a more noticable outer expression. 

It takes time and can be stop-and-start as it continues. We think it's done and a few weeks or months later it's back again, having replaced jackhammers with big trucks that rumble loudly, beep incessantly, and produce dust and a disturbing host of sounds as they complete their work and fix what had been disturbed and unearthed by the jackhammers. 

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

A Pisces Moon is for Dreaming

Four people I know passed sleepless nights last night.

And I make five.

Was it the moon, shining big and bright in my window?

Or was it specific and non-specific worry that roused me at 3:30 am and kept me awake for the next two hours, tossing and turning before dozing fitfully and coming in and out of wild dreams for the next two?

Tonight I'm asking for nice dreams. And maybe some poetry.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.

Light On the Water

I didn't even need my alarm. 

I woke naturally a little after 4 am. I thought to myself that it had been a crazy idea to get up so early to drive to the shore to watch the sun rise. I tried to go back to sleep. 

But something was nudging me to awaken.

So, moving slowly in the darkness, I got ready. It didn't take much. Some clothes and a cup of tea to go. My bag. My keys. My phone.

And I was off. 

Initially heading west, the nearly full, glorious moon was sinking in the night sky. The closer she gets to the earth, the larger she appears. Opalescent white against a deep blue-black sky. 

I turned East and went over the river.

As I drove, the sky began to lighten. I found myself wishing I'd gotten myself moving a little more quickly. Colors, and clouds on which to catch them, began to appear. Pinks, apricots, lavenders, and periwinkles. As I walked toward the shoreline, the sounds of surf against sand added its music to the scene.

Everything was coming alive.

And there was the sun, rising over the steely grey shimmering ocean. A deep apricot orb with spears of golden light, slowly revealing. 

This time, I moved toward the sun and brilliant, vibrant, pulsating light. The source of light. So often I move toward the softer, reflected light of the moon. And stillness. Both are beautiful and powerful, of course. 

But today something in me needed to ignite. I felt drawn to beginnings and to what is being birthed. To what is new. A new day. Perhaps a new perspective. 

A quickening energy. 

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.


Photo taken at the Jersey Shore, another day.

Longing for Beautiful Places

A slideshow of amazing natural landscapes moves across my computer screen every time I turn it on. 

And it's got me itching for the real thing.

I'm thinking about getting up at 4:30 tomorrow morning to drive to the beach and watch the sun rise and the moon set. It's full moon tomorrow morning, so the moon should be setting as the sun is rising. It would be a good place to write my morning pages and enjoy the early part of the day.

It would also feel good to sleep in. But considering that I usually wake up between 5 and 6 am, it probably won't feel as satisfying. 

Sleeping in sounds like a good idea. The reality just isn't as good as the fantasy.

There are a lot of things in life like that. Except, of course, amazing natural landscapes. 

They never disappoint.

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an odd Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.