Morning Person August 14, 2009

Why am I not writing? Well obviously I’m writing; I’m writing this. But why am I not writing the self help addicts book? I haven’t been working on it lately; the work i’s sporadic and I can’t for the life of me seem to post the reviews of the three books I’ve chosen for the sample chapter. I don’t know why. Well… maybe I do. Fear is probably in the mix. Writing then taking it apart and re-writing. Again and again. The idea of it is daunting, but I don’t want to get this far and then put it down again, and wait another two years to work on it, again.

About six months ago I started to get up at 5:30 to write a novel because I read Walter Mosley’s book, This Year You Write Your Novel. Have you ever read a book that made something seem imminently doable? This is the book. I’ve read writing books before, most of them self help books, but this one was so slim, so direct, that each sentence seemed undeniable. Write every day. Every Day. At least an hour and a half.

When I read that I knew that the only way I could do it was to get up at 5:30am, get some coffee and set a timer for 90 minutes. And that’s what I did. At first it seemed incredibly early, I had to drag myself out of bed. But then the coffee would taste good, and I would write something, the shitty first draft stuff, just basically venting about whatever, but giving people different names and changing their hair color.  I got up every morning without fail and wrote.

A couple of months ago the writing changed so I could finish up the self help addicts book that I had abandoned for two years, but I figured the same rules applied: get up every morning and write.  Now, I’ve let the writing go.

But I still get up early, my eyes still open at about 5:20 in anticipation of starting a new day, even when my mind just wants to hunker down and stay in bed for whatever reason it can think of. Then I make promises to myself. Well I’ll get up now, but I have to meditate and practice yoga or I have to write a post for the blog. This morning I stayed in bed but I clearly wanted to write because I grabbed my journal, leaning on my left, using my arm as a pillow and writing parts of what you just read, writing like I did for years without editing, just the shitty first drafts.

Phases August 14, 2009

I’m moving soon, moving to a little house in Hyde Park in Austin. I’ve always wanted to live there. It’s close to everything and I’ll be able to bike and walk (when it’s not 110 degrees out!) to restaurants or stores or yoga.  I’ve wanted to live in a house for a while. This is a 2/1 and I don’t know the square footage, but I’ll definitely be able to have a study/yoga/meditation room, which I’m thrilled about. This house was available at the right time and only a little bit over the right price.

This is a new phase for me: actually living where I want, neighborhood and housing. I’ve spent most of my life living in anonymous apartment buildings in neighborhoods that were a little, or a lot, away from where I actually wanted to live.

When I moved to New York, to Brooklyn, I loved my apartment, LOVED, but I was always taking the train to Park Slope to do anything because that’s where everything was (not even talking about taking the train to Manhattan for work). I hadn’t been able to afford Park Slope and did I mention I’m not willing to share?  Yeah. I move to a city where people have to have roommates even after they’ve bought something, but I refuse to share. Sometimes I exhaust myself.

I lived in two apartments in DC and hated them both, although I hated the first (which I stayed in for only a year) slightly more than I hated the second, which I stayed in for 5 and a half years. Every year when my lease was up I would “decide” to move, look here and there for an apartment I wanted, in a neighborhood I wanted, then just kind of give up, not having extensive funds, or the extensive energy the search seemed to require.

I lived in Hyde Park in Chicago when I was a graduate student, and I remember at the time, I didn’t think much of it. I would tell Chicago people I lived in Hyde Park and they would sigh and roll their eyes as if in some sort of ecstasy. I was always baffled as to why. Where did I want to live in Chicago? I don’t remember. No place would have made me happy then. Looking back Hyde Park was an awesome neighborhood, by far the best I’ve lived in.

Now I’m moving to another Hyde Park, also by a university. I really appreciate what the neighborhood has to offer in a way I just didn’t before, maybe couldn’t. So I’m going to live exactly where I want to live, in the kind of house I want to live in. Will I be happy there? What happens when you get exactly what you want?

Deserving It August 11, 2009

From the Rotund: “Fuck deserving it. …there are millions of people in the world who are BETTER than me. The difference is that, honestly, what I DESERVE isn’t going to determine what I go after in this world. Not when it comes to happiness or work or clothes that look awesome.”

What do I deserve? I don’t feel like I deserve anything good or complimentary or expensive. I don’t feel I deserve to be called smart or pretty or even tell people that I’m a yoga teacher. I certainly don’t feel like I deserve to put together a yoga/volunteering program in one of seven countries of my choice, let alone be the yoga teacher for that program (and so I secretly expect it to fall through) or to get published whenever I freaking finish this book (and so I not so secretly avoid working on it). Any compliment I get I assume the person either pities me or is crazy. Any opportunity I get I think “surely they’ve made a mistake, they can’t want me,” because I haven’t worked hard enough or long enough or whatever ‘enough’ I can think of.

This is no way to live.

How is it that I can accept every rejection as well formed and reasonable, but I can’t accept any praise at all?  But reversing that doesn’t seem logical either. How can I  accept only the praise but reject the rejections?  I’m back to the prayer of Byron Katie’s again: “God, spare me from the desire for love, approval, or appreciation. Amen.”  How do I do that? I have no idea.

Don’t take it personally August 4, 2009

Don’t take it personally. Don’t take it personally. Don’t take it personally.

This has to be my new mantra, the Second Agreement. Why? Because I can’t let anything get me down right now. If you read my blog, especially this post, you know that one of my passions is yoga, teaching and learning it nationally and internationally, as I put it. Well, I have been given the opportunity to do just that. To plan a yoga and volunteering trip in one of seven countries of my choice.  Belize is at the top of the list.

It just fell in my lap. My friend’s husband’s cousin has a thing… I owe so much to them and their friendship. They believe enough in me to speak well of me to everyone they know.  You can’t ask more of a friendship.

However you can get a lot less. I can’t let anyone’s negative reactions get in the way of what I want to do with my life. And that’s what I experienced a few days ago. It was kind of shocking how not happy for me one particular friend, I guess now an acquaintance was.

I can’t let this get me down or more accurately let anger burn up my energy and sidetrack me. In Loving What Is, Katie writes, “If I had a prayer, it would be this: ‘God, spare me from the desire for love, approval, or appreciation. Amen.’”  It’s not that love, approval and appreciation don’t exist in the world. It’s the desire for those things that run you ragged.

This idea that I must have everyone’s approval before I make a move, it drives me nuts, it makes me mad, mad/crazy, mad/angry. What to do with that anger, that firey energy that I usually burn myself with? Channel it. Put it to use doing something. Wake me up.  Just don’t take anything personally.