Wings

Ready to soar,
Ever powerful.

But first,
Clearing space.

Need room
For a real takeoff.

Joy in flight.
Is imminent.

The Ballad of Lucy Jordan

This song was mentioned to me twice in the span of a week. Maybe I'm living in a vacuum, but I had never heard of it. Not one to ignore such synchronicities, I Google-d the lyrics and found out it was written by Shel Silverstein in 1973. It blew me away, frankly.

“The Ballad of Lucy Jordan”

The morning sun touched lightly on the eyes of lucy jordan
In a white suburban bedroom in a white suburban town
As she lay there ’neath the covers dreaming of a thousand lovers
Till the world turned to orange and the room went spinning round.
At the age of thirty-seven she realised she’d never
Ride through paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair.
So she let the phone keep ringing and she sat there softly singing
Little nursery rhymes she’d memorised in her daddy’s easy chair.
Her husband, he’s off to work and the kids are off to school,
And there are, oh, so many ways for her to spend the day.
She could clean the house for hours or rearrange the flowers
Or run naked through the shady street screaming all the way.
At the age of thirty-seven she realised she’d never
Ride through paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair
So she let the phone keep ringing as she sat there softly singing
Pretty nursery rhymes she’d memorised in her daddy’s easy chair.
The evening sun touched gently on the eyes of lucy jordan
On the roof top where she climbed when all the laughter grew too loud
And she bowed and curtsied to the man who reached and offered her his hand,
And he led her down to the long white car that waited past the crowd.
At the age of thirty-seven she knew she’d found forever
As she rode along through paris with the warm wind in her hair ...

Out with the old

There is space and organization all around. A cleaning frenzy has made my closet, indeed, a walk-in again. Bags full of clothes out the door to the homeless. Odds and ends to the local hospital's thrift shop. Garbage kicked to the curb.

Everything has its place. Clothes are hanging freely from their hangars. Luggage is easily accessed. Hard to believe.

Wheeeee. Light and free. That is me.

Artist date

Sometimes it is just right to come out of my art and indulge myself in someone else's.

Tonight I saw a friend perform. She is a musician who writes, sings and plays guitar. Her songs are whimsical and reflect her easy personality. She is a breath of fresh air.

Creativity amazes and inspires me so.

Thank you

A good day, but a long one. Left home at 7:20 this morning and just got in about 11 tonight.

Went to visit my sister, brother-in-law and niece, who is so delightful and engaging it warms my heart. En route to my destination, I nestled into a train seat with O magazine and, as usual, just devoured story after story and feature after feature. There are stories with depth mixed in with insightful fashion spreads. Truly fabulous.

As was the feeling of shedding my boots and clothes and jewelry for the cotton PJs with the coffee cups all over them when I got home. The icing was putting my feet into slippers. Oh yeah.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The dance of coaching

There is so much to be said for life coaching. I have an almost tingly sense of satisfaction after nearly every session. Tonight, though, I did a consultation that blew my mind.

In short, I sat across the table from someone who had an epiphany so profound it will likely change the course of her life. The brilliant simplicity of it kept rolling over her like waves. She was astounded. I was astounded.

It's all about asking the right questions, knowing when to dig deeper, letting the dialogue breathe. When training to be a coach, we were told again and again to remember the coaching is self-directed. The client knows what she has to do in most cases. We are facilitators, cheerleaders, people to account to and provide insights. They called it the "dance of coaching."

Tonight I felt like I was doing my best Bob Fosse.

A lesson in giving

I watched Oprah give away houses today. Un-freakin'-believable.

I've heard her dissed on so many different fronts throughout the years. Certainly she has her flaws like the rest of us. But you cannot quarrel the woman's altruism and what she chooses to do with money she has earned. That's right, earned through hard work, as opposed to stole, inherited or found.

Oprah's Angel Network, buoyed by her loyal viewers' contributions, is building a neighborhood in Houston for families displaced by Hurricane Katrina. Today's show let us in for a peek at families' reactions to seeing their new homes, fully decorated by Nate Berkus, and stocked with groceries and flowers. My tears were flowing.

And the work continues for more families. The woman is amazing. It was a powerful lesson in giving.

Good scary

I have always been an ambitious sort. So driven. So purposeful. Very directed in my work while staying open to new and interesting things. It's one of my qualities I'm most proud of.

But lately some things -- I'll call them signs -- have taken my ambition up a notch or two or three. Strange how it sometimes creeps up on you but other times just suddenly surrounds you and yells it in your face. I had a lightbulb moment today that, coupled with some other revelations the past two weeks, made me really see. And then another amusing sign showed itself this evening on a random (?) TV program.

It's one of those directives that comes out of the often elusive (at least for me) stillness and the willingness to listen to it. You're not going to hear this big stuff over incessant chatter. No siree.

I stopped. I listened. I heard.

I'm intrigued. I'm driven. I'm ready.

Yeeha. I love my own ambition. Scary, isn't it?

Bargain hunter

I lost myself in Macy's today. What a treat. That is one big store. I presented myself with the fun challenge of using up some gift card money, combining it with a 15 percent off savings pass and thereby spending very little out of pocket.

The idea was to get one of those soft, silky tops to add a feminine twist to my jeans. They're all the rage and I've wanted one for a while.

Mission accomplished.

I tried on a handful and finally found a pretty blue silk one with a sweet floral print. It looks good, feels very sexy.

Sometimes there's nothing like a good purchase.

New York, New York

A really good day in the city despite the cold:

Heard an inspirational message at church service, one that reminded me that the way we wake up and go about our day will in fact determine our day. Powerful.

Received a copy of her book from a former client, who wrote a wonderful message to me inside.

Brunched with two smart, fun guys at Vynl, a place with a lively atmosphere and a delicious vegetable fritatta. Particularly enjoyed the Elvis bathroom, where I was serenaded by My Way as I did my business.

Watched a couple of documentaries at MOMA, one of which was written, directed and produced by a former co-worker. How proud and inspired I was to see her splendid work.

Came out to the buzz and glitter of Fifth Avenue and found it uplifting.

All in all, a good day.

Purpose

In an attempt to find a story I wrote while in a writing group and "borrow" a piece of it for my book, I was going through all of my computer files this afternoon. I found some really cool old stuff, including the piece I was looking for. (yay)

But I also found an essay I wrote a few years ago. I had entered a contest asking, "What is your purpose?" and here's a line I penned in that piece:

It is my purpose to create magic with words and to help other people get aligned with their purpose.

Not only does that hold up now, it captures the essence of my book. Something very "full circle" about that. Love, love, love it.

Beckoning

The travel website commercial (is it Expedia?) that's been running a lot lately is speaking to me.

It shows a guy reading a bodice-ripping paperback and the narrator says something like, "It's time to read books you wouldn't normally be seen reading." In another shot it says, "It's time to go buy little shampoos and toothpaste" as a guy gleefully watches them go down the conveyor belt at the grocery store. There are a number of quick vignettes on this theme of "It's time ..."

I think it's very clever. It's a unique way of saying, "Book a trip, baby."

It's been a while for me. It is indeed time.

My place

I feel a sense of order and purpose. It's very strong. Like a resounding "yes" in my head.

I am seeing more depth, bigger messages, in ordinary things. There is reason, direction, clarity all around. It's control, but not the icky kind.

Sometimes you just know you are walking your talk, striding like you mean it, challenging and almost daring others to follow in your footsteps.

Hop on the ride. Come on. Excitement beckons.

Man, I love this place.

Quitting

Sometimes it's got to be cold turkey.

Clench your teeth through the pain.

Resist the temptation.

Cry the tears.

Grow.

Valentine

Some say 'selfish' in that tsk tsk way
I say 'selfish' in that healthy way
Love of self
Everything else that is real must emanate from that
It is survival

Warm blessings

There is heat again. It is slowly seeping through the radiator holes. Soon the couch and the walls and the toilet won't be cold to the touch. I have already taken a steamy shower in my very own tub.

Every so often it takes something a little extreme to make me feel gratitude and overwhelming appreciation. Heat and hot water. Relaxing in my own home. Washing my dishes. Taking a shower. Walking barefoot.

Pure joy and warmth this evening.

Way cool

So there's this blizzard. And the building I live in has no heat or hot water. Ran out of oil. No deliveries on Sunday. Brilliant timing, all in all.

So I have spent the day making the best of it. Plan B was pretty simple. Take the laptop to the usual cafe and spend the day blissfully writing. But no. The cafe is closed due to the weather. Hmmmm. It was a little easier to get my zen on when I had Plan B so clear in my mind.

Plan C? Play it by ear. So it was off to the grocery store cafe for a warm spot, some morning pages writing and the Sunday Times. That was good for a while. But wouldn't a shower be nice, I thought. Off to the gym for a workout and a soothing, hot shower. And the workout was a welcome feeling, that whole thing about getting the blood circulating.

OK, so what next? The idea is to stay out of the house as long as possible before giving in to thermals and blankets. I ran into my kind police officer neighbor who offered up a space heater when he heard my tale. Yes! So that's set up and cooking as I sit in yet another bakery cafe, this time with laptop and book files.

How funny is this????

Tomorrow brings heat. Sweet, sweet heat.

Through the Glass

My inspiration today comes from yet another piece written in ripple-effect response to the James Frey debacle. It is courtesy of The New York Times op-ed page, an essay written by Julia Glass, who won the National Book Award for Fiction in 2002. Its pull-out teaser asks, "Why have we forsaken the novel for the memoir?"

I love the piece. It puts the argument into a societal perspective, analyzing the merits of each genre. But what I really love, right now, is what it says to me as the writer of fiction. This book I am writing is new terrain for me, who made a 15-year living writing non-fiction.

"Fiction, wholly extravagant, magnifies [reality] and gives it moral shape," Glass writes. "Fiction has no practical purpose. Fiction, after all, is art."

The writing of this book is heady and exhilarating as it is daunting in its challenges. The work ahead stands before me and taunts me sometimes. And yet I know at my core this is going to be a fine, fine piece of art.

Glass writes, "A good novel is an out-of-self experience. It lifts you off the ground so that you have the sensation of flying. It says, Look at the world around you; learn from the people in these pages, neither quite me nor quite you, how life is lived in so many different ways."

That quote alone lifts me off the ground. Novels have done that for me. I intend to do that for readers.

So let me get to it on this wintry Saturday afternoon.

Friday

A day of friendships. Lingering conversations. Some Riesling.

Just what the doctor ordered on a Friday.

Birth and death

I have a new favorite line from a movie. Was doing a little channel surfing and just happened to catch Under The Tuscan Sun. Diane Lane's character, Francesca, meets an Italian hottie. They are instantly attracted to each other. She is trying to get off to a new start, a rebirth if you will, after a divorce. They are kissing and it's getting intense when he pauses and says:

Francesca, I'm going to make love all over you.

Her dazed reply:

Okay.

And then it gets good.

It felt kind of synchronous to what I'm reading right now, The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck. Just today on the PATH train I read this:

... whether or not we are willing to entertain seriously the possibility of some kind of rebirth occurring simultaneously with our physical death, it is abundantly clear that this lifetime is a series of simultaneous deaths and births.

God, yes.

Encouragement

Another good, good coaching day. Brings to mind a quote a friend sent me in an email today:

Flatter me, and I may not believe you. Criticize me, and I may not like you. Ignore me, and I may not forgive you. Encourage me, and I may not forget you. --William Arthur

Beautiful.

Free

When I am most decisive, I am most free.

Picture me soaring. Beside myself with glee.

Yes, me.

Book review

I have so much content written for my book. I have positive feedback from an agent. It's definitely cooking.

But it was time to sit with my thoughts on it, to pause and mull over some ideas and some big picture questions. Just a few weeks ago I attended a reading for a friend's book and in the Q&A portion I asked her this: What do you want readers of your book to come away with?

And so now I direct that question at myself. I thought about it yesterday. I wrote about it in my morning pages today. And there are insightful answers coming from the stillness. I'm excited about yet another part of this amazing creative process.

It will all come ... under grace in a perfect way.

Ms. Friedan

Betty Friedan died yesterday, her 85th birthday. I have been reflecting on her and what she did for women.

What came to mind almost immediately was taking a women's studies class at the University of Michigan as a journalism fellow in 1996. I had the pleasure of being a 30-something among a group of 20-somethings in that class; it had a nice, fresh energy. But I got a bit of a rude awakening when we talked about Friedan. Those young women were ripping The Feminine Mystique like it was a Harlequin Romance.

"It is not inclusive of all women," one student huffed.

Duh.

This contention annoys me so much. It took courage for Friedan to write that book at that time, to challenge the June Cleaver role and make it OK for some women to want more. Not all women. Some. There are women who are born homemakers. They thrive in the role and make it look easy when it clearly isn't. But that life isn't a good fit for others. Back in the 50s, it wasn't common for a wife and mother to express that deep down she feels she was meant to be doing something in addition to those roles.

I love that Friedan validated those women and gave them wings to fly. I love that she didn't sit around and bitch about her lot in life and instead did something productive with her energy. I love that she founded NOW and that she later turned her attention to the elderly. Clearly, she was a keen observer of her time.

Those of us who are female and had the privilege of choosing a career post-Friedan should take a moment to express our appreciation. It would be a fitting tribute.

Rest in peace, Ms. Friedan.

Ah, those MP's

Something has sent me back to my morning pages. Glory be and halleluia.

The morning pages, a creation of Julia Cameron as detailed in The Artist's Way, are three pages of longhand, stream of consciousness writing done, of course, in the morning. They're not just for writers. They're for anyone looking to start the day with clarity and freshness, something I only seem to realize they give me when I stop doing them for a period of time.

Anyway, I had let them go for a while due to schedule issues but have now inserted them back where they belong. With me and a cup of coffee. Every morning. Not thinking so much as being. Releasing. And somehow resolving in a myriad of ways.

I find them magical.

And so it is.

Sane and sound

Every day. Crazy people.

The trick is to stay above the fray.

To not become crazy, too.

After all, somebody has to keep the world from spinning off its axis.

I feel that calling.

There

I am in the Universal flow.

And ever grateful for it.