A Partial List

 

A couple of days ago, I was on someone else’s site and once again found a sidebar page that was titled Twenty Things About Me. I always read those because I find them interesting as well as informative. At one point, I found one that said, 101 Things About Me. Found that number somewhat intimidating, but also envied the individual the courage to do such a thing.

Decided I would do a 101 list in increments and today will be the first twenty. I have not prewritten any of this, haven’t even thought about it until this moment. So here goes:

1. I take my name very seriously. I do not like being called Liz under any circumstances. I chose to be Elizabeth as an adult, after being called Betty as a child. I did that for very good reasons that have to do with definitions. A  shortened version of my name narrows that definition, considerably.

2. I love words and writing. That should be obvious to anyone who comes here, but sometimes it is best to state the obvious.

3. I have made it one of my purposes to encourage others to write. I truly believe it is one of the healthiest and cheapest forms of therapy available. Besides, I really don’t want to be doing this alone. It’s a good idea to also state ones ulterior motives in order to lessen shock value later on.

4. I love Chocolate. Milk chocolate to be exact, and especially when it is crossed in any form with caramel, nuts (especially pecans), or coconut.

5. I was recently diagnosed with diabetes, which makes number 4 a true tragedy, but one that I have found is still workable in moderation.

6. I believe in the subconscious mind, as well as the collective unconscious. I have spent a great deal of my existence exploring both and find them paths to untold and incredibly rewarding adventures.

7. Because of number 6, I believe in the deep value of symbolism, mythology, dream work, story (written or spoken), connective links between all things, and several other areas that don’t necessarily have a mainstream value with the majority of people. I also believe in the necessity of building bridges.

8. I am opinionated, but also a good listener. I have been known to change my mind and am willing to admit when I’ve gotten it all wrong.

9. I think that laughter is the best healing medicine the human race owns. Used regularly, it ranks right up there with apples, but is also readily available and still free out of season.

10. One of the things I look for in others is the ability to laugh at self. That is far more telling than all the knowledge of a lifetime. That, for me, is true wisdom.

11. I have seven grandchildren, 3 grandsons, and 4 granddaughters. One I have never met, and another who is a stepchild from a former relationship. I love them all and miss them. They are each incredible individuals with tremendous potential.

12. I love going for long drives to nowhere, committing gluttony of the eye, and fishing. Not in that particular order, and they are even better when they are engaged in spontaneously.

13. I am of Native American descent on my Mother’s side and truly recognize the kinship we humans share with all living things. I also have totem animals and even believe they speak to me when I listen.

14. Music is, and always has been, an integral part of my existence. I am drawn by song lyrics that speak to me of my own experience, and my tastes are somewhat eclectic, ranging from country to funky instrumentals.

15. Writing poetry is a natural part of breathing.

16. I am fairly new to blogging and it is still a strange new world I am exploring and loving. I hope that continues.

17. I have an incredible number of friends, both online and in real time. They encourage and support me, and I reciprocate in kind. I have a tendency to view these relationships as a secret hidden treasure that I horde, defend, and protect jealously.

18. Although I am open to new things, I have to consider my physical capabilities which have decreased with the passing of the years. That only means I am willing to make adjustments and do, quite often.

19. I dread the idea of ever being confined to a wheelchair because it will inevitably narrow my choices considerably. On the other hand, one of the funniest experiences I have had was when a friend was propelling me through the doors of an elevator, in a wheelchair, and managed to get me in the chair, stuck in the closing doors. Another friend simply walked away refusing to admit any connection with either of us as we laughed uproariously and made a public spectacle to boot.

20. I love ice cream, especially the varieties that have a ribbon of fudge or caramel running through them. Because of that particular passion, I have an inordinate number of clean plastic tubs, with covers, in my kitchen cupboards. Do you have leftovers? I have a container for you, do you want to be my friend?

Challenges

In response to Claudette’s Writing Challenge # 1  “the Power of Creativity”

Was very surprised when I went to check out the Writer’s Island prompt for today. The site has been closed and there will be no more weekly prompts. Was disappointed, to say the least. But then, being who I am and wanting to encourage others to write, I made a decision to create my own challenges.

I had another site, which was going by the wayside. Hadn’t been using it or posting to it at all. So I deleted everything from it and set up a writing challenge for anyone who is interested. Being a former writing instructor, I do have a lot of those at hand. I plan to post a writing challenge every Friday morning. You can find it at:

http://claudetteellinger.wordpress.com/

I will also probably respond to my own challenges. That’s what I did in my classroom and I might as well continue. And there is no better time to start than right now.

The Power of Creativity is a rather large subject matter, but I believe that each individual has creative power built into the original design. It is the energy that creates growth and healing. It includes inspiration, mental and physical skills and abilities, and is not limited by narrowed definitions.

The first class I taught was titled Connecting With Your Creativity. I was incredibly nervous because it was happening on the campus of the four year University from which I had graduated in years past. When the Director of the program introduced me as the Instructor, I almost couldn’t speak. But, I did eventually. One of the first exercises I had my students do was to write out very quickly, a brief paragraph of how they saw creativity at work in their own lives. Then went around the room and asked them to read what they had written.

It was a small group and everyone responded, until I got to the last woman there. She read what she had written and it became the first direct challenge I was to encounter as a new teacher. She had written about how she didn’t have a creative bone in her body. After trying for years, several different disciplines such as writing, painting, and music, she had given up and thrown in the towel. She simply wasn’t a creative human being.

My first thought, and I definitely didn’t voice it, was why would you take a class about connecting with your creativity if you truly believed you had none? Instead, I asked her to define what she meant by creativity. She immediately said, “The Big A, Art. You know, music, painting, drawing, all of those things.” The room was terribly silent, I wasn’t the only one aware that I was being challenged.

So I asked her if she thought that making a delicious home cooked meal that was nurturing as well as attractive was a creative skill. She said yes, of course it was. Then I asked her if a father who put his children to bed each night by telling them made up stories that included characters with each of his children’s names was engaging in creative energy. She nodded emphatically. And all of a sudden the room came alive.

Each person there had another example to add to the list. People they knew at work, or casually, neighbors and friends, who did very creative things that didn’t fit under her Big A umbrella. The two of us were grinning at each other by the time that little, but really important discussion ended and I could go on with the class I had planned out so carefully.

In the course of the next six weeks, that woman became one of the most enthusiastic students I have ever had. She eagerly participated in every exercise I presented, both writing, and other activities. At the end of the six week period, she came to class with a petition she had written up and planned to pass around to the other members in the classroom. It was addressed to the Director of the Program, asking that I be allowed to teach a second class on the same subject matter. The Director agreed, and I became a free-lance writing instructor, specializing in writing based classes for self-awareness and personal growth.

The power of creativity is that it is an energy that can be felt and experienced on all kinds of levels. It calls for a response. It initiates action, it gets us moving and thinking. And it is a healing energy for all of those reasons. To give it some sort of elite definition, is to miss its real importance altogether. For some of us, the mere fact of getting up and getting dressed is a creative activity. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has had that particular experience of enticing myself out of a prone position.

I did it this morning, as a matter of fact. When I realized that there would be no writing prompt this week, or any of the weeks to follow, I was very tempted to go back to bed and just forget it. Instead, I am here responding to my own challenge, writing about my own experience and connecting once again with my own unique creative power. Can, or will you do the same?

About Authenticity

Writer’s Island prompts #12 and #13 “Change For the Better”

Was a bit disappointed when I went to see what the prompt might be for today. My last blog was about all the changes I have had to deal with, and have made, over the past year. I could have used it, but I really wanted a fresh challenge. As I was about to leave the site however, I noticed this quote:

be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing it’s best, to make you everbody else…    __ee cummings

Now that I can dig my teeth into, it is the story of my life. “If you’d just change this or that, you’d be more… lovable, likable, attractive, friendly, popular, pleasant, companionable, easy to get along with, acceptable, easy to work with, spiritual, skilled, graceful, content, enjoyable, light-hearted, approachable, genuine, authentic, organized, committed, rounded, satisfied, as well as satisfying,” and on and on ad finitum. What is really being said here, is never really spoken aloud. What is actually meant is that “if you would change this or that, you would be far more like me and then I could be a lot more comfortable than I am.”

In keeping with the prompt, I think the best thing I could do in order to make me a better person is to stop listening to all those things other people would prefer me to be, and just get on with being me, whoever that might be at any given moment. That is the easiest solution, but also the most difficult one to maintain.

I have written here, about how and why I have felt that I didn’t ever quite fit in for the majority of my life. The circumstances that created that reality were completely out of my control, and yet the result has kept me doing a balancing act that includes tap dancing on a high wire. Try it, it ain’t easy, or even doable in most moments. Yet, I have tried to dance the undoable far more than anything else in my life. Why?

Because I have also longed to feel at ease within my own skin. To be relaxed and comfortable in any given moment. To belong. A few years back, I began to hear a phrase that, at first, seemed to make a great deal of sense, but then began to niggle in that deep dark reservoir at the back of my mind and wouldn’t be quieted or stilled. The phrase went something like this, “Learn how to be your authentic self.”

The phrase was often followed by a pitch, of one sort or another, that meant one could pay a certain amount of money and learn “authenticity” of being. In other words, one could pay someone else to teach one how to tap dance on a high wire they had created for just such a purpose. Been there, been doing that for years. How could anyone possibly teach me how to be authentically who I am? How the hell would they know such a thing unless they also were extremely familiar with and ready to tell me, “If you would just change this or that, you would be so much more…” (read second paragraph). One could be paying for the rest of ones life and still never find whatever authenticity is to be found.

And now, of course, she pulls out the Dictionary. According to that said reference, authentic means original, the genuine article, verifiable as such, meaning origin is provable. So, a birth certificate would suffice, right? Well, yes, if all I wanted to do was prove that at some moment in the past, I came into being as a living, breathing human being. It doesn’t tell me who I am now, in this present moment, in the only place that genuinely matters, inside me and my skin. Besides, I already know that because I am here, typing these words, breathing and living through this moment in time.

Long story, made much shorter. All that disquiet and lack of stillness brought me right back to one thing. I still wanted to belong, to fit in, and only I could know that at any given moment. I would feel it, right here inside my own skin. Funny thing is though, the more I felt it, that relaxed comfortable ease, the more people around me seemed to need to tell me how to be better at what I was already doing.

In that very convoluted manner, I came to know what was really being said when I would hear that old familiar refrain, “If you would just change…” Amazingly enough, that really helped that ease for which I had been seeking all of those years. It put the choices right back where they belonged all along, in my hands. I will listen to most suggestions, weigh them seriously if I feel they have some validity, but then I will choose to change in whatever fashion I think and perceive is best for me and the person I am still becoming. The one that I know and feel is me.

So, how do I justify doing what I am doing on this blog? Asking you to change, to find your authentic self by keeping a journal, and writing in it every day. I don’t. There is nothing to justify. What I write about is always whatever I choose. You have the same choice. You don’t have to read it and no one is paying me to do it. That’s one of the basic reasons I do it at all. Because it allows each of us the freedom to choose. I will continue to be who I am, doing what I love to do, and by doing that, being exactly who and what I am. And leave you to make your own choices. Leaving you to be exactly who you are, and being your authentic self in the bargain.

And by the way, I love ee cummings, he is always authentic, and well worth the read.

Semantics of Breathing

I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can breathe.

_Anais Nin

Writing means a great many different things to me. A few years ago, someone close to me said that writing was my life. Being who I was in that moment, hearing her words, I argued with her, not because she was wrong, but because she had reduced me, my life, my experience, to one word. I told her that writing was not my life, but rather a tool that I used to create whatever life I chose in any given moment. Ahhh, the world of semantics.

Nin has reduced writing to the need to breathe, and I agree with her, thus proving my good friend quite right in her definition, but also proving myself correct as well. Writing is breathing: inhaling my own experience, pulling it inside of me, possessing it, claiming it as mine, then allowing it to inform and refresh, refuel whatever is there, and lastly, exhaling it onto a page of white paper, or a dirty napkin, whichever is at hand. Only, to immediately do the same, in the next moment.

What does it mean, to breathe? It means to exist, to live, to be alive. And I have to admit, that I am most alive when I am writing. At least, that is how it feels. But Nin takes that one step further. She links it directly to an act of creation, the creation of a particular place and time in which one can and does exist. Sounds a bit god-like, doesn’t it? And that brings in a whole universe of questions.

There is that immediate problem of hubris, that pride that rivals itself against God, attempting to be God, while usurping God’s power and abilities.  Never fear, this is just another blog, and I’ve seen and read better ones, even commented on them, acknowledging that reality. I do however, take pride in this blog, and whatever small contributions it might endeavor to make in the world in which I exist.

Which, in turn, brings us to that act of creation of which Nin speaks. If I am a creature, a creation of God, made in God’s image and likeness, then it only stands to reason that I am, because that word creature begins with the same prefix as the word create, able to create as God has created me to do, to be, to exist, to live, and to breathe. But a whole world, you might ask?

Yes. A whole world, my world, the one in which I exist, and move within, and is influenced and affected by my presence. A very small minute piece, or part, of that much larger world that God created and which affects, impacts on my own. Okay, that reduces it, and me, to an appropriate, un-inflated size, but adds the matter of choice into the mix.

If God created me to create, and I do believe that is true for each of us, just what am I (we) creating? And how, for heaven’s sake, am I (we)  supposed to do that? It’s a matter of choice. I choose to build a world based in my own chosen definitions and to write those definitions here on this white piece of paper. And amazingly enough, I don’t do that because I desire that everyone else accept those definitions. What a horrid thought, and such a dull world that would be.

Although its nice to find agreement, it is far more important to explore other perspectives, compare them with my own, and change, or adjust,  my view accordingly, when needed. And that is one of the major reasons I write. It is the only way I know to keep track of all of it. I am too aware that my view, my take on any given subject is narrowed by the filter of my own experience, and that of the selective memory I have already written about.

Which, for me, brings this full circle and back to Nin’s quote. I do enjoy and cherish breathing, and hope to continue to do so for some time. But, while I am breathing I will continue to write, to explore my own and others’ definitons, thereby using this tool to create my world, and the me that exists within it. For me, it is a matter of semantics, what are your semantics?

In The Way of the Fox

 

The Fox is a very clever little creature, he’s had to be, in order to survive. One of his means to do just that is to backtrack, stepping in his own paw prints, to confuse whatever pursuers are hounding him.  And although I have never truly considered myself a ‘foxy’ lady, other than on a mental level on occasion, I intend to incorporate the fox’s behavior in today’s article. Which means I’m going to do some backtracking in my own footprints, sort of speak.

A while back, I wrote about the Masks we wear, especially in public. We do that so as to continue to belong within whatever society we find ourselves in, be that a peer group, fellow workers, friends, and yes, even (maybe especially) family. We do that by hiding behind a Mask that is, or so we think, more acceptable to the group, than the face of what we are actually feeling, thinking, and doing.

Like the fox, whose coloring is extremely noticeable in the often green and brown landscape he inhabits, we learn to be clever,  and quick about hiding our real state of being, especially when we feel or think that that state of being we are in is unacceptable, inadequate, or just won’t do for the circumstances we inhabit. Most of us learn, at a very young age, that a smile and accommodating demeanor will far more quickly get us through, and to, what we want or need, then a scowl, or howl, or an abrasive, aggressive appearance. And in that sense, we like the fox, adopt those demeanors which will allow us to preserve ourselves, keep our sense of belonging intact.

We wear Masks. Masks are fascinating things and have an intriguing history. There have been cultures that have based their entire belief systems on masks that are called ‘false faces.’ And by doing so, actually create a secret society for their members. Belonging means one recognizes and accepts those false faces for what they symbolize and act, react accordingly. There was a time when a masquerade ball was an occasion of intrigue and excitement, because the intricate masks participants wore,  allowed one to move within ones society of peers, but, at the same time, behave in ways that were outside of the rules of said society. And here, on the Internet, we use avatars to represent whatever identity we choose to display at any given moment. Which is to say, that things haven’t changed all that much over time.

So, what are we really hiding behind the masks that we wear? All those things that we have come to define as inadequate, inappropriate, less than acceptable, unseemly, or worse, just plain wrong. Our definitions might be skewed, unbalanced, or lacking in logic, or wholeness, but we will stick by them until we find they no longer serve their, our purpose. We do that because we learned a great many of them within our family unit, which is the most basic unit of society, and therefore the first, and possibly or often, the strongest influence as regards our individual socialization process.

What is the fox actually hiding when he engages in all of those clever actions to confuse and confound his hounding pursuers? Much the same thing as we are when we put on our Masks. He is hiding his true state of being, his wildness, and that often startling and  beautiful coloring that sets him apart from all other creatures. That which marks him as a target for chasing and possible extinction at a moments notice. And just like him, we understand that we too must hide those things that set us apart, might not allow us to go on existing within our families, our peer groups, our fellow employees, and so on.

And just what are those specific things? Many of them are the Wild Things I have been discussing. Like the boy, I used as an example. His interest and fascination with poetry wasn’t wrong, nor was it misplaced, or even inadequate for his age and abilities. But it created a situation in which his basic social unit erupted into chaos, anger, and misunderstanding. So, he interpreted that to mean it was unacceptable. He chose to ignore that piece of his own development, putting on a mask that was, as far as he was concerned, far more acceptable. He chose to suppress that Wild Thing inside of himself, which wasn’t wild at all, but certainly occasioned some rather wild results.

His actions and choices were based in what he knew at that time. But they gave birth to that Wild Thing inside of him that came back to haunt him on occasion with its desire to express himself in a certain manner. And each time he suppressed and ignored its calling, he, in effect, contained it, hid it behind what he had decided was a better face, a more appropriate mask within the environment in which he lived.

Furthermore, he actually defined it as a Wild Thing, a part of himself that didn’t fit within the boundaries of the piece of the socialization process blanket under which he existed. Talk about backtracking, hunh? That is what I said I was going to do. Which leaves us with the Fox, the Wild Thing, and a whole lot of questions.

Maybe only one or two. Is that a sigh of relief I hear? So, like the fox, it might be much more important, than we have so far realized, to backtrack on our own footprints through this journey we call life. Find and come to know those pieces and parts of us that have been kept outside, ignored as much as possible, and contained in that wilderness of the imagination. If you ask me how to do that, I will simply point you to the Introduction of this blog.

It is my intention to introduce you to some of the Wild Things I have encountered and yes, befriended on my own backtracking adventures. Who knows, I might even tell you about the actual wild foxes who seemingly, but very deliberately, crossed my path to help me know what I know about the extremely important messages they came to teach me. You didn’t really think this was the only one, did you?

Embarrassing Predicament

Whoa! You are not in the wrong place. If you are seeking 1sojournal, you are right where you wanted to be. New face, but still the same old voice. Sit down and let me tell you about how I put myself into an embarrassing predicament.

When I started this blog, three months ago, I was filled with idealistic concepts of how it would and should be, but especially how it should look. When I finally got on the work page, I realized I knew little or nothing about how to set up the page itself. The first thing I did was explore the many themes offered, and the different formats that went with them. I looked at each and every one of them, and then slowly made my way back, just to make sure the one I had in mind, really suited those ideals I mentioned. I wanted something a bit out of the ordinary, yet simple. A bit sophisticated, but not too much so that it might simply hit the reader as stand offish. It had to reflect me, my personality, and the things I care deeply about.

I was pretty sure I had found that in the theme that kept running through my mind as I viewed all the rest. It was simple enough that I could handle it and learn while I was actually writing the blog. It was black with white print and that spoke to me of a bit of sophistication and satisfied me on several levels. Black is the color that absorbs all others. It is the sponge of colors, and I wanted this space to invite and make room for any and all who might be interested. I can’t wear black because it makes me look tired and drawn, but I have always admired those who can and do so with ease. That, in turn, speaks to me of a certain level of confidence and ease with ones self. And I certainly wanted to project just such an aura.

It was, at that point, that I discovered the actual name of the theme I was in the process of choosing. Chaotic Soul. Now that was 100% perfect for what I had in mind. It was my intention to create a blog that would lend support and encouragement to anyone who might want to keep a journal and learn all the advantages of doing such a thing. I believe that writing daily is the key to getting to know ones own soul and learning how to carry on a life long conversation with that still small voice from within. For me, maintaining a journal is the very essence of Soul Work, and it is how I approach it and reap the rewards inherent in that process. It never occurred to me that the name of the theme might be a reflection of my own person, striving to create an appearance that doesn’t quite fit, or suit, my reality. Ooops.

So, I created my blog. I was inordinately pleased with its look and the manner in which it was progressing from a wishful thought, into its own reality. A dream fulfilled is nothing to sneeze at. The best part was that it was actually attracting a modest number of readers. More satisfaction. Things were running very smoothly indeed. My labor of love was bearing fruit.

There was only one minor glitch. It began as a small inconvenience and I was more than willing to adjust myself to continue. My nose was getting closer and closer to my monitor screen, as the days and weeks went by. I found myself, more and more often, wiping off the screen in hopes of seeing it better. I was attending, with care, this new garden I was growing. But, it finally became quite clear that I still can’t wear black, virtually or otherwise. I was straining to see the words I was publishing every other day. And if that was true for me, might it not also be true for those readers I so wanted to encourage? I, with my idealistic concepts was actually, perhaps, impeding the progress I had worked so hard to obtain. How very embarrassing.

I suppose, I could have martyred my eyesight for this just cause I had created, but what purpose would that have served? Certainly not the one I was so staunchly putting out all that energy to fulfill. Nothing for it, but to admit my error and create a space that is actually conducive to said cause, and allow my pride to be taken in a few notches. Especially that pride about doing this new and daring thing at my age. My age that means a slow incremental decrease in physical abilities, if not others. So, here I am, foolishly admitting that I made a major mistake in reasoning. What value is a blog that I myself will eventually not be able to read, thus continue writing?

Which brings us to this new face I am wearing. I spent as much time over the last few days, perusing the themes, as I did that first time around. Found this one, which is far more readable for my own person, and hopefully for those readers who come to see what I have to say. I think it is fresher looking, simpler, and clearer than the first one. I have kept the original banner, in hopes that anyone who comes looking will find at least that bit of familiarity without moving on because they think they have accidentally happened on the wrong page or destination.

And the name of this new theme, I have chosen? Which, by the way, proves that I am still going more for  appearances rather than definitions. The name of this present theme is Contempt. Now, I am sure that that is short for contemporary, but at first glance, I could hear the laughter bubbling up from that still small voice inside of me. Point taken. One can only hope that I haved learned the lesson. If not, all I have to do is come back here and see this bright white page with black lettering. White which symbolizes innocence, which in turn equals ignorance in need of experience. Now where have I seen that before?