Santa, Hippy Jesus, and The Importance of Choosing Joy

Posted on by sereichert

It’s that time of year again, and wherein I repost one of my favorite blogs. This isn’t about religion per se. It’s not about what you believe or who you ascribe your faith to. It’s about how you choose to treat others. Because it is always a choice. And we can make it every moment. We aren’t held to our past. We can be better. In this particularly dark time, I would urge you to remember your capacity to spread and give light. We may not be able to control everything, or combat large and fascist forces, but we do have a choice to spread our own joy. To illuminate the shortened days. We also have the choice to be a petty and divisive jerk and shit on other people’s beliefs… different beliefs that rarely have a negative impact on you.

So here’s your yearly reminder: Don’t be petty and shitty, not any time, but especially not this time of year.

The world is dark enough as it is.

Be good to each other.

Psst… if you’re looking for a way to be good, especially after you read this tear-jerking post then click on this link and spread some joy:

For a list of where to get the most out of what you have to give check this link out.

For something closer to home: This is a great place to start.

And now, grab a tissue and enjoy…

Dear Madelyn and Delaney…

I hear there have been some questions at school and amongst your friends, about if Santa Claus is real.

There comes a time, in most kids lives, when they are taught to grow up and out of what some adults call “silly, fanciful, daydreams.” And so adults and peers will go about destroying everything that even whiffs of magic, and work hard to wipe away every ounce of stardust from the eyes of children who believe.

To this I say…Shut your mean-hearted pieholes, you wankers. (And anyone who hasn’t, at some point in their existence, called a middle schooler a wanker is probably lying. Let’s face it, middle school is not our finest hour as humans.)

These are the people who will say it’s obviously impossible for a generous old guy to deliver presents to kids one night of the year, while simultaneously cherishing and accepting the “fact” that a deity impregnated a virgin and their child wiped away the entirety of sin in the world…

…uh…

nativity

If they can suspend reality and base their lives around the idea of (albeit a cool), hippy/demigod, is it such a stretch to believe in a jolly old elf that spreads the ideals of generosity and selfless giving for just one day?

I won’t touch your hippy demigod if you don’t touch my jolly old elf in a red suit.

jesus-santa-bff
I bet Jesus calls him St. Bro-cholas.

I refuse to lose my stardust. (Or as Anne Shirley would say; I refuse to be poisoned by their bitterness.)

You want to know if there is magic? If Santa is real?

Here’s what I know…

Santa is real and magic exists.

How can I be sure?

I’m here aren’t I? You’re here, yes? We’re all here.

We were sprung from the unlikely combination of a evolutionary, chemical lottery and dumb, cosmic luck. Our bodies’ chemical and mineral components are the same as stardust floating around and comprising distant galaxies. We are made of the Universe and the Universe is in us. We’re naked, funny-looking, bipedal apes, and we’ve survived hundreds of thousands of years of evolutionary death traps.

If all of that’s not magical, what is?

Here’s what I also know.

There are two types of people in the world.

Those that destroy joy, and those that spread it.

I DO KNOW that it does no harm to believe in something better, more beautiful, and magical in our lives (Hippy Demigod or Santa Claus).

I DO KNOW, it does no harm to fill our eyes with wonder and joy in the midst of the darkest days of the year.

I DO KNOW, it does no harm to hope and anticipate.

I DO KNOW, it does no harm to walk into these short cold days with elation in our hearts.

And I KNOW this:

That it must be a horrible, dark and sad world for those that seek to take away such light; how bitterly awful to be those who disbelieve and ridicule others who hold magic in their heart.

It does harm, to take someone’s joy.

It does harm, to smother the fire of giving and generosity.

It does harm, when we seek to oppress the light of selflessness in a world so dark.

I also know this; each one of us chooses what we believe.

We choose what we fill our hearts with and in a world that can be so gloomy and wretched, why would you want to fill your heart with anything that would make it even more so?

I choose to believe.

I believe in Santa Claus and I believe in magic.

I believe that there is light in the darkest of times. And I believe that the joy radiating from hearts that hope, and love, and give, is more real than any hot air getting blown around by a bunch of self-conscious, hormonal, dying-to-fit-in middle schoolers (or cynical, angry, self-conscious adults)

Now listen: I can’t decide for you what you believe,

but neither can they.

So you choose.

Embrace the joy, be the magic, and light up the dark… or reject the lot of it and wipe the stardust from your eyes.

As for me and my heart; I choose joy.

I choose to believe.

red and white ceramic santa claus figurine
Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com

How Life Is…

Posted on by sereichert

No one is harder on me than me. And so, when I realized that I’d missed not one, but TWO blog posts in a row, I was at first righteously disappointed in myself. After all, I’ve been doing this blog for a long time. Every week, on Thursday, a little something about life, writing, or just to enrich the world (via poetry). But if you read this blog, you know that my life has been on the rocks for the last 8 weeks or so (before that really on our way leading up to inpatient) and so the disappointment quickly faded.

You see, I’ve learned to treat myself with the same grace I would extend to those whom I love. And it’s a kindness I’ve been looking for my whole life.

Like it or not, my blog is not the miracle of physics that keeps the world spinning ’round. There aren’t lives dependent upon my poetry or massive crowds hanging on my every word. When it comes down to it, the blog is a lot about me shouting out into the void, to remember that I still have a voice to use. That it occasionally resonates with someone else is wonderful. That it exists helps me feel purposeful. And so to hit and miss it a few times while my daughter and I are staying far from home and undergoing treatment for one of the deadliest mental illnesses that exists, is a drop in the bucket of my existence. I’m doing other things.

Fun fact I learned in one of the classes we take here as parents; the stress of parenting child suffering from an eating disorder is THREE TIMES the stress of parenting a child with schizophrenia.

I believe it. I feel it. The constant worry and triggering of what they eat, if they’re eating, if they’re eating enough, if they’re getting up to exercise in the middle of the night while you’re passed out from exhaustion from being “on duty” all of the time. If they’re only pretending to get better and it will reemerge as soon as you get home. If they will relapse later. If this will be the thing that takes their life, if not now, then sometime down the road. There’s no magical medicine to help soothe the savage beast of an eating disorder, and the only thing that truly is their medicine (food) is the one thing they fear most to take. It is physical and mental. And the mental leads to worsening physical, and so the cycle goes.

When I remember the characteristics of this villain we’re currently fighting, my blog post doesn’t feel quite so important. But it kind of is too. Because in the midst of this battle, I realized, I’ve become nothing but the General. Nothing but one-woman army, constantly fighting. Not a writer, not a wife, not a sister, not a friend, not a community organizer, or a poet. Not a human. Just the facilitator of a hard-to-come-by cure. And it has worn me thin. Too thin. So thin that the dark thoughts I’d shelved for the last few months are beginning to seep through the cracks in this armor that has already taken too many blows. And the thoughts that seep in…

Well…they aren’t life sustaining, I’ll tell you that much.

So today, I’m making a conscious effort to sit down and write. To do more than research and fret, and meal plan. To remember that attending to the foundation of who I am matters, to the house that still needs to stand in this storm.

I’ve watched a lot of events and occasions pass by in the last two months, as an outsider. From holidays, to birthdays, to fun events and friend gatherings. Even the release of two of my own books. And I could not be a part, fully, of any of them. But we are coming back into the light, and with every day she grows stronger, I need to also commit to coming out of the dark too. It wouldn’t do much good to help her survive only to loose my own will to in the process.

So I’ll keep writing. Keep shouting into the void. And I’m thankful for you, bearing with me while I come back to myself.

I’ll see you next week.

Expecting The Unexpected

Posted on by sereichert

Remember Darkwing Duck?

Anyone? Anyone out there?

A child of the late 80’s and 90’s will remember the daring and billed crime fighter and his catchphrase of “Expect the Unexpected.” I’m pretty sure that phrase has since been taken over by an insurance company, or pregnancy tests, or police searches; but once, it was the mantra that a hero lived by to always be on the ready.

Adults live by it in more boring ways (insurance, family planning measures, radar alert gear on the dashboard of our cars). We’re taught to prepare for the unexpected. At least, in all of the adult ways we live by. But to expect the unexpected isn’t just about saving for a rainy day or assuring ourselves, in the most pessimistic of ways, that something bad will inevitably happen and we must be prepared for it, it’s also about preparing for opportunities.

How do we prepare for something that can’t be predicted? In a similar way as with expecting the worst; by keep open in our mindset that anything can happen and allow for flexibility in our plans.

Now, I’m a big believer in the fact that the only constant in our lives is inconsistency. Change. We can always count on things to change. The world turns, human’s doot around in their peculiar and quirky little ways and the tides of life fluctuate. Sometimes they recede, sometimes they tsunami. The more rigid we are, the harder we are pushed against by the ever-changing, chaos-driven shift of time that swirls around us. Or the more disappointed we become when that tide draws ever farther away from us.

But if we can shift our mindset to accommodate this certainty of the quirky dance of life around us, then we will be prepared to deal with the challenges and also find opportunities in them. Because when you open your mind, you can look past the immediate hurdles of a change, to the bigger picture beyond. This is the important part. Remember how I italicized that “anything” up there? Pay attention to that.

I like to call this the “Anything Can Happen” moment. Here’s the caveat; shhhh…come closer and I’ll tell you…little closer…little closer… okay that’s too close, did you have onions at lunch? Back up a bit, here’s it is:

You have to look at what’s beyond the obvious challenge, with a positive lens.

UGH! Positivity! No! I’m a bitter and jaded, starving artist! I don’t DO positivity! It’s sooooo naive!

Yep. Sometimes it can be. Trust me, I’m a former, card-carrying member of the Pessimistic Society of Debbie Downers. I still get stuck in that rut too. But, it always leads me to nothing but dead-ends because I’m limiting myself by the perceived constraints change seems to bring.

I’m not asking you to be all zipidy-do-dah-Disney-slap-happy-blind to reality. I’m asking that you take a step back and be a realist with an eye for what good can come from the situation. There’s always something good.

Expecting the unexpected means being at the ready. Not just for danger and doom, but for the possibility of something better. To always be in a position where you can slip through the crack of those opening doors and explore new paths, different ideas, an unobstructed view. I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but this can lead to an ever-increasing sense of well-being and a little more calm when faced with upheaval.

Stagnation may seem safer, but it will leave you treading water eventually and you’ll look back on the things you should have, could have, done but didn’t have the open mind and the faith to try.

In your writing life, which can often seem to err on the side of challenging rather than rewarding, I urge you to keep your mind open. To throw yourself into opportunity and be willing to accept with a sense of curiosity and humor the outcome. Life is chaos and beauty; destruction and creation. Remain flexible and willing to see the challenges in your life as opportunities to grow, to learn, and thereby succeed.

The Grateful Reluctant

Posted on by sereichert

I’ve been thinking a lot about Viktor Frankl the last couple of days, and in particular “Man’s Search for Meaning” as well as Logotherapy. Front and center in my life is the battle with a disorder that eats away at the brain’s ability to rationalize, be introspective, and self-calm. So I’ve been returning to this book and to this theory about our ability to shape our own lives through the perspective that we approach even the worst situations.

Listen, I can swing between a jaded-hard ass cynic to a calm-enlightened Buddhist as well as the next half-baked philosopher. But if it’s anything that tough situations will do, is force you to look at your own behavior and perspective, and how they can make things better or worse in the particular storm you’re in. In these dark and torrential seas it’s easy to let go of any idea you have control and just let the deluge overwhelm you. It’s easy to be tugged down to the bottom. It’s the easy path to let the worst parts of every journey define your day. But despite common belief, I’m not easy. (ha, Frankl also believed in humor as an excellent way to untether from the weight of heavy situations)

I believe that we are given mountains to strengthen us. I believe that we are handed hardships because that’s kind of the point of life. To see how we flow, learn, or falter in the face of trials. We are not meant to sail on smooth seas, or calm seas make for bad sailors…some metaphor with boats, you get the point. These things will come to us all. And the difference between surviving them and coming out with a better understanding of life, and coming out battered to the point we succumb to sadness and depression, lies in how we react to the circumstances.

This is where I finally get back to the title. Gratitude. I’m no Suzy Sunshine. And I’ll happily admit that there are days I struggle to find a single thing worth being thankful for. But I have this dumb little bright yellow notebook and I make myself take it out every dumb day, and I open it up and I stare at the dumb blank page, pen hovering and I MAKE myself think of three things that I am grateful for.

Why is it hard? Well, sometimes I think the world makes us believe that gratitude is only earned by big things. I’m grateful for my six-figure job, or I’m grateful for my unfailing health, etc. I think it’s a great disservice to gratitude and the inherent beauty of life to discount it if it’s not grand. Little things can be found everywhere. Little things add up. The smallest things are what we should be paying attention to. Because they’re more abundant than you realize, and, like tiny little life preservers, if you find enough of them, they can actually help you pull yourself out of that dark, enough to breathe.

So my dumb little book is filled with dumb little sentences. Warm coffee. The fox I saw on my walk. Fall leaves. Cat spit on my elbow. Dumb ass Blue Jays landing on too tiny a feeder. And from those little drips, sometimes the faucet gets turned on… Such good friends with big, open hearts that lift me up when I’m down. My parents’ laughter. My daughters. My daughters. My daughters. That we have a plan to help her. That I understand my own power. That I can cultivate my own peace. Breath.

The point is that reminding ourselves that life has light as well as dark and we have access to it at any time we choose, is inherent in shaping and creating a better life for ourselves. We get to choose how we react, and if we are reacting from a place of gratitude, and finding all of those tiny floatation devices around us, we can remain above water, and ultimately ride any wave that comes our way.

So, part of my daily routine (right after I write this blog) is to find those three things. And part of the new routine, is to share them with my daughter. Who will roll her eyes, and probably think I’m nuts for finding any happiness in such a dark time. But seeds are little things too. The tiniest ones can grow the strongest, tallest tree. So I plant them in her mind every morning, despite her reluctance. Because someday soon, her mind is going to be nourished enough, that those seeds will take root.

Be good out there today. Be grateful, even reluctantly.

Where You Hang Your Hat

Posted on by sereichert

This particular phrase came to me me during a few years ago post, on the subject of home. This week, I’m on limited mental and emotional bandwidth due to stuff and things, so I decided to dust off this still-timely look at what home means, where home is, and all the hats we wear when we go ‘outside’ of it.

I’m from Wyoming, born and raised, with some detours along the way.

Wyoming has some pretty awesome colloquialisms (for more on that, please check out my Sweet Valley Series, set in Wyoming—very romantic-west) and “Home is Where You Hang Your Hat” is no exception. (Some other, unrelated, favorites; “wouldn’t mind if his boots were under my bed,” and “wish I had a swing like that on my back porch.”)

I could go into the history of hats, cowboy and otherwise, what they meant, where they came from, who wore them, the political and pop cultural significance each one carried, but you didn’t come here to listen to the historical social scientist in my back pocket, you came here for an expansion on home.

Cowboy Hat1

Hanging your hat up was something you used to do when you came in from a long day of work. I’m looking at you…slack-jawed twerker, with your suuuuper cool trucker’s hat turned sideways at the dinner table…you realize that it’s the same ‘model’ my 97 year-old grandfather would get free from NAPA (that’s the part store, not the wine country) and wear until the brim fell off… And, he wore it better but never at the table… sorry where were we?

Yes, gentlemen used to take off their hats inside and, in the case of coming home, would hang them on a hook or rack by the door.

A simple move that signified something so much more profound.

Hanging your hat, coming home, dropping the world at the door and breathing. Breathing in the place of your own, the space you occupy, the people who wait for you; who love you, who have seen your head without hat, your hair going gray. Coming home meant escaping the life’s demands and the outside world’s burdens and just be.

Why is it important, that we take off our ‘hats’ in today’s world? Why does it matter?

I’m glad you asked. It’s kinda why I’m here.

Humans these days are so connected by technology and the speed-of-light information bursts, that there’s really no such thing as a safe space anymore. Now your home has multiple outlets for this information to stream in, constant and blaring.

And the ‘hats’ have changed too, haven’t they? We used to wear one, maybe two. Now, we’ve got them stacked one on top of the other until they tilt in the breeze and wobble when we try to move forward. We’re doctors, and scientists, social activists and martyrs. Writers and poets, librarians and board members. We’re frienemies and friends, lovers and exes. We’re husbands and mothers, daughters, sons adopted or otherwise. Victim and accuser, the pious and the demon. We are presidents of PTAs and the one mom that always forgets cups. We’re the one to takes the dog to the vet and the kids to the dentist and forgets to pick up their dry cleaning. We’re the ones who need more sleep, but don’t get it. The ones to work long hours, for little recognition. The ones who scoff and say ‘its fine’ when it isn’t.

Caps For Sale
Caps For Sale: A Tale of a Peddler, Some Monkeys, and Their Monkey Business. Esphyr Slobodkina (how is it I never knew that was the full title?)

We’re chained to the images that we build on our social media pages and constantly feel the need to live up to the happy smiling selfie that the world thinks we are. It’s getting so one can’t even close the door and drop what’s not real for a few minutes.

And if you can’t ever drop it, how do you even know who you really are?

It’s no wonder we’re overmedicated, depressed, anxious and stressed. People constantly shoving hats into our hands, telling us what we should be, what we could be, showing off how beautifully they’re balancing their own stack with perfect pictures of perfect lives through perfect filters that they post fresh every day.

It can leave a person feeling that if they aren’t getting enough ‘likes’ that no one actually likes them. That the measure of being loved is dependent on some superficial and meaningless emoji.

Listen, kid, ain’t nobody that happy. Ain’t nobody that perfect.

And the brilliance of those images, I guarantee, is hiding the same nasty, visceral darkness that resides in each of us, fed on self-doubt and anger. Jealousy, dis-ease with the person in our skin, and the pressures squeezing through our walls each day.

I just want to go home.

Let’s go back to that place.

The place where you put your phone on the shelf by the door and kick off your shoes. Leave your meal un-Instagramed. Your run un-shared. Write down the cute thing your two-year-old said, and then tell your mom face-to-face over a cup of un-tagged, un-pinned coffee.

Wait for your meal in silence and anticipation. Look up something– in a book. When you feel the need, the itch to pick up that screen, or turn that television on, or otherwise disconnect from real life, don’t. Over half of our lives are spent looking at the world through our screens and its becoming a new, cold, disconnected home where we find no respite.

The ball is in your court, the stack of hats in your arms. Drop them all, for just a moment and pick up only the ones that satisfy your soul. Even those, hang up once in a while and sort through how they make you feel when you wear them.

Find your home by letting go of the things that are outside of who you feel you need to be. Find the home in the center of your chest, your truest self, and come back to that. Hang your hat there. That’s your home.

Just Because It’s Not Here Yet, Doesn’t Mean it Ain’t Comin’

Posted on by sereichert

Shhh…can you hear that? It’s something rustling through the back shelves of the library to the north. Up there in Wyoming, my home state. I can here it, in those churches of knowledge that helped educate me when I was cut off from the rest of the world. In that god-like place of words and stories, something foul is afoot.

Idaho did it. Wyoming is following suit…but with even more extreme regulations. The governments in these fine, god-fearing states, are trying to ban books in libraries that might be ‘sexually explicit’ for children. These hellfire books would certainly condemn these innocent youths to a life of sin for the knowledge of such things as… ‘masturbation’ and ‘menstruation’. Yes, parents cannot simply be asked to pay attention to which books are on shelves and might get pulled off by their sheltered (and not-at-all-on-the-internet-where-FUCK ALL EVERYTHING-can-be-found) children. The almighty hand of the government must step in to ‘save the children’. Not from actual death by gunfire from an assault rifle easily bought by anyone breathing mind you, that would be silly, but from the immoral leanings of condemnable ideas that maybe gender doesn’t really exist, periods are actually pretty normal, sometimes people touch themselves, poop jokes are funny, and that women can actually have orgasms. So much worse than a bullet to the brain of a 6 year old right?

It’s really god’s work. And I know I’m speaking, sort of, in jest, but the really NOT FUNNY thing about this situation is that should these bills pass, it would mean a cut in funding, fines, and an overstretching of already overstretched resources for local libraries. Some of which, are the only ones in the county for multiple towns. And the beginning of what can only be described as the Fahrenheit 1984 Syndrome (trademark by me) Wherein they burn what they don’t like, brainwash the masses into believing they didn’t like it either, and then spoon-feed the applesauce of Christian extremism down everyone’s throats until ours souls are so worn down that we don’t remember a time when we could have fought back.

Like today. As in, this is still the time we can fight back. It starts with a rustling. It starts with one book that seems suspect. But the machine of this fascist regime taking power is never satiated by one. It wants all of the books. It wants all of the thoughts. Because words are thoughts. Books are thoughts. These books in turn create thoughts. Thoughts create more thoughts. Thoughts support and connect other thoughts. Thoughts make us curious and wondrous and compassionate. Thoughts free us from man-made systems that are only real because someone has gotten hold of all the funding and weapons. Thoughts cause anarchy against systems that are no longer ethically or morally right.

So… if you live in Wyoming I urge you to get involved. Call your representatives. Go to the hearings, the meetings, the protests. Be vigilant. Fuck, be a vigilante for books. Be aware. Our country is at stake yes, but so is the future of our humanity. First they came for the books containing even the slightest whiff of sexuality. And maybe you did not speak because you do not write or read them. But then, they will come for the mysteries, the horror, the coming of age, the fantasy, and magical realism. The newspapers and magazines that don’t tow the line… The science (in and out of fiction), the christian that was not christian enough, the cookbooks for vegetarians…and on and on…until soon there will be no one else left to speak out for you…or your book.

Get out there and do an anarchy, kids.

On Letting Go and Holding On

Posted on by sereichert

Approximately three days ago, my daughter Madelyn was a boisterous and fancy-dress-loving two year old. She would wore through not one but two (in growing sizes) Tigger costumes, bringing light and bounciness to her preschool, the grocery store, the library story hour, and daily walks. She would sing and dance (usually in her underwear and draped in all the scarves she could find in my drawers), splash in puddles, cuddle up to me for hours a day, and she taught me everything I know about patience and the importance of staying present in the moment you’re in.

Today we’re getting the keys to her apartment, in Leeds, UK, where she’ll be attending University. Thousands of miles away from home.

Away from me.

And I knew this day would eventually come. I just didn’t think it would seem like three days worth of time, squished into 18 years. Getting to be next to her as she grew up through her boisterous youth, to her unsure and difficult middle school era, to the renaissance of her bloom where she came into her own thoughts, and opinions, and power in the last few years has been, hands down, the best adventure of my life.

Honestly, I don’t know how I managed to steer her little boat down this great big life river to where we’re at today. She’s such a sturdy and reliable vessel, that I often wonder if someone else raised her. Because on this day, and for the past few months really, I’ve been a wreck of a dingy.

Her resilience and perseverance are the only reasons I didn’t lock her in her room and tell her she could pick a nice online program to attend instead. For someone who has worked so hard to be self sufficient, patient, kind, hard working, and just in an unjust world…it would be a grave disservice to not let her spread her wings into this world that so desperately needs her. As my grandparents and parents have always said. We don’t raise them to stay at home and need us. We raise them to go out into the world and be good humans. So I’m learning to let go, I am leaning into embracing this time of her. Because it is. It’s her time now. And how amazing that she gets to spend it, invest in it, experience it, with me still as her mom?

There will be, inevitably, a lot of letting go and holding on in our lives. Family, jobs, relationships, loved ones, hopes, dreams…change and flow with the actions and inactions of the world. Learning when to loosen your grip and when to hold tighter is a difficult dance and the choreography is always changing. So this week I encourage you, as a writer, a human, and a soul…to think about what you’re holding on to. And ask you if it serves you…If not, why are your fingers so tight? What would happen, if you let go of something meant to fly? Not everything is ours to keep, after all.

For me, and Madelyn, letting go is an act of love that tells her I trust her, and I believe in her. It tells her that I’m excited for her life and for what she’ll do out there in the world. It tells her that I know she has brighter (and probably darker) days ahead and that both with teach her about life and finding her purpose. It tells her that I know she’s got this. But it also tells her that I am here and I will hold on to her in my heart, where she’ll always have a home. A big old oak tree to sit beneath when the world gets too loud and too busy. My roots will be there to sit within. My branches always here to give shelter. I will hold on to the bright memories and the endless giggles and curiosities, to remind myself that we are all borne as stardust into this universe and we are all born knowing. We are all, always, undeniably connected. Only the world makes us doubt these undeniable truths. I will hold onto this knowledge for her, in case the world makes her doubt it.

Hug your kiddos, hug your loved ones, hug yourself. (I’d caution against hugging strangers…best not to unless invited and both consenting) Remember you are stardust, glowing and bright. And that means, in terms of the vastness of the universe, that we’re never, really, very far away from each other even when we’re miles away.

Self Care for Writers

Posted on by sereichert

Hey there. I see you. Staring, blank eyed, into your screen. Just a thousand more words. Just get this poem revised. Just submit to one more journal. Post one more eye-catching reel. Just call three more bookstores. Just, just, just, just…

It isn’t hard to get caught up in the loop of hustling for your art. And I don’t mean that’s always a bad thing. We care about our work. We love our work. We want to share and celebrate our work. This world has a variety of pathways to do that (an overwhelming and convoluted sphere in itself), but it often amounts to at least a part time job in itself. Beyond the writing, the poem-ing, the editing, the revision, our creativity is in constant competition for the pesky day-to-day of living.

Psh. Family. Day jobs. Grocery shopping. Cleaning. Taxes. PTA meetings. Board meetings. Bake sales. Yard work. Caregiving. That contest you said you’d judge. Simultaneous vaccinations for every furry thing in the house… everything competing for space in your brain and on your schedule. I get burnt out just thinking about it all. So this week, we’re going to take a step back, put down the balls I’m juggling (I can’t type balls without giggling a little–Jesus Christ Sarah, pull it together) and talk about some things we can do as creatives/writers to keep ourselves sane, calm, and focused, in these over productive lives. I think you guys deserve a bullet list. It’s been awhile.

  • Sleep. Protect your goddamn sleep at all costs. Seriously. Priding yourself on four hours a night is only super cool to tech bros and cocaine addicts (or do I repeat myself?) Create a bedtime routine like you were a toddler. We turn off our phones, we brush our teeth, we stretch and meditate, we read something calming, we shut off the light and we settle in. (or whatever combination works for you) Every night. Limit your caffeine and your booze.
  • Find time to write for fun. I get it, all of us write and it’s all ‘supposed’ to be fun. But sometimes there are projects and deadlines. You should always have some outlet that isn’t related to your bigger goals. Journaling every day counts. I have a tiny notebook and every day I sit down to write one poem in only the space of two tiny pages. Only have 5 minutes? Do that. That’s enough. Have 20? Take it and make it your downtime.
  • Exercise. Listen you don’t have to run marathons. You could to chair yoga or mobility stretches. You could go for a walk or a bike ride. You could Jazzercise for all I care, Richard Simmons your heart out. Power lift or join a Cross-Fit cult. The brain works better when the blood is flowing. Not only that, but it will kick up your endorphins and hopefully help your sleep, posture, and overall sense of well-being. Movement matters
  • Read. Holy shit, I used to be terrible about this! I’d only pick up a book at the end of the day, maybe make it through a page, and fall asleep. I told myself I didn’t have time. I was a big dumb liar. There is time in the day. I read in the morning now, and a little at lunch, and again in the afternoon. A variety, some philosophy, some writing books, some fiction. A healthy diet of words help me to have fuel for my own.
  • Don’t take it so seriously. I’m not talking about just your writing. I’m talking about your life. Here’s a secret that capitalism and social media doesn’t want you to know. The statuses, the Amazon ratings, the likes and comments–none of it really matters. It’s an alternate plane of information that really doesn’t mean anything. Have you ever sat in your own skin consciously for a minute. Felt the reality of being? Known that if a giant EMP took out all technology suddenly, you would still exist in the world. We only get this one time, we only get the moment and the breath we’re in. If you never published another book, the world would still keep spinning. If you were rejected 600 times, the sun would still rise the next day. Silly human, stop obsessing about the trivial and just be present. Find your joy in the here and now.

Well, there you go. Take care of yourself. Get sunshine, good food, movement, and water. Treat yourself like your favorite houseplant. Talk gently to yourself. Forgive yourself. Take lots of big, deep belly breaths, and trust that whatever you have to give for today, is more than enough.

Worth for Awhile

Posted on by sereichert

A large part of human nature’s beauty lies in our failures and follies. Perfect people are rarely very interesting. As a writer, creating ‘perfect’ characters is a sure-fire way to distance your readers and lose their interest. Why? Because no one wants to read about someone who always gets it right. Who can share commonality with that? And yet…our reality is often ruled by what we, as actual humans, fail at.

When thinking about human frailty and my own failings I stumbled across the largest stone in my path of late; Self-Worth.

I know I’m not alone. I see you out there.

It’s more than fair to say that we are comparative beings. The media propagates it, competitive constructs in work and school demand it, and long-standing cultural threads tie our successes (and our failures) to what we’re worth in the eyes of the rest of the world.

Its the single most destructive lie we’ve ever been told.

And its easy to say that it doesn’t affect us. That we don’t care how we stand in relation to other people, that we don’t have a competitive nature, that we don’t feel the need to be anything else than what we are. I say those things all the time. And they rarely do more than offer a feeble disguise over the surface of self-doubt.

If we didn’t care, we’d cease to try. We’d stop looking for ways to improve. But something that should drive our greatness often tears us apart and we are left with shreds of the human we used to be, torn apart in an effort to create something more inspirational in the eyes of the world.

I was recently told, by a very generous soul, that my self-worth shouldn’t come from anyone but myself. That I couldn’t let the berating, criticism, or comparisons of the world let me feel any less than what I was worth. That it wasn’t the outside that should decide, but what was inside of me.

So it made me wonder; What am I worth?

In terms of chemistry, my physical make-up is probably no more than about $3.00 worth of material.

If you broke down my daily tasks and how much you’d have to pay someone else to do them, some would say I’d be worth about $140,000 a year. If you based my worth on what I contribute to the world with my writing we’re looking at a solid $50 a year. Monetarily, its not very impressive. And again, I’m basing my worth on what other’s consider useful tasks/materials.

So what am I worth? What are you worth? Sit still with yourself and ask the question:

“What do I do, what am I, that matters to me? That impacts the world? That brings me contentment?”

Deep…yes. Sometimes we gotta get past the cloak of simple thought to really understand why we matter. We have to, for the sake of our own self-preservation. After all; if you don’t see worth in yourself, you start to feel like a burden to the people you love. And all sorts of ugly outcomes arise from that train of thought…trust me, I’ve been building a scary set of tracks in that direction myself of late.

So I sat down, prompted by my friend’s words and suffering through a trough of depression, and asked myself what I was worth.

I came to the conclusion that for a long time I’ve let the words and actions of other people (in their own beautiful human imperfection) determine my self worth. If they were mad at something in our shared existence, I took it on as a fault of mine. As a problem that I didn’t fix or prevent. If comments were made about appearance, I took the darkest path of focusing on my imperfections and felt the need to correct them by any strange and unhealthy way possible.

It left me wanting and sick.

Why do I let my brain do that?

Because we’re taught to improve. To impress. To be better. To strive for more. Instead of just being what and who we are and understanding that we aren’t responsible for other people’s happiness or conforming to ideas of perfection. We must set boundaries to the information we let affect us. Even my friend’s well intentioned advice was still someone on the outside telling me what to think about my self worth. It’s not about letting someone tell me I am worth-while. Its about knowing my own worth and not letting the outside world sway that knowledge either negatively or positively.

Now there are times, when someone who loves us may come to us with good intention, and full hearts and offer us a viewpoint about something destructive they see in us. There are times when someone has honest praise to offer. With careful appreciation of the information we’re given we can chose to look at it with neutrality and see if there is helpful advice within it, and take it as an opportunity for self-reflection.

I love you guys, for all you are. Just as you are. Have a beautiful week and stretch your brains and hearts to fit the worth inside of you. It’s there.

“My dear,
In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love.
In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.
In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.
I realized, through it all, that…
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.

Truly yours,
Albert Camus”

Artists Need Each Other

Posted on by sereichert

So yesterday I was invited to this really cool space in north Fort Collins, called Kestrel Fields Studio and Art Residency. The owner, Heather Matthews, is a delightful human who has created this space to help support not just artists in need of a space to work and focus their attention on their craft, but also as a gathering space for artists from all around. Last night, she invited a lively and varied crowd of Arts Administrators from the area to mingle, talk, and answer some important questions about what art means in our community, how we can work together, and what the future of art in our community could look like.

I won’t go into great detail but I did notice a few things that were brought up time and time again. First, that even in communities where the art scene (I’m covering it all; music, visual arts, performing arts, literary arts, etc) is vibrant, there is often a disconnect between artists sharing their work and the public being connected to it. We all know that funding for the arts has taken a hit under the current federal administration. When we couple that with an economy that’s currently circling the toilet bowl, private funds are also being withheld as the whole country braces for these depressive futures. In itself, this creates a depression and repression of a different kind. Creation of art is not free nor easy. It costs time, and material and effort.

Artists in America (with the exception of those billion dollar stars out there) are not paid well, if at all. Art is not considered worthy of compensation to a capitalist system. Why? Because it defies all the markers of capitalism. It is not meant to be consumed and thrown out in an never-ending wasteful cycle. It is not massed produced, or homogenized for easier consumption. Art is unique, and personal, and deep-rooted. It asks the observer to think and to feel, and to step outside of their own perceptions. Art is uncomfortable and often questions power. It is dangerous in all the right ways. Because people who think and ask you to question our societal confines are often discredited. After all, why would a system promote someone trying to shake us out of a stupor to acknowledge our humanity above powerful, greed-driven systems? Art does not serve systemic oppression.

The point is that art and artists in America are more often seen as quaint, quirky and starving, rather than being hard-working harbingers of change and progress. Unfortunately, the marker of respect in our society is tied with monetary compensation, and we do not give that to artists, no matter how they may improve our lives or move our souls. So…something to think about is how you interact, support, and uplift the artists in your community. First, by going to their shows, reading their books, reviewing them and spreading the word. Paying a cover designer when you can. Paying for someone who edits or writes copy for you. Paying a musician to preform at your event. That money goes directly back to the artists and therefor the community. And it speaks a louder truth that Art Is Worthwhile.

Along those lines, let’s talk about cross-support. A big issue that came up was the “siloing” (I feel like that’s a hot-topic word of late) of artists. Painters stay in gallaries, musicians only go to music festivals, writers stay home in their pajamas and turn their ringer off. Yes. It’s hard to step outside of our own comfort zones within our art. But the beautiful thing about art, in any sphere, is just what I mentioned above. Art makes you think. Makes you question. Gets you outside of your world and asks you to see something new. To question. To feel. And those questions and feelings, especially when planted in the seed of another artistic mind, will lead to a garden of beautiful, unique and expansive ideas. If you’re familiar with ekphrastic work, you know that a painting can inspire a poem. A poem can become a song lyric. A song can drive the hand of a painter. We are not siloed, we are an expansive field of fertile and ready soil. And at the risk of sounding sensual, we should start cross-pollinating. Not only for the health and vitality of our own art, but to support the minds and hearts of people who share in our struggle and joy of being translators of the soul into art.

I am proud of the community of writers and poets I work with. I am overjoyed to meet the artists who paint, and draw, and sing, and perform. I love to know how art and passion move through their bodies, and to feel kindred in their drive to create something that feels like touching the deep truths of humanity and shared experience. My ask of you today, whether you write or not, is to find out more about the artists in your community. Go to their shows, follow them on line, support them with words and presence if you don’t have the funds. But let them know they’re important. That they are seen. Because artists see you. They work and create to bring us all closer to understanding each other. And that’s something worth leaving my pajamas for.