Community and The Introvert Writer

Posted on by sereichert

So, I’m being ambitious and getting a few of my blogs written while at the Writing Heights Writers Association Fall Retreat, in beautiful Grand Lake, Colorado. (We’ll be updating soon for our Spring Retreat) And I’m reminded…that I actually like being around people. Not all people mind you. But writer’s are a special sect and I want to talk about them.

I’ve been a part of a lot of different groups. Martial artists, anthropologists, archaeologists, massage therapists, pilots, refinery workers, landscape crews, teachers…and they all have their own little micro cultures and ways of communicating, but being around other writers is something kind of special.

For one, and this is something I never knew I needed…no one bats an eye if you wander off from a conversation to sit down and write. AND while you’re writing, no one comes up behind you to ask a question, interrupt or disrupt you. There’s a solemn air about someone sunken into the process and not only do you find the peace to pursue it in these moments, but you can actually feel a beautiful, uplifting energy of minds at work. That’s one of the biggest reasons retreats have always worked for me. Even as the facilitator of this particular one, I’m given grace to work on my projects and supported in doing so.

Secondly, no one coming to these retreats is a stranger to the biggest issues that plague us all. Fears, imposter syndrome, frustrations, the bane of feeling blocked and the uncertainty of where to go when we do finish. The feelings that someone is always more successful, someone is always writing more… We are all in the battle, and see each other. That level of understanding and grace gives you a blanket of comfort so that those lows don’t feel insurmountable.

So, this is a friendly reminder, no matter what you write, no matter where you are in the process or the struggle, get yourself a group of writers. You don’t have to meet every week, you don’t have to always talk writing (some of the best conversations we’ve had here were on the complexities of life, of parenting, of ecology and wildfires, and…the anatomical measure of a moose) and you don’t have to share your work. But you will know you’re not alone, and that someone is rooting for you and your words. And that, my friend, is priceless.

Gratitude

Posted on by sereichert

I’ve been going through a few books on stress lately, some helpful apps about dealing with emotions (sans alcohol) and how to find more balance in a busy world. The common theme of late has been about finding and fostering Gratitude.

Before I go further, I don’t want you to think this is some kind of toxic positivity post wherein I’m going to urge you to stop complaining and be thankful it’s not worse, or preach to you that you shouldn’t feel the feels because you’re lucky to be alive. That’s simply bullshit. We are allowed to complain, and rage against the slings and arrows of life. In fact, a little complaining can help let off the steam on our pressure-cooker lives. We will have feelings and reactions and normal stress responses to things that upend our lives. I don’t believe in denying the pain and the struggle of our existence. I do believe that we can chose where we focus our attention, and learn to accept certain undeniable truths.

Everything will change, nothing is permanent, and pain is inevitable. We know we’ll have to live through some shit. Hard shit, unfair shit, tragic shit…all of the shit. That race track is just life, but how we manage our emotional state, our place in the world, and our response to all the shit, determines if we grow and survive or shrink and die. It also determines how much we’ll enjoy the ride.

Enter Gratitude. Yeah, I keep capitalizing it. Because I picture it as sort of a superhuman in our origin story. But Gratitude doesn’t have to be a big and imposing guy in tights, it can be a million tiny little fireflies peppered throughout our day, our weeks, our moments, that help to lighten the dark of existence. It isn’t very complicated and anyone can start a practice of gratitude.

Today, either in the morning when you wake, at night before bed, (or both if you’re feeling extra thankful) take a moment to write down three things that you’re grateful for. Then write down why they impact your life. It can be something as simple as “I woke up this morning and now I get to hug my kids” or “I have a job, that keeps food on the table” or “The sun is shining and its lighting the trees up like a painting” or “I had running water today, and a roof over my head. I’m safe and so is my family”. Some of these seem like no-brainers right? Except there are some that don’t have those things and we could be them just as easily with the flick of a bad weather pattern, a bad political coup, or the cogs of corporate greed. And it feels stupid and silly to be thankful for the sunshine when your battling cancer. It seems naive and idiotic to be grateful for that first, warm cup of coffee, when you’re behind on twenty different deadlines. It doesn’t seem like it matters to notice the good, small things. I know that. I’ve often thought it myself when I first started.

But once you start to look for the things that are good in your life, even the littlest, it’s like going hunting for fireflies. You’ll start to see them everywhere. And the more reasons you see to be thankful and grateful in life, the more light your world will become. We, in essence, can create our own reality by choosing to focus on the beautiful, strange, and charming of our lives. So… Do yourself and everyone who loves you a favor and go write down what you’re thankful for. I’ve found that it helps start my day off in a different mindset, and it actually helps me ease into sleep a little better. (That old “Count Your Blessings instead of Sheep” song from White Christmas has some clout)

I’ll start:

  1. I’m thankful for my children who teach me about myself and how to be a better person. I’m grateful that they are healthy and strong, and think for themselves
  2. I’m thankful for a warm bed, even though I wish I could spend more time in it, I’m glad to have it at the end of every day.
  3. I’m thankful for fall weather, the colors of the leaves and being able to see the painting they make everyday outside my window. Because it reminds me that nature is always in play, and her grand design is a comfort.

Tomatoes and Monotasking

Posted on by sereichert

What’s that? Sarah’s finally on her way on that downward slide into mental frailty? Well, maybe but stick with me for the ride because this is about a skill writers, and all of us really, can use in our lives.

Are you a multitasker? Do you pride yourself on all of the plates you keep spinning on any given day? the piles of paperwork, the busy-bee like hoping you do from one to another and back again. All energy and anxiety, and burnt out by the end of each day? Yep. It’s the standard American state. We never wear just one hat, we never do just one job. We never sit still.

Photo by Thirdman on Pexels.com

So let’s talk about what’s happening with multitasking. You’re not actually doing multiple things at once, your brain is cool, but it ain’t that cool. The truth is that you’re task-switching. Focusing in short bursts of time on one thing, only to move to another before you can fully complete, appreciate, or solve the task you’re on. The real kicker to this is that it’s actually not very efficient, and it can lead to poorly done work, distraction, not finishing, and feeling like everything you did that day was half-assed. And it was. Or…half-brained.

What in the hell does it have to do with tomatoes? Ah, yes, excellent question. Now that we know that multitasking is actually hurting our brains and productivity, I want you to think about monotasking. That is, just as you would think…working on mononucleosis. No. Just kidding. It’s working on one thing at a time.

*gasp* But how will I accomplish it all?

Well, first of all, remember, you don’t have to accomplish it all. Society, work, culture, pressures, none of it is actually real. These are concepts and constructs we’re controlled by so…prioritize first. Pick 5 things. 5 goals for the day or week and if the rest of your ‘to do’ list doesn’t support or contribute to those 5 things, then feel free to drop them to the side. Now you have a paired down and necessary list. Ta. Fucking. Da.

But what about the tomatoes?! Right, right, I’m getting to it. So now that you have your goals, instead of bouncing from one to another and back again, we’re going to try a little technique called Pomodoro. What’s that you ask?

Why it’s Italian for “Tomato”.

Photo by Miguel u00c1. Padriu00f1u00e1n on Pexels.com

This technique was created by Francesco Cirillo who initially used the tomato-shaped timer in his kitchen to keep tabs on his productivity. And it goes a little something like this:

  • Choose a task, get prepped for it.
  • Set a timer for 10, 20, or 25 minutes (if this is new, start with ten, if you’ve got mad focus skills, you can work your way up to 50, but no more than that). You can use your phone (away from your desk) the microwave, an alarm clock, an hour glass…It doesn’t need to be a tomato timer. But how fun if it were.
  • Sit down, sans your distractions (put the phone in another room), and work on the task at hand. Just that task. Whether that’s writing, or bill paying, or marketing, or physical therapy.
  • Don’t quit, don’t stop, don’t task switch, until that little ‘tomato’ sings the song of it’s people.
  • Take a five minute break, stretch, move your body, throw some laundry in the washer, play with the dog, get a glass of water, meditate, do some breathing exercises…whatever gives your brain a break.
  • Reset your timer, and start on the next (or same) task for another chunk of time.

The Pomodoro Technique is more than just a nifty way to manage your time, but it gets your brain into the habit of focus, and with focus (especially for us writers) comes flow state. Flow state is that lovely area where we become engrossed (don’t like that word) in our work and our characters and the rest of the world melts away. Its good for your endorphins, it’s good for your writing, and it’s good for you.

Plus, the small breaks between actually serve another purpose by helping your mind “consolidate” what you’ve been working on. Neural consolidation is an actual thing wherein, after learning or working on something, taking a break will allow your brain to rest, think, and forge new neural pathways so you’ll actually absorb and save the information you’ve worked on. See? The brain is cool.

I’ve been doing this now for a while and I’ve realized that on the days I try to multitask, I get less done and feel more frustrated. But 30-40 minutes of concentrated time, actually equates to a lot more quality work getting done and me being able to give the focus and time to each task like it deserves. I also feel more relaxed and accomplished at the end of the day, instead of flustered and overstimulated.

Give it a shot and let me know how it works out for you.

Big, Weird News

Posted on by sereichert

Well, shit. I don’t know how to say this but, I sort of did a thing. A thing I’m not sure if I’ll regret or not. Or if it will destroy my life, my writing and my sanity. But… remember last week’s post? No? Go back and read it, I’ll wait….

Okay, so now that we’ve established that the heart is a weird and dumb critter who regularly drives us off of cliffs, the big, weird news is that I went ahead and veered my Studebaker straight off the cliff into taking over the Director position and ownership of Writing Heights Writers Association. Yep. I’m soon to be in a position of authority and that’s…the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of.

But the fact is, my heart did it. Because I love this group. I love it’s members and its potential, and the things it can do for writers, in their struggles and grief and in their times of triumph. Because I believe in writing and I believe in writers. And I couldn’t see it fizzle and die out. And I’m definitely not guaranteeing it will thrive or even survive, but I made the choice based on a tenement I hold pretty close to my heart. It comes down to something I spoke of last weekend at the RMFW Colorado Gold Conference (I hope you made it) about Fear.

I have to credit a good friend with a phrase I heard in one of his lectures. Safety is not a place we learn anything. You could keep your Studebaker on the road, safely from one point to the next, never look around, never make a pitstop, and be the same damn person you were when you left as when you arrive. It is by throwing ourselves into the stupid and weird, and impossible that we grow. That we learn. That we discover. And what in the hell is life for, if not to discover?

I can’t run it the same way anyone else did before me. I’m not a smooth operator, I don’t have vast amounts of clout or money, or talent for that matter, (haha). But I’ve got this jabberwocky heart of mine. That’s a little wild, and a little goofy, and all about joy and puppy-like enthusiasm. All gnashing of teeth and snickering of snacks. Too full of love to ever make exactly the right decision. Sometimes it can’t even make the most practical one. But safety is not a place we learn anything. Practicality is a tether we’re given to remain docile.

So in the coming months I’m going to be gearing up to take over (starting officially in January). I’ll be trying to learn about processes, current issues facing writers, networking, and taxes and community building and all that wonderful and horrible stuff that nobody taking classes or going on retreats will have to think about. I’m going to think of my writers and my amazing team first, and my comfort second. I’m going to do my best to keep the heart of this thing wild, but filled with enough love and compassion to be reliable. I may be reaching out to some of the amazing and beautiful people I know to ask for advice and warnings. I’ll probably need to lean on friends until I find my balance.

All I really need to do now, is to make sure there are some good plotters on my side, to keep me from pantsing this thing into the ground. Stay tuned, and we’ll go on this ride together. Maybe we’ll even learn something.

Poetry 9-26-2024

Posted on by sereichert

Y’all, I’m busier than a one-legged lady in an ass kickin’ contest. So, here’s a little rerun. Because, lord knows the Heart is a Terrible driver sometimes. But we still let her take the wheel. After all, what is life for but to be messy and in love?

The Heart is A Terrible Driver

I am the owner of a body in the trunk
the forgotten musty trunk
in recesses of my memory
muffled and tied up
speechless to the ways my heart fell

Hearts do what they do
and mine
she is so big
so eloquent a speaker
so deviously soft and swaying…

she convinced me that
she was the only one
who could drive the beast of me
through life, and it would all
work out

while my brain
sat in the back seat,
shaking her head and looking at me
in the rearview mirror
mouthing the words

You know better
Your gonna hate yourself for letting her drive

Brain was right
Heart took us off a fucking cliff
the first chance she got
giggling with the thrill
the free fall of Love
drunk on its chemical cocktail

all the way down
Brain stayed silent,
arms crossed over her chest
as if to say

nothing I tell you will matter anyway
We were already over your head
the minute you gave her the keys

the carnage at the base of the canyon
was ruinous
the destruction,
complete
Heart took the hardest hit
split down the middle in two ragged
pieces of desiccated meat
devoid of reason, or rhythm

Head pulled her from the car, drug her through
the sharp pebbles and burning metal
shook with disappointment and
carried her to a lesser used path
and I followed complacently
my own wounds stinging

Brain barely spoke,
in all of those tender months-turned-years
up from rock bottom
winding on trails
of drunken malestorms
and pious sobriety
We are a heavy load

Heart sometimes regains consciousness
and clings to the brush, on the side of the trail
striking out with bloody, broken hands
against the pull
trying always trying to get back
to the wreckage
to somehow make it all work out
make that car and joyous ride
run again

Brain cuffs her, hard
Sometimes it’s just easier to knock her out
and keep her from making any decisions
then to try and reason
with her stitched up pieces

from here on out,
my heart must remain bound and gagged,
the body in the trunk

we won’t survive another crash like that

Just For Today…

Posted on by sereichert

Hello writers, readers, and fellow stardust-filled meat suits,

This is a friendly and short reminder that this is the only day you have.

Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow is not promised. Today is what we get. This day, this hour, this minute, this breath. I hope you are up, ready to face it with a sense of calm purpose. What will you do today?

Not sure where to start? Here’s how I do:

  • Move your body: Go for a walk, do a little yoga, take a run or a bike ride, lift something heavy, find the quiet repetition of a lap pool, beat the hell out of a boxing bag. Whatever the motion, be grateful for the body you’ve been given and love it.
  • Write something. Anything. A grocery list, 2000 words on your next novel, a poem, an essay, a letter to your mom…a lunch box note. Put hand to paper (or keys) and share a bit of your soul out into the world.
  • Read something. Take in a few new ideas, challenge your knowledge, tease your curiosity. Learn something new, then sit for a minute and think about that something new. Can you related it to something you knew or thought before.
  • Breathe. Slowly. In and out. Do nothing but breathe, for at least three breaths, at least three times a day.
  • Eat good food. Whatever that means for you. I’m not talking latest diet fads or what you ‘should’ eat. But what’s good to you, your soul, your happiness, and your sense of fulfillment. If its green and leafy all the better, if its all crunch and salt, so be it. But let it bring you joy.
  • Devote time to your purpose. Maybe that’s writing. So sit down and write. Maybe that’s your current job, buckle down and find gratitude in the work. Maybe that’s taking care of someone else, find fulfillment in that. But give focused time to your passion, and your goals.
  • Do one thing…anything, not for yourself. Help a neighbor, take a grocery cart back, help a coworker with a project, give a ‘yes’ to something that lightens the load of another. Send a note, donate to charity, drop off food at the food bank, hold the damn door, offer a compliment. Say thank you and please. It really takes so little to be kind. So do that. In any way, big or small, that you can.
  • Rest. Maybe it’s a moment to stare off into space, or to do a puzzle, or to lay down with your snoring dog for twenty minutes. But rest. We’re not machines and its in those quiet times that our brain processes all the stuff we’re doing.
  • Tell someone you love them, or appreciate them, are rooting for them, or that they are important to you. Whatever and to whomever…tell them now. This is your only day.
  • Spend time with the people and places you love the most. At least a little time. Be present with them. Make a memory. Make it count. Make them laugh.
  • Laugh. The greatest punchline to human existence is that, despite all of our struggling, our toiling and effort, none of it really matters. We are an absurd little glitch in a vast and uncaring, infinite universe. We are ridiculous and short-lived, so find humor in all that you can. Because laughter is a bit of a middle finger to the whole pointless play, and at least by laughing, you’re enjoying the flash-in-pan ride.
  • Love. You can chose a lot of things in life. You can choose to get ahead, you can choose to keep it simple, you can choose to pull back or spring forward, you can make choices for your life and your goals. You can choose to hate someone and extend that. You can choose to love. It is our greatest power and our greatest folly that we get to choose how we radiate into the world. I ask that you choose love. Love your fellow humans. Love your planet and your world. Extend grace. Live compassionately as though that was an unending resource (it is). Forgive. Let go. This is your only day, so just for today, choose to love.

Try the list, then go to bed. And then…when and if (and I hope it’s when and not if) you wake up in the morning, be excited and ready because you get to do it all over again. Just for today.

What’s Up This Month?

Posted on by sereichert

Wow, I’m so glad you asked. I’d love to say, I’ll be doing a lot of fall gardening, hiking to my heart’s content, writing in hoodies with hot tea and snuggling into the fall. Unfortunately, its still hot as balls here, and a writer’s work is never done. So none of that will transpire (though I may sneak away for a hike). Below are some links on where I’ll be, what I’ll be doing, and some cool books, events and classes I hope you’ll check out. Not to sound altruistic, but its not all about me here…

One of my favorite people in the whole world is releasing his first novel today (September 5th). William Missouri Downs is a delightful, ingenious writer. He’s been a play and screen writer for many years and this is his first foray into fiction. And let me tell you…its fucking brilliant. If you like humor, philosophy, and quick, fun, laugh-out-loud scenes, you won’t be disappointed. You can get your own copy of it here: 5 Minutes From Chaos

My first Youth Writer’s meeting happens on September 14th. The group meets once a month but in the next year we’ll be bringing in some stellar guest speakers and doing a lot more to help the members get writing time in and promote their work. If you know of a youth (12-18) who loves to write but who’s creativity is constantly being smooshed flat by diagraming sentences in English class, send them my way. Nothing but uneducated, free-wheeling writing going on here. It’s in person and virtual and FREE. Check it out here: Youth Writing WHWA

I’m taking my oldest daughter on a college visit to New York state. I don’t want to pressure her, but I’m really hoping she likes The University of New York Fredonia, because one of my bestest friends works there in the English department. I’ll actually get to see her while I’m in town, and this lady Rebecca Cuthbert, is a writer you should get to know. Her work is brilliant, dark, smart, delicious and spine tingling. I just love it. Her newest books and releases can be found here: Rebecca Cuthbert

I’ll be helping to host some of the events with Writing Heights Writer’s Association, so if you want more information on a great group that will help you better your writing skill and offer you a wonderful support system of other writers who really get it, check them out here: WHWA

Finally, I’ll be attending the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer’s Colorado Gold Conference at the end of the month and I’m all atwitter over it. Nervoucited? Excitous? I’ll be teaching the classes shown below at the event and trying to cram going to as many more as I can. The presenters are amazing, the content offered is awesome and I’m just gearing up to writer-geek out. Here’s the link if you want to register, because I would LOVE to see you there: RMFW Gold Conference.

Well, that’s it (as though all of this isn’t going to run me ragged) I hope that you find something cool to do with the month and I hope I get to see you sometime. Take care!

The Past Holds on in Dark Places

Posted on by sereichert

I’ve been debating, but I think this post just has to happen.

It’s been a heavy weight on my heart for almost two years now, and I’m ready to move on…to healthier spaces, to new horizons. But I can’t fully do that, when this shadow has been living in my peripheral. Because, sometimes trauma thrives in dark places. And I need to shine a light on it, even if no one is paying attention. Because otherwise it will continue to tendril itself to my ankles like a weight, an anchor solidly planted in the black of the ocean’s floor, and never let me be completely free. The only way to get loose, to get back to the light, to be free…is to get a knife and start cutting. But I can’t do that, until I shed light on the chains. Even if it risks losing a limb.

Imagine, for a moment, being in this place with me. See if you feel caught in the same chains. Feel your breath burning in your lungs, from the silence you keep.

Know you’re drowning.

Here’s a story, of something that happened. Not so long ago, but long enough that I feel safe in letting it go. So…here I go…

Suppose as a young mom, with very few friends and isolate from the world (not even admitting you’re a ‘writer’ yet) you stumble upon a martial arts school. You remember being in Kenpo in college and loving it. How it empowered you, gave you friends and community…so, being a mom of young women, you start your kids there. Because it seems to teach ideals and principles that you agree with. Self defense, discipline, respect, integrity. All good and decent. Your kids have fun, and you join the program, to be a part of their journey as well as to start your own. As time passes, they move on (as kids do) to new adventures. But you’ve found a home there. A real home. Friends, community, purpose. You love the art. You have plans for the future practicing this art.

Its inexplicable how deep in your bones you feel it. It’s like it was always there waiting for you to find. It might have even been something you always knew from eons ago, because it felt organic and made sense, and the way it taught you to move and use your power was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever had.

So not only do you want to continue to live in this world, but you want to teach others, you want to help kids, you want to encourage women in the art. So you work hard, nights and weekends, extra study and home and private lessons, and getting up early for weapons classes and staying late to help with questions. It is your life, and the family and friends you’ve made on the journey are as close to you as your own heart beating in your chest. You feel safe. You feel finally respected and equal as a woman, even in such a man’s world.

Then…one day…

A man you’ve worked with for almost ten years, who has always been like a big brother to you, completely platonic in your eyes, a family man to all who know him, your coach, your mentor, and someone you trust implicitly…starts to say things to you. Uncomfortable things. He starts sending them via messenger, non stop. From the moment you wake up in the morning until you try to sleep, he’s there…prompting, asking, demanding your attention.

You don’t respond, you deflect, you laugh it off. You ask him to stop.

Because he’s a man of this art–this art of integrity and discipline–and a family man, your coach, your mentor, you think he must just be confused, or teasing, or…joking? And when you tell him its uncomfortable and you don’t like it, he should respect that you’re not interested. And stop. He should…right?

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t stop.

You block him. He tries to manipulate your friends and co-workers at the dojo into getting you to talk to him, feigns depression, sobs into your messenger, leaves depressing posts all over social media. Everyone is very concerned for him. But you are confused. Because you feel like you did something wrong. When all you asked for, respectfully, was for him to back off.

Why would someone, who was like a brother to you, act that way? Why wasn’t your no enough? You’ve blocked him, you’ve asked him not to work with you on the floor, you don’t speak to him. You won’t take classes with him. He tells your collective friends that you’re being stubborn and unreasonable. He leaves the school in an emotional outburst. You stay. Because this is your home, and your sanctuary. And you have children to teach who are the very beat in your heart and you cannot abandon them.

Only soon, it doesn’t feel like a sanctuary because two weeks later, he comes back, starts requesting classes, starts saying that his mental health is at stake. He starts leaving typed notes in your employee box, tucked into books for you…telling you that you’re denying the truth of your own feelings (as though he knows your feelings better than you do?) He gushes that he loves you. That you belong together, that you’re fated for one another… You bring it to the head of the school. Because now it’s happening at work, and it’s gotten scary. This isn’t some passerby.

This is a man who outranks you, who could kill someone with his bare hands. And he’s made your workplace hostile.

And by hostile it means– you shake every time you pull up in the parking lot to teach. Your stomach is ulcering, you’re not sleeping. You hope, every night, that he doesn’t show up. Every time the bells ring on the doors into the dojo you cringe and look for the next higher rank. But it doesn’t help. Because no one knows.

Because your boss doesn’t want to ruin the man’s reputation. He doesn’t want to put a ‘stain’ on his school. Even though its more than just an inconvenience or a stain to you. It’s a dark and frightening world that’s closing in on you everyday. The man starts taking more classes, which means you take less. Your training suffers, you fall behind on your hopes of a higher degree and becoming a Sensei. Because you can’t be on the floor with him and you worry one day he’ll step onto the mats with you and do real, physical damage. You’re afraid it would lead him on if were nice out of fear, or even just in being near you, even if you ignored him completely. Because even when you gave a clear no, he only heard yes. You don’t feel safe.

You finally tell your boss, you can’t do this anymore. He tells you that you need to work with the man, to heal and get over it. That the man is depressed and they can’t possibly make him leave…what about his mental health? Can’t you two crazy kids just work it out? You tell him that there are laws against this sort of thing. He says he’ll think about it.

But you don’t need to think anymore. You can’t stay someplace that’s not safe, and the family that you thought you had is just a hierarchy of men looking to protect themselves, and any form of behavior they want to engage in. They are fine calling you their token female to promote a ‘family friendly’ atmosphere and boost female students to sign up, but you better not speak out for your actual rights to be safe, or against a higher-ranking belt, because that would make them look bad.

So you quit. A lawsuit is an option. But it also means an upheaval for the students, the kids and adults who find comfort in the art and in the community. It means years of litigation and strain on your own family, including financial weight you cannot afford. It means having to defend your ‘no’ to a bunch of men, who like the others before, don’t believe you.

So, you send in your resignation. The head of the school says he’s asked the man to never come back to any of their properties (out of fear of litigation, not out of a sense of what is right). They hope you’ll come back when you’re ‘feeling better’. They tell everyone you left to pursue a ‘book deal’. They don’t say that you left because you were being harassed.

You hope that you can feel better…you hope it will be safe again and your wounds will heal and you can move on and get back into the world and the practice and the teaching you love. 9 months pass. You start to take a couple of classes in different schools. You start to feel…buoyant, supported, you laugh on the floor again and you haven’t done that in over a year. You find an instructor you trust. You can hug people again and not feel…strange. You agree to cover a couple of classes to help them out. You sign up for an all-school event. Knowing you’ll have to prep for it, knowing its a big step, but feeling that you’re ready. And you’re excited at the challenge and at getting to practice again, and at being part of your family… Oh my God…how you’ve missed it, the motion, the science, the beauty…

But then…you feel the anchor on your foot, cutting into your ankle when someone pulls you aside and says, hey…he’ll be there you know? He’ll be there. At the event. They’ve let him register. He’s coming. He’s coming back. Just as you are. And your guts turn and you throw up and you can’t eat or sleep for days and you can’t not cry. It’s a cruel torture tactic, giving someone hope, for escape and freedom, only to shackle them down at the last second…

So you pull out your knife and you stare down at your foot and you know that you’ve only got one real choice if you want to survive.

And it isn’t to stay here, where this past, and this darkness, and this hurt is the weight keeping you under. You can’t possibly put your heart back into this water, now that the shark is circling. So you cut yourself free, and it must be complete. Through the bone, the limb can’t be saved. You won’t ever come back, there is no hope of it. You’ve lost a decade or more, of your life, of your passion, of the marrow in your bones. You’ve lost friends. Your family.

Because someone wouldn’t take no for an answer and someone else defended his ‘right’ to a yes.

So if you seem heartbroken in your posts and your correspondence, you hope its only temporary. You try to feign the idea that you’re ok. But when, for so much of your life, your safety, happiness, and well-being has, in one way or another, been snatched away by a man who thought he deserved your time and your light, its really hard to come back to ok.

I’ve been floating in the sea, bleeding, without a limb…fighting up, and away from the dark for a year and 6 months now… but there are days when I still feel like I haven’t breeched the surface yet. I want to shout out to the entire world, but I don’t think they’d listen. Because, I’ve merely become one of a couple hundred million women…who were told to stay silent, to not rock the boat, to be the anchor. The stability in status quo…

I’m not an anchor anymore. And its time to let go.

Thanks for listening. I know it won’t change anything and the damage is done. But half of my life’s goals, my passion, my love, was stolen from me and so if I have a hard time, sometimes, calling back, feeling happy, wearing fitted clothes, getting on and getting over, finding energy, finding confidence, trusting, coping with crowds… not looking over my shoulder when I hear bells ring… I hope you’ll understand. I hope you’ll give grace. To every woman.

What’s The Deal, Brain?

Posted on by sereichert

I’m normally a prolific writer. Like…I can put down 2,000 words plus a day when I have time and am in the middle of the glorious magical lapse, where time ceases to exist and there is only writing. But of late, that space is hard to find.

Now, to be fair to myself, I did just get done with a big project for my writing organization as well as helping to put on a conference. The kids are home right now, and there have been a lot of to-do’s in life. All of those excuses aside, when I sit down to write, it’s less a raging waterfall and more a sad little trickle, if it happens at all.

At the beginning of this year, coming off a year of publishing five books, I told myself that the main goals of the year would be learning and teaching. I would take classes, I would teach classes and give my brain a break from the writing, and especially, editing aspect of what I do–at least in terms of publishing goals. But I think I did myself a disservice.

By not writing consistently, at least a little everyday on various projects, I think I’ve lost some neuro pathways. I’m having a hard time with my focus, with my word count, and with that magical blossoming of new ideas. But is that all? Because I’m pretty fucking loopy these days. Like can’t concentrate, I’m tired all the time, I’m crabby (granted the world is a shitfest currently), and often depressed.

This is where the post gets a little weird, but I encourage people (men, women, and everyone between and along the spectrum) to stick with it.

Let’s talk about perimenopause. (Ew! I know, but shut up and listen) Brain fog is real, ya’ll. It also means night sweats and if those don’t keep you awake, the random brain and body signals being sent will. Less sleep equals…even more brain fog. I’m struggling to find balance, and focus, even though I haven’t changed any of my normal dietary, exercise, or life practices. All this to say, sometimes, life and biology don’t work with us. Sometimes we have to find new pathways and methods to do what we love.

Right now I’m researching it. I’m trying to eat healthy, let myself rest when I’m tired, and (despite also still teaching and learning this year) I’ve started writing again. A small, simple and sweet little book that’s not requiring too much investment as of yet, because I need to keep practicing, but I also need to keep it enjoyable, and not too convoluted for the brain cells that are already fighting strange hormone dips and tricks.

I know I’ll get through this, I’m looking into therapies and other things that can be done. Because I’m committed to managing my health and I’m committed to my creativity. Even if that means (as a woman and isn’t it ALWAYS the case) I have to work a little harder to find that balance. I’ll keep writing, a little each day. I’d rather be stuck in the traffic going slowly in the right direction, then pull of the road and never get back on.

Take care out there kids, and bring a fan. It’s going to get hot randomly.

In Honor of Rebellion

Posted on by sereichert

I wrote this blog nearly 6 years ago, before COVID-19, before the Black Lives Matter movement gained ground, before the staggering abuse of power from one of the most self-interested presidents we have had went full on “tear gas peaceful protesters so they don’t get in the shot of my photo op” crazy.

In the original version I was careful to try and not alienate readers with use of politics. Re-reading it now, after what we’ve all been through since the soon-to-be-dictator fucked our Justice System and took the foundations out of our democracy, I’m resubmitting it with more balls. (I never understood why “having balls” was equated with being tough. We all know those things can’t even withstand a little nut tap without shriveling into a vomit inducing pity party. They should really say “grow a vagina” or “have a uterus” those things can, as Betty White once said, “take a pounding”. Anyway—on to the point.) I’m submitting this with more ovaries.

Independence in our country used to mean the freedom to pursue our dreams. But now we’re finally opening our eyes to the fact that not everyone has the same opportunities for this pursuit. Discrimination based on race, the disparity between economic status, and various other homophobic, misogynistic, and white-power-driven stereotypes are collars that keep a majority of this nation underfoot and away from an “American Dream”. It was always really just a concept reserved for the continuation of power for those already in possession of it.

Here’s what I had to say so many years ago, adapted to call out the injustice I should have been brave enough to speak against before.

“Independence”

I’ve been listening to the “Hamilton” soundtrack, catering to my daughters’ obsession of the rhythmic and addictive lyrics. I realize there’s some language in it that many would deem inappropriate. But being a lover of all language and knowing my kids’ ability to differentiate between words used for flavoring and appropriate alternatives for mixed company, I don’t shy away from it. Because more important than a few f-bombs is the fact that they love it, and by loving it, they are learning from it.

I love it too. I love that this amazingly talented writer and performer (hats off to you, Lin-Manuel Miranda), took an overlooked story and breathed life and passion into for a new generation with quick-witted writing that tied the past with present day issues including but not limited to the fact that this country wasn’t built by white landowners but on the backs of the enslaved people they held captive for generations.

Hamilton is a snapshot of history and a reminder of the grit it took for our country to break free of tyranny. But that was only from a monarchy, unfair taxes, and regulations not suited for a free nation. We face so many more complex problems now, but at the root of our biggest challenges, is the imbalance of power and the very real threat of an un-punishable dictator taking the wheel and making sure all of his corrupt yes men have their day.

If ever there was a time to break free of the tyranny in our government and economic systems, this is it.

When did we stop thinking that revolutions didn’t work? When they shackled us all with overpriced living and underpaid wages? Was it when they lulled us into a sense of complacency by screaming that ‘real patriots’ never questioned their government? Was it when they told us what we could and couldn’t do with our own bodies? Was it when they defied the FIRST Amendment by posting a religious document in public schools, shoving Christianity down every students’ throat, while telling them what they could and couldn’t read in public libraries?

Does anyone else not think this is a direct remake of that old 1940’s hit, “Nazi, Germany”?

We should all strive to remember the past. When we don’t, we stop being on guard for the behaviors and situations that can lead to tragic ends in our own country. Germans were frogs in tepid water that did not notice they were being boiled alive as Hitler slowly and with great persuasive rhetoric (almost like a reality star) turned up the heat and murdered 6 million people. We are frogs in a simmering pot, people.

For the last decade we’ve been idle as a nation, allowing forgiveness for “jokes” that weren’t funny, shrugging off policies that bullied our allies, and looked away at the practice of placating dictators who held their own people beneath their boots. We allowed the highest court in the nation to be bought with favors and promises of power in return for Presidential Immunity and stripping half our population of their rights for body autonomy.

Some of you rolled our eyes. Some of you applauded. Some of you tried to justify his inability to understand complex foreign policy and economic issues by saying he was an outsider. (That’s like saying the intern you hired was given a roomful of mentors and material to study up on for the job and then shrugging when he runs the skid steer into a pile of propane tanks while smoking and jerking off, sans a mask, and shouting “I don’t need you idiots! I know exactly what I’m doing!”)

We are living beneath a new threat of the same old dissonant administration that seeks to divide us as a nation. and WE NEED TO REALIZE THAT WHEN ONE PERSON IN POWER DISENFRANCHISES ENTIRE GROUPS BASED ON THEIR GENDER, RACE, RELIGION, OR ECONOMIC STATUS IT SETS US BACK AS A NATION AND BURNS TO THE GROUND ANY FALSE CLAIM WE HOLD THAT ALL PEOPLE ARE CREATED EQUAL IN OUR ‘GREAT’ NATION.

In addition: The wealthiest in this nation are playing an old and tired game of making you believe its the poor, the immigrants, the non-Christians who are taking your jobs and wrecking this country, because the sure-fire way to keep in power is to fill your constituents with fear and best if its fear of the “other”. Two birds with one stone and all that…

HEAVEN FORBID, WE ALL REALIZED WHO THE REAL ENEMY TO OUR FREEDOM AND HAPPINESS WAS AND DECIDED WE SHOULD RISE UP AGAINST THEM.

On this day, I want you to consider what it means to you to have independence.

Think about this country. Think about what makes you proud of it (if there’s anything anymore.)

We were a bunch of ragtag rebels once. Who burned things and refused to be taxed without representation. Who stood up to an upper ruling class who didn’t give two shits about us. Our country was built on the riots of people who had enough of injustice. That’s why the FIRST amendment of our constitution guarantees the right to protest. Because for all the stupid ways those first founders screwed up, at least they recognized that a country full of free and empowered people is stronger than those kept under the shiny shoe of a narcissistic dictator.

Revolutions rarely take a day. They are years in the making, with sacrifices of blood and lives. Revolutions are not free. There is a cost to rise up against the powers that seek to tie us, bind us, use our one precious lifetime for their own gain.

I could tell you to sit back, relax, enjoy the barbecues and hot dogs, slather your standard American body down with potato salad and jump into a kiddie pool filled with Bud Light (*or some “truly” American beer that wouldn’t advocate for human rights?*) while waving sparklers from every available appendage…but I won’t.

Today I’m going to tell you to remember the past, remember the fight. Remember there are things worth standing up for and things don’t change unless you rise up and change them.

Free yourself from the fear, trepidation, and self-doubt that keeps you from standing up for the rights of every man, woman, all-those-between, and child in this country. We are Americans and we stand together against the forces that seek to keep any one of us down.

Rise up.

Don’t give away your shot.

Be young, scrappy, and hungry, and take back your life, your country, your Supreme Court and the principles that sparked revolution and never give up the fight to win freedom for all of us to pursue happiness.

Photo by Sides Imagery on Pexels.com