Living in a State of Discomfort

Posted on by sereichert

I’ve been thinking a lot about pain lately. I fell, earlier this week. Hard. Like too hard for a 46 year old who already had problems with her lower back. Hard like my soul left my body for a few seconds and I had to reorient my brain to the five foot change in altitude I took within seconds. Like I immediately wondered if my dog would know to go home and get help or if she’d just cross the street to the goose-poop strewn park to get her fill of the foul treats. Like I knew my 10k race plans were blown to hell within seconds, after months of training.

I made it home. I iced my tailbone. I wrote the doctor to tell them I’d been an unusually brutal dumbass and should I be concerned. Not peeing blood and nothing was numb so… it was a wait and squirm day of trying to manage pain and try not to think too much about what this damage will feel like in the next twenty years. But being in pain, less now than yesterday has also made me think about discomfort. And how we, as humans, seem to do anything in the world we can to avoid it. We live in a culture that fears death and pain and hides from it. But it doesn’t stop us from experiencing it. It can be the loss of a loved one. It can be in the form of disappointment or rejection. It can simply be in the form of everything, in our lives and around us being subjected to inevitable change.

And my how things are changing these days, aren’t they? The advent of technology that is quickly superseding our ability to control it. Threats of nuclear and world wide warfare, on the daily. The rise and fall of our stock market, admittedly a irrational and imaginary play of numbers that dictates the cost of our continued living. Never knowing what next ridiculous, volatile, dementia-riddled thing will come out of his mouth next. Not knowing if our kid’s meningitis vaccine will be covered or trying to combine your pancreatic shadow MRI with your possible coccyx breakage scan so you won’t risk angering the insurance gods… We’re in a constant state of discomfort. And the prevailing consensus is this is not normal.

I had a lovely breakfast with one of my only favorite humans (one of maybe 7 in my life) and we could only shake our heads over greasy-spoon diner coffee at what the solution could be. What do we DO in these upheaved states of matter? What CAN we do? The answer was as nebulous and unshaped as the over-easy eggs on our plates. Where does an artist, a philosopher, an intellectual, an absurdist do when the world becomes a dark, stupid, unthoughtful, ridiculous mass of chaos? No one is listening. No one is reading. No one is thinking. That’s how we ended up here. No one was paying attention. They were face down in screens and algorithms, creating universes out of their own system-fed narcissistic tendencies to equate worth and purpose and meaning with views and likes… and the resulting discomfort begs for relief. For us to DO something.

So, what actions can we cling to, to not be lost in the madness ourselves? I could only offer the lame simplicity; we keep writing. We keep loving each other. We keep finding reasons to laugh. We keep telling our unread truths. We adopt street dogs and write bad poetry. We postulate dreams of buying a cabin in the woods and fly the bird at the world on our way out of society. But ultimately? We learn to sit in the discomfort, and rather than be embittered by it, let it make us softer. More artistic, more loving, more silly. We embrace fully the stupid human condition that is both finite and extinguishable. We embrace the mess we are. We embrace each other. Because what else can be done? The end will come, pain and discomfort will find us. We will lose the ones we love. We’ll be lost ourselves. Our words may never find pages or readers. Our thoughts might die on our aging laptops. But for now, in this breath, across this table, in this ever-present radiating pain from my backside, we’re alive. And being consciously alive, especially in pain and discomfort centers us in the beautiful now. That’s all we really have. Warts and all, the beautiful, irreplaceable now is an unprecedented cosmic accident that may never happen again.

So breathe it in. Have one more cup of coffee, and linger a little while. Be in the moment, with who you love. I can’t predict what the coming months will bring. But I do know, I have enough heart to live in all of its discomfort, and still embrace the wonder of it all.

Writing Challenges: Reconnecting to Self

Posted on by sereichert

I’ve been reading a lot of writing and life advice for the past few years (few, meaning 18 years?) As we’re approaching February and another Writing Heights Writing Challenge, I feel a little edgy in my gut. Knowing there’s an accountability is part of it. Knowing that a lot of the writers I follow have been recently talking about their writing habits and writing every day. Knowing that the last two to three years I’ve been in an editing whirlpool (stacks of books written that are now under contract means back-to-back edits and very little new content.) And I think the edginess is resting somewhere in the knowledge, that I haven’t written anything new lately.

Okay, back up a tick. Yes, I finished the last novel for the Timekeeper Series in October. But that book was bit of a possessed demon to both my process and my love of writing. I won’t go into it now, but suffice to say, it did not feel like the beautiful, flowing, creative river that writing often is for me. It was more like I had to manufacture a kayak run by diverting a real river into a human-made one. Anyway, what was my point? Ah yes, I haven’t written anything lately.

I could just as easily use the February challenge to work on edits and it would count. I could even more easily, not participate at all. But I’m starting to feel (admittedly with the unneeded pressure of listening to other writers’ processes) like I’m not much of a writer anymore. I have a hard time nowadays, sitting down and just writing. And it kind of breaks my heart because I always feared that this might happen. That I’d get to a point when I was out of ideas for story. When I had no one left I wanted to follow in their journey. That I would be resigned to teaching instead of doing and reliving glory days behind book jackets of years-ago published work.

But maybe it’s not that I lack story. Maybe there are still characters still locked away in there. And maybe I’ve just thrown curtains over them in my constant state of editing. Maybe what my writing really needs, is a challenge to sit down and recommit to it again. So…I’m looking ahead and spending some quiet time to myself, to think about what a good, but not overwhelming challenge might bring me back to the essential core of who I am as a writer. How can I be present again with the creative process?

It will need time. It will require me to let go of some other things that have siphoned off minutes and hours in my day. It will need consistency, and the letting go of perfectionism. It will need a dash of whimsy and a whole shake of bravery. I’ll let you know how it goes. I’ll let you know who I find beneath the curtain. And if my edits take a little longer. If my house is a little dustier. If the email responses lag and I don’t make every meeting…perhaps that is a better thing for my overall existence. I’ll even schedule some write-ins through Discord, at some local coffee shops and the occasional brewery. Keep an eye on my social for when and where.

If you want to be a part of my bumbling reset, it’s free to join the challenge. I’d love to meet you there. We can figure this thing out (once more, again) together.

(contact Bonnie at membership@writingheights.com for more info)

From the Muck and the Mud

Posted on by sereichert

“Like the lotus flower that is born out of mud, we must honor the darkest parts of ourselves and the most painful of our life’s experiences, because they are what allow us to birth our most beautiful self.”

– Debbie Ford

If we are to know growth, compassion, and peace, we must first understand and embrace suffering. It is only through accepting and living with burdens, sorrows, and disappointments, that we can let go expectations and learn to live in the skin and environment we’re in. The mud. The muck. The lessons and trials that come to us all. They teach us about patience, about failure, about acceptance and resilience. They teach us about our pain, and through it, others’ pain. And when we feel this suffering, we can better understand the suffering of others.

This is a New Year, and last year put me through some of the deepest, darkest, muddiest waters I’ve ever had to traverse. It gave me months of anxiety and pressure. Worry and loss of time and opportunity. It, in some ways, took both of my daughters away from me. But in other ways, it taught me how to keep them close even in the darkest of storms. It taught me who to trust, and who I could love better at a distance. It taught me that my heart is tender and that it should be. That it has been one of my biggest faults, in the past, to harden it every time it was broken. It taught me that a compassionate heart knowingly takes in pain, and breathes out hope.

So with all of the muck and mud I have sat in, the darkness that has surrounded me, I am in so many ways, seeing the first rays of sunlight bouncing on the surface above me. I am feeling my petals arching towards it, strengthened and supported by the loam of life that has taught me that all things along my journey have mattered, have fed me, have taught me…have shown me, just how beautiful and unpredictable and precious this life really is.

What are my plans in this dawning new year? Well, first I’ll happily tell you that I have no expectations. Because holding expectations is a sure-fire way to get the universe to prove them wrong. So I’ll just say this. I’m going to be kind. To myself and to others. I’m going to be conscious. Where I spend my time and my energy. What I allow into my life, and what I close the door on. I am going to be honest. About what I want, and what no longer serves me. I’m going to be quiet and listen more. I’m going to go outside more. I’m going to be alone more. I’m going to write more and email less.

I’m going to look for ways to hand over the obligations I took on out of ego, to someone who can carry them instead, with heart. I’m going to let go the trappings of the ‘hustle’ and embrace the comfort of the ‘nestle’ instead.

This last year was hard on my heart, my body, and my soul. So this year, in as much as I can and the universe allows, I will be softer to myself. I will remember my roots, and what has built them. And I will reach, always, and upward, towards the light.

How about you?

Writing with Purpose

Posted on by sereichert

Good morning, loves. I’ve been trying to read more lately. Everything from scientific studies on stress response, to the humor of philosophy, to the life and struggles of Van Gough, to a naughty Priest with a BDSM kink…ahem. I’m well rounded like that? And I find the more curious I am of all these very different genres, the more I start to think about my own writing.

It’s not uncommon for humans (writerly ones or not) to start to feel deflated, stuck, and more going through motions than genuinely living. We, especially in the corporation that is America, are caught up in a terrible kind of rat race (including plagues, famines, lack of health care, underpaid and overworked) and it can feel that most of our days are spent drudging through. From one task to the next, one have-to to another. Its universal in our culture.

So, because I’m an absolute book dragon, I am also reading an interesting book from the 1950s called “Words to Live By”. I’d found it in my grandparents cabin last year and have taken to reading a ‘chapter’ here and again when I’m feeling stuck. The caveat of course is that this is an old book, with some entries being incredibly biased, a little too religious, and some conforming painfully to the unhealthy standards of the time. But, because I’m an information whore, I like to read them and filter out what’s good about them.

The one I recently read was about purpose. And how we can get caught up living a very drab, unfulfilled life. The trick, the author wrote, was to live as if one of your heroes/heroines was watching. To live in such a way that the people coming after you had something to look up to, to aspire to. And I kind of think this is brilliant, because it doesn’t necessarily mean that you have to do something great or large or be someone well-known or famous. It could just mean that you are a living example. You create a set of standards. You are influential to both good and bad ends. And you never know, who will be watching.

As writers, I hope that we approach our purpose in two ways. One, that we stay true to what we write. Meaning, we write what we love and we don’t cater or cow to the demands of the market. Also, this means that we invest in our writing by constantly questioning it and striving for the best possible book/poem/essay/article we can write and genuinely care about its quality.

And two, that we use our voices to entertain, educate, encourage, and uplift. Our words matter. Even if in a hundred years we’ll all be gone, our words will survive beyond us. So make them good words. Make them loving and careful words. Make them beautiful and true. Make them words that someone reading your book 75 years later doesn’t have to mentally edit or dismiss for lack of understanding and compassion. Do your best. When you learn something new or know better than you did, do better than you did. Find purpose in the fact that your hero/heroine is watching you, (even if its just your parent, or a teacher, or your kids) and make your writing and your regular life, worth admiring.

Transcendence and Indifference

Posted on by sereichert

Sometimes on this blog I talk about writing. Sometimes, I talk about books and poetry, and creativity. I’m going to dip my toes in deeper waters this week, and I hope you’ll join me. I’ve been reading some really interesting books lately. Some of them fiction, some of them philosophy, but all exploring different aspects of perspective, experience, and this strange little existence we’re all trapped in.

Particularly, I’d like to talk about transcendence. Seems pretty hippy-dippy, yeah? Like only those on a first name basis with insanity or theistic religion (one and the same?) may reach this state. Those have been the acceptable formats to use in our ‘modern’ and indifferent current culture to reach transcendence. But what if, every human has the capacity to reach it? And why would we?

Well, ironically, I’m going to ask you how detached you are from technology these days. (I get it, you’re reading this blog–I appreciate your momentary attachment to my words, I hope they do you more good than harm). In our society, indifference, disconnect, and relativism have all formed a trifecta of creating a malaise of ingratitude and apathy. Whoa! Big words, nerd, tone it down…

Okay, so we live in a virtual world most of the time, rarely face to face. We are disconnected from the smaller, more real worlds of our surroundings. When we are face to face, we’re bombarded with the cultural effects of making EVERYTHING meaningful and important so that, nothing really is. We are more concerned with being seen than being known. We contain our worth in ‘like’ counts and ‘views’. We’re overwhelmed with information, but often that information is sensationalized and skewed, so the depth with which it affects us if often akin to a kiddie pool full of mostly piss…. What I’m saying is that our world has shortened our attention spans and hardened our hearts. And that’s a poor state to be in if you want to experience transcendence.

Why do we need to? We don’t. We could live our whole lives without having it. Some of us will. But as a creative, a writer, and a person who gives a damn about the world, transcendence translates to the interconnection of ideas and thought, the loss of self, the exaltation and delight of being truly present in a moment AND simultaneously interconnected with all moments. It helps writers and artists see connections and solve problems. It’s like having both hemispheres of your brain working at the same time.

In the modern world, people are addicted to the feelings of transcendence (joy, exaltation, elation, ecstasy, a disconnect from their lives) and many find it… often through drugs, or alcohol, or falling in love on repeat. Constantly punching tickets for these roller coasters of chemical highs, and depressive lows…Short term gains with long term consequences. It’s the equivalent of taking the gondola up the mountain but not really appreciating the view at the top the same way someone who climbed the mountain does.

See, transcendence (the magical lapse, the alpha state, the eureka moment, the disconnect from our small selves) comes from putting in time. Time on your craft, investment in your art. It comes after working through problems, working past failures and over obstacles. It means letting go of your ego in favor of discipline, to have intense attentiveness to the world around you (not an easy thing to do in the era of the internet), patience, and observation…curiosity. Hands on work, and hours in the seat. It certainly can’t come if AI is writing your story for you.

It probably comes as no surprise that, in our era of entitlement, transcendence is rarely a thing experienced. No one wants to work hard enough to the point that the work becomes the ease. And the process becomes, in itself, a meditation. Building a bridge between our analytical brain and our inspirational intuition takes time, and practice. It takes silence, and contemplation. It takes noticing the world around you. And this isn’t just experienced in writing or artistic endeavors. As a martial artist I’ve understood that its only through intense repetition, years of practice, curiosity and humility on the floor do I attain precise and sharp motion when it is called upon. (Slow to flow, flow to speed, speed to power, power to grace.)

So how do we recapture it? How do we overcome the indifference and work towards this genuinely life-altering experience? I urge you to take pause from the instantaneous solutions and gratifications in your life. Climb more mountains. Do things the hard way. Stop thinking that focused time is a waste, and give yourself a gift of singular-tasks. Don’t give up when things are muddy or unclear. Don’t be afraid to fail, but go on, steadily up that mountain. Practice your craft, even when it means writing your synopsis or your back cover blurb, or that query letter…those are part of the journey. When you skip things, you miss out on more neural connections. More neural connections will lead to “Aha!” moments. Use your goddamn brain and don’t let the screen think for you. Get out of your echo chambers. Meet new people. Take an unrelated class. Read something you wouldn’t normally.

Why bother? Because human experience and potential is fading, right before our eyes. It’s being replaced by a strange and candy-coated lie. A shadow of what we are capable of. Our lives are being played out behind filtered photos and 25 second reels. And that life experience is no place to create from. Dig deeper. Give a damn about your short and beautiful trip. Make it count.

Finding Your Why to Handle Your How

Posted on by sereichert

Hey kids. It’s been an interesting couple of weeks. From a near breakdown (I have a blog on that I’m trying to work the courage up to post) to a long and quiet return to my roots, to the challenging journey into sobriety, I feel like I’m walking a strange and wobbly tightrope. Teetering between okay and falling to my death.

So here’s what I’ve been doing. Reading. And writing. And planning classes. Struggling with knitting and walking my dog, giving back to my writing community in any way I can, and being present for my kiddos. I sometimes have to make myself do the things, and fight to keep the engine running. I’m keeping my hands and my heart busy and I know that’s not always the way to healing. But its a way to keep living, and right now…that’s got to be my only focus. Living. Hanging on, by full-arm embrace or bloodied fingernails.

Let’s go back to the reading part.

I’ve been going thoughtfully through Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. (I know– ‘Human’s’ search would be better, but I’m giving him grace, because I know he means us all). And it’s full of interesting and useful psychological studies and logotherapy as a means to find focus. But there’s this theme that’s been popping up, that he derives from Nietzsche, and that is when a person has a why, they can bear almost any how. And that even when we suffer, we can create of our suffering a purpose. That the suffering itself is a reason. And moving from there, we must think about our own personal meaning of life not only in total, but in every moment. Individual to us. Because without it, it doesn’t take much to drop us into a pit of despair and self-sabotage. What is our Why? Why do we exist, beyond what’s just pleasurable. What purpose do we serve in this moment and in the future?

He told stories of men in the concentration camps he was in, and their death and survival seemed to correlate (barring outside, violent factors) with whether or not they felt they had a purpose and a focus. When we have a why, we make the how possible. That when we lose hope, we start to disintegrate. More than just personal will and physical strength, it is the belief that we still have work to do.

I’m really not certain of my exact and ultimate why. I’m not sure that’s the point, and on the path to healing I’m granting grace to myself.

So instead I try to find a why in every moment. I eat better to keep my brain chemicals balanced. I work out to help my healing heart and feel strong. I kiss my children and hold them to make as many memories as I can. I write, even on days I feel drained because some days that’s when the truest thoughts come out. Some days I can only deal with one why. Some days I have the vision for all of the whys at the top of a mountain and I keep up steps towards them. Some days rest is my why….

I have important why’s in my life. Two of them to be sure, who walk on two legs and call me Bro (this generation’s affectionate ‘mom’) But beyond that (because as we know, everything in life changes and grows and evolves and we are not in homeostasis, we are in a constant state of morphing) what is buried in my own soul, the one thing I will take with me from point alpha to point omega, is not always clear. (Did I just mix German philosophers and Greek lettering systems? Maybe…it’s late.)

I could say writing, but its more than that, isn’t it? Because writing is storytelling, and storytelling is communication, and communion with other humans, and touching an empathetic center that says, I see you. I am you. I understand fear and love and the need to belong, and I will sit with you in all of these moments. Maybe it’s not so lofty and introspective as that. Perhaps its just kindness. Human compassion. Love. Who knows, that’s a 6 hour drive by yourself kind of question.

Ultimately, I find some why in every day. All the better if it lights even the smallest flame in an otherwise dark world.

What’s yours? Beyond the physical or environmental. Beyond your skill or your education. What drives you to wake up in the morning? To get up. To keep putting on pants and brushing your teeth.

Think about it this week. What’s your Why? What will make any how bearable?