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.

Rediscovering Purpose

Posted on by sereichert

It’s a strange world out there kids. Even if you live under a rock, its hard to ignore all of the things that are currently affecting our lives and world. Massive super cell tornados, vapid and un-checked streaming information, rights being taken away, innocents being bombed, people starving, other’s rolling in stupid amounts of money…its enough to make a conscious person’s head spin.

And mine has been spinning for awhile. And then, even with all of the big picture stuff, looming, you still have to do something about your own, micro world. Your family, your job, your community, your life. Doesn’t it all seem a little too much to anyone else? I worry that if I shrink the world down, I won’t take action when I can to help others. I worry if I get to caught up in the overwhelming outside world, I’ll forget the good I can do with the people I love, closest to me. I’m, as Bilbo once said, too little butter scraped across the bread.

I’m at a retreat this week, helping to keep the thing running smoothly and encouraging this great group of writers in attendance and we’ve been at the mercy of some pretty terrible weather the last three days. The hikes and quiet world-expanding I’d hoped for haven’t happened. I’m shrunken down into my room, my group, and my work and I’m trying to not pull a Jack a la “The Shining”. We can hear our crazy louder and more clear when we’re forced into the silence.

Watching so many of my fellow writers getting work done, and having epiphanies, and making progress has been such a joy. But its also frustrating, because despite being here, and away from the rest of the world, I still feel stuck. I guess when the trap is your own head, it doesn’t matter how much you change the scenery. I’m making lists and doing a lot of the ‘safe’ work of editing and administrative to-dos. I’ve written a few poems. I’ve taken notes on classes. But what I haven’t done is gotten lost in the beautiful alpha state of writing and it’s something that always sweeps me up at a retreat.

Maybe there’s too much responsibility. Maybe I’m just not in the right head space. Maybe there’s a stress level, worrying about everyone and everything else besides my writing. All I know is that I will spare myself some time today and look forward in my own life. Make a list if need be (virgos love lists) of what I need, going forward to recapture my sense of purpose. Not just in writing. But in life.

I hope that you spare yourself some space in the middle of this crazy world today, and do the same. Could you imagine if we all woke up tomorrow, renewed and ready to make this world a little better?

That’s something to set an intention for.

Being The Light

Posted on by sereichert

As we move away from November, closer to the shortest and darkest day of the year, and on the first day of a celebration of light… I wanted to say a few things about our world. A little, horrific recap if you will, of situations that are spreading darkness…through the world, our own country, and our communities. Nothing like a little Suzie Sunshine to make the holiday’s bright, amIright?

Every year, since 2020, sort of feels like a strange do-over that’s still not getting done right. We’re trying to catch up, but we’re not really sure what that means. Catch up with the whirlwind of hate and disparity. Catch up with the deepening poverty. Catch up with the escalating violence between two countries that is made worse by the unfair favoritism of the world’s enabling ‘parents’… Catch up with what we lost. And there’s simply no way. Not with all of it. Not with our tiny human brains and our way too big human hearts.

Wages are stagnant, the price of everything is rising. We are still divisive, waiting on an election next year that could very well see our first mafia-like felon on the throne (because he will insist on a throne like any decent dictator would). There is an undercurrent of unrest, but “luckily” we’re all so underpaid and overspent, we simply don’t have the time, energy or funds to protest. And the internet keeps us drugged up on kitten videos and algorithmic echo chambers…

Companies and the government et large are concerned by the dropping birth rate, but not so concerned that they’ll do something to improve the conditions of all those fertile youngins. You know like…giving them a decent wage so they can afford to feed themselves before they throw another mouth into it. Or subsidized/free/decently priced healthcare to care for themselves and the said new offspring. OR I DON’T KNOW MAYBE GIVE WOMEN BACK THE RIGHT TO CHOSE TO HAVE A BABY OR NOT.

Here’s a tip…nothing turns women off from sex like knowing that we may get saddled with a baby that we’re solely responsible for in a declining economy. Cross your legs ladies, we’re not designated as broodmares to keep social security from crumbling. They should have thought about that a long while ago. In any case. That’s a dumpster fire with a different chemical accelerant for a different day to throw a match on…

The rich are getting richer (glad to see the stock market is so healthy while 1 in 3 American school-age children are suffering from food insecurity—are we still calling that kind of shit a ‘win’ for the economy?) The poorer are falling into depths of poverty they can’t begin to rise from.

The world’s still burning and flooding. Freezing and drying up in ever intensifying waves, destroying entire habitats and species within shortening periods of time.

Did I come here to remind you of the dumpster fire caught in a tornadic shit storm that is our world?

No, I did not.

I came here to remind you that you are a vessel of light.

I came here to remind you of your potential to shine even in the face of insurmountable difficulty and hardship.

I came here to remind you that your attitude, actions, and struggles matter and can make a difference.

Am I preaching to go forth and be a Pollyanna, ray-of-delight-and-positivity, spreading goodness and sunshine to the masses so that they can catch your optimism like gonorrhea on spring break?

No. Jesus Christ, no. Certainly not.

Look, we’re all reeling. We’re all coming up out of the dark of our own prisons. We’re all trying to find balance. We’re all watching horrendous atrocities take place a world away. Babies and mothers, refugees and wounded being bombed on their way to safety. Wondering, constantly with upturned guts who’s side to take. Allow me to let you in on another little secret.

There is no winning side.

War is not hell. Hell only takes the deserving. War takes them all. The grandmothers. The doctors. The five year old, clinging to his mother. The only good to anyone, to humanity as a whole…is a ceasefire. But you can bet your pretty little knickers that the US government in its dwindling war machine will not remove itself from such a gracious teet. Nope. Babies can die as long as the military complex survives.

Ugh…see? It’s pretty fucking dark in these parts. And we are but one heart. One soul, each of us. One tiny spark of stardust, trying to find some happy in a world of increasing hurt.

Here’s another secret…its not your job to find continual happiness. It is your job to do something with your life. To find a why, that makes a difference, and to pursue it. In the midst of hardship, in the midst of suffering, this is your purpose. Happiness may be a byproduct. But it’s not the reason. I’m asking you, in the gloom and confusion of our current state, to get out of your own head for a goddamn minute. Allow yourself to sit in the misery–appreciate the suffering and while doing so, extend your hand to the person next to you, or sitting in a bomb shelter half a world away.

Do something for someone else. Petition, Vote, Donate a little more if you can (be it time, money, or resources). Bring your elderly neighbor groceries or offer to put up their holiday lights. Send care packages or thank you notes to your local hospital or teachers or even the delivery person who’s working their ass off for some bijillionaire so he can make another penis rocket… Wait, am I getting my bijillionaires mixed up? Pot-ay-toe, Po-tah-toe, they’re all the same white privileged asshole who instead of ending human suffering, delights in deepening it…

Call your mom. Call your friends. Hell, call your best friend who you had a political rift with years ago. (Just–don’t call your ex—nobody needs extra shit in an already rampant shit storm). Patronize your local businesses for the holidays and take out.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

None of that appealing? Not feeling THAT altruistic? Ok, feed the birds outside, especially on cold days. Spend ten extra minutes playing with your dog or being ignored by your cat, perhaps at a closer distance. Read your kids an extra story. Hug them twice as long as you normally do.

Still not ‘up’ for that?

Then at least don’t be an asshole. The world is already at capacity. Be one of the good ones. If for no other reason than you are a light. And light spreads light. Not darkness. A light goes out and purposefully makes the world a better place in any small or significant way it can. It does not hate. It does not fear. It doesn’t not justify the killing of other people. It lets others have rights over their own body and futures.

That’s what being a light is about. Thinking about someone other than yourself. And that, my friends is the best gift you can give.

If you can do just one or two of those things, I guarantee something amazing will happen. The world won’t just look a little brighter. It will BE brighter. You will feel it in the center of your chest. You’ll start to see the world as a series of choices, opportunities, to glow a little warmer. To spread more joy. And I can’t think of a world more in need of the simple, small acts of kindness. No Pollyanna pigtails and sunshine yellow dress required. (Unless you already have the outfit and bitch you look fine in it—then rock that shit).

Go on now—get out of here and do something with your codger-ly, huff-ly, badger-ly self. Be a reluctant light if you have to. But be a light.

Poetry 10-20-22

Posted on by sereichert

Playing to hope and darkness, today, I’ll be featuring poems on both.

The Difference

She ask me
what the difference was
between depression and sadness
how can you be sure 
you aren't just sad?

I looked at her, 
and out the window again
and spoke the measured truth 
forming sounds 
that escaped dry lips, 
torn by nervous teeth
falling into trickles of slow explanation

sadness was a cut finger

depression was a severed hand

cuts heal 
lost limbs are lost

sadness is a cloudy morning
that passes into a sunny afternoon

depression is a cloud living in your head
and it doesn’t burn away, no matter
how hot the sun shines outside

sadness is losing a lover

depression is losing yourself

sadness is caring enough to cry
and scream and wail

depression is giving up
not seeing the point of theatrical
chest banging
because it doesn’t really
matter
anyway

sadness is a dead bird 
on the edge of the sidewalk
struck down from its nest

depression is to have never heard 
the bird sing, or to know
that it existed at all
 
sadness is a bucket in a well, 
that can be lifted and emptied 

depression is the dank water 
in the bottom
that never dries up.

Sadness has an ebb and flow
a beginning. 
An end.

Depression is being stuck beneath the waves
a thousand miles from shore
drowning in the cold darkness.


AND the Light

The Bones are Good

It’s in the small things
micro moments
hair breadth lines

the brush of her fingers
over the back of my hand
the freckles 
each one
mapping out her constellation
a history of goddesses 
painted across her nose
coursing through her blood

It’s the crinkle of eyes
green grass
dotted with bronze
and the fire behind them
the lighted soul
one stardust mote
in a universe infinite

it is how
they save me
every day
give me reason
to fight
for better
to be 
better

These small things
are the weight-bearing pillars
of my world.

The Beautiful Writers Workshop #12: It Can’t Rain All The Time

Posted on by sereichert

I used to consider myself an optimist.

But if you’ve been following me lately, you’ve probably seen a shift in demeanor. Let’s face it, nothing is normal in the new ‘now’ and I am no exception. You see, I’m a creature of routine. I’m an early-rising, mile-running, kettle-ball-swinging, lunch-packing, 1,000-word-before breakfast machine. I live my life by the beat of the day and the rolling pace of a full life. I’m going to school. I started an internship. I was in the process of finishing books and starting a new blog series.

Then…well. You know.

Life stole my beat. Circumstances started to peel away the fullness of my life. Tasks dropped off like over-ripe fruit, destined to waste on the ground.

And all I could do was watch. All any of us could do was watch.

And half the world shouted to get up and do something with this opportunity but I don’t think many of us felt the drive in our heart to listen. The other half shouted to self-care ourselves into a state of zen-like enlightenment, unicorn pajamas or Netflix binges.

But the paralysis settled, a blocked river swelling the banks with murky and stagnant water.

We were not given the time to grieve the loss of the life we were building. We have no assurances that it will ever come back, only the knowledge that nothing will ever be the same.

And maybe we feel guilty that we don’t want to let go, and we feel morally responsible to accept the change, and we feel angry, and we fell regret, and we feel lethargy, and we feel our pants get tighter and our morning’s wasted with a paralyzing sense of not knowing what will come from this. Or even what we should do in the present hour.

And the voices from all around shout well-intended advice about all of our spare time and howling at the moon, but to some, spare time means no job and rent coming due. Some don’t get spare time, they get understaffed and over worked in under prepared hospitals, fighting governments that horde supplies for what purpose I don’t know (except I’m sure there’s a profit in it for those who need the profits the least). And howling together isn’t as effective at showing solidarity by voting for someone who would have actually taken care of our neighbors four years ago with better health care, or one who would have listened to science and helped to prevent the worst yet to come.

But this morning, I got up early.

I got up early, and though my gym is closed and I miss the familiar faces that I never really talked to before, I got on the Peloton and listened to some size-two Brit tell me to take back my day. And I had a quiet cup of coffee with my cat resting on my shoulders and I wrote. I listened to Hozier and sang back-up to the words

‘I came in from the outside, burned out from a joyride”

And I made my own normal in a time that is not normal.

I miss my job. I miss my routine. And though everyone touts that we’re in this together, the truth is that we are all in this alone. We all may be experiencing the tsunami, but no one else is in your life-preserver.

So, here’s my advice to you;

Grieve as long as you need. Pajama all you want. Cry and scream and be a pessimist for as long as you feel it, and get the hate and frustration off of your chest. But do, eventually, get it off your chest. Because the world will have to reemerge sometime, and we’ll need to come out with it. And when we do, rather than have a false sense of hope that someone else guilted you into feeling, come out with a heart that has been made stronger by the process of loss. One that chose to come back in its own time, and in staying true to itself, can do the work needed without a fluffy layer of guilt to drive it. One that knows the work lies in the painful changes of growth that mean fighting some big fights to protect everyone in this country, not just the shareholders.

Because right now it’s dark, and that darkness isn’t going to go away when we’re all allowed to ‘go back’ to the life left outside. We don’t need false sunshine and social-media guru’s, we need our own resilience to look at the world as a realist does. Accepting there will be clouds. Choosing to fight the man-made shade that still seeks to darken our collective sky. Knowing there is light behind it.

After all, it can’t rain all the time.