The Muse is IN Blog

I Don't Eat Duck

 

“Comedy equals tragedy plus time."

~Attributed to several people

including Mark Twain and Mike Birbiglia

 

Ever find a job and lose yourself? I did for ten years, in psychiatric hospital management. I had my career ladder up against the wrong building, as they say.

 

Read along as you listen..I think it's best with the sound effects and music of the podcast. Link is below or listen whenever you get podcasts. https://www.buzzsprout.com/1301089/13478017

 

I Don't Eat Duck: The One About the Job

Previously on Season 5 Episode 4 on A Muse’s daydream… the reality version, I told you a story about how impulsiveess can lead to jumping too quickly into things: high dives into pools and a doomed romance and I eluded to inappropriate.. jobs. This episode … is about that job or in this case, jobs.

 

I began my career working in a psychiatric hospital which started out okay. I was an occupational therapist working with adolescents in psychiatry and getting the treatment I needed… I mean, of course, giving them the treatment they needed in the form of creative outlets, psychodrama, art therapy, yadda … yadda

 

Then I got promoted to director of expressive therapies, then I got a promoted to program director of child and adolescent psychiatric units, then I got promoted as a director of units at a well-known private Psychiatric hospital in Washington DC.

 

I was terribly successful because I jumped at these opportunities without hesitation… or thought or investigation or discernment or common sense (it looked like I was terribly successful from the outside - cherry blossom adorned strolls around the Lincoln’s Reflecting pool, Foggy Bottom crab dinners, Pentagon City Mall shopping sprees), but from the inside out, success looked like this – scream….. which I know is more of a sound then a way something looks but that’s the best I can do on a podcast to indicate it was actually "terrible" … not terribly successful.

 

My intention was to be a part of a system that helped kids get better. Little did I know upper management just wanted me to fill beds and would yell at me “Get out there, use your charm to attract people who will send kids to the hospital.” And that’s a really nice translation version of what they yelled (This was the mid 80s when they could get away with BLEEP like that.) I didn’t recognize myself because working for a place with profit priorities over ethical ones was NOT even close to who I was, is or ever will be at all but I did it because I got lost and succumbed to the blindness a large paycheck can cause.

 

One day, when I was feeling particularly out of sorts with the mismatch of my values with the hospital’s absence of values, I walked into the medical director’s office and said, “Hi, … I quit.”

 

The company had paid money to move me there from my last hospital gig in KC and thought I was doing a terrific job so the medical director was disappointed and I knew this because he said, “I’m … disappointed” which triggered the Don’t Disappoint people software installed by my parents who were always disappointed so as a highly sensitive people-pleaser, the next day without much consideration for my first instinct, walked back into his office and said, “I changed my mind. I’ll stay.”

 

The medical director was relieved and pleased and I knew this because he said so and took some colleagues and me out to a lovely restaurant on Capitol Hill that served duck and champagne.

 

And then the next day, my first instinct paid me a visit and said, “WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?” and I replied “I know right?” and marched into his office again and said, “I’m sorry, I was right the first time, I hate it here and I’m leaving,”

The medical director, and trust me, I am quoting him accurately here said, “Get the BLEEP out of my office - I never want to see you again.” And I said, “Okay then. Thanks for the duck.”

Thanks for the duck?!

 

I don’t like eating duck – I had a pet duck when I was 16, his name was Ungawaheli. Who AM I?

 

Not someone who eats duck.

 

I had no job waiting, the security guards in the free museums on the National Mall knew my name, was still lost, and so depleted and resigned, that I thought the only option I had was to accept a job at the same kind of morally bankrupt psychiatric hospital situati0n as the one in D.C. but this time, in lovely San Diego. Predictably… appropriately, thankfully I sank into a terrible depression and got fired.

 

Thankfully? Yeah, It turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. … Okay maybe the fifth or sixth best thing. I know motivational speakers say unfortunate things turn out to be the best thing that happened to them, but I consider myself a demotivational speaker because motivation stresses me out and I don’t see it last for anyone who attends those speeches. I always tell people to lower their expectations… which ironically gets them further.

 

The firing did get me out of the world of “Who the Hell Am I?” and thrusted me into… “Well, I still don’t know who I am but it sure isn’t a middle manager working for a company with questionable ethics and someone who eats duck."

 

Eventually, it turned out I was someone who liked running creativity workshops, writing books, and painting quirky illustrations. But now I had a bunch of skills from being in management, self-compassion for forgiving myself what an idiot I was, and a good amount of resilience.

 

I wrote and illustrated my first book.. which started out as a book to help depressed people, because I returned to working with them and was one.. but it turned into book about creativity… which could also be considered a book that helps depressed people because some of us get depressed when we aren’t being creative… or wonder who we are. The book helps with both of those

It's called the Nine Modern Day Muses (and a Bodyguard) and is about ten powerful creative principles personified as quirky but clever Muses (and a bodyguard) who take you deep into the landscape of your creativity with mindfulness, imagination, and profoundly effective tools, prompts, and test-driven ways to get through blocks.

 

I am still in San Diego, found my bliss, the Muses and Bodyguard and I still hang out. I have been using them to teach creativity coaching and workshops since 2004 I no longer enjoy shopping at malls, I enjoy skydiving, stamp collecting, and dissecting chocolate souffles… no wait, that’s someone else – except the part about souffles. I’ll get back to you … on who I am in another episode. I’ll also tell you more about the Muses, but not now, I’m running out of time and want to go paint a picture.

 

But if you want to go deep with your creativity and celebrate more of who you and/or facilitate groups that do that … there’s a training coming for the up in September and there are spaces left.

 

A Muse's Daydream Podcast - subscribe wherever you get your podcasts ... or just stay tuned here.

https://www.buzzsprout.com/1301089/13478017

 

All best,

Jill

 

Duck painting by Alan Brooks

I Don't Eat Duck

 

“Comedy equals tragedy plus time."

~Attributed to several people

including Mark Twain and Mike Birbiglia

 

Ever find a job and lose yourself. I did for ten years, in psychiatric hospital management. I had my ladder up against the wrong building as they say.

 

Read along as you listen..I think it's best with the sound effects and music of the podcast. Link is below or listen whenever you get podcasts. https://www.buzzsprout.com/1301089/13478017

 

Previously on Season 5 Episode 4 on A Muse’s daydream… the reality version, I told you a story about how impulsiveess can lead to jumping too quickly into things: high dives into pools and a doomed romance and I eluded to inappropriate.. jobs. This episode … is about that job or in this case, jobs.

 

I began my career working in a psychiatric hospital which started out okay. I was an occupational therapist working with adolescents in psychiatry and getting the treatment I needed… I mean, of course, giving them the treatment they needed in the form of creative outlets, psychodrama, art therapy, yadda … yadda

 

Then I got promoted to director of expressive therapies,

then I got a promoted to program director of child and adolescent psychiatric units,

then I got promoted as a director of units at a well-known private Psychiatric hospital in Washington DC .

I was terribly successful because I jumped at these opportunities without hesitation… or thought or investigation or discernment or common sense (it looked like I was terribly successful from the outside - cherry blossom adorned strolls around the Lincoln’s Reflecting pool, Foggy Bottom crab dinners, Pentagon City Mall shopping sprees), but from the inside out, success looked like this – scream….. which I know is more of a sound then a way something looks but that’s the best I can do on a podcast to indicate it was actually "terrible" … not terribly successful.

 

My intention was to be a part of a system that helped kids get better. Little did I know upper management just wanted me to fill beds and would yell at me “Get out there, use your charm to attract people who will send kids to the hospital.” And that’s a really nice translation version of what they yelled (This was the mid 80s when they could get away with BLEEP like that.) I didn’t recognize myself because working for a place with profit priorities over ethical ones was NOT even close to who I was, is or ever will be at all but I did it because I got lost and succumbed to the blindness a large paycheck can cause.

 

One day, when I was feeling particularly out of sorts with the mismatch of my values with the hospital’s absence of values, I walked into the medical director’s office and said, “Hi, … I quit.”

 

The company had paid money to move me there from my last hospital gig in KC and thought I was doing a terrific job so the medical director was disappointed and I knew this because he said, “I’m … disappointed” which triggered the Don’t Disappoint people software installed by my parents who were always disappointed so as a highly sensitive people-pleaser, the next day without much consideration for my first instinct, walked back into his office and said, “I changed my mind. I’ll stay.”

 

The medical director was relieved and pleased and I knew this because he said so and took some colleagues and me out to a lovely restaurant on Capitol Hill that served duck and champagne.

 

And then the next day, my first instinct paid me a visit and said, “WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?” and I replied “I know right?” and marched into his office again and said, “I’m sorry, I was right the first time, I hate it here and I’m leaving,”

The medical director, and trust me, I am quoting him accurately here said, “Get the BLEEP out of my office - I never want to see you again.” And I said, “Okay then. Thanks for the duck.”

Thanks for the duck?!

 

I don’t like eating duck – I had a pet duck when I was 16, his name was Ungawaheli. Who AM I?

 

Not someone who eats duck.

 

I had no job waiting, the security guards in the free museums on the National Mall knew my name, was still lost, and so depleted and resigned, that I thought the only option I had was to accept a job at the same kind of morally bankrupt psychiatric hospital situati0n as the one in D.C. but this time, in lovely San Diego. Predictably… appropriately, thankfully I sank into a terrible depression and got fired.

 

Thankfully? Yeah, It turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. … Okay maybe the fifth or sixth best thing. I know motivational speakers say unfortunate things turn out to be the best thing that happened to them, but I consider myself a demotivational speaker because motivation stresses me out and I don’t see it last for anyone who attends those speeches. I always tell people to lower their expectations… which ironically gets them further.

 

The firing did get me out of the world of “Who the Hell Am I?” and thrusted me into… “Well, I still don’t know who I am but it sure isn’t a middle manager working for a company with questionable ethics and someone who eats duck."

 

Eventually, it turned out I was someone who liked running creativity workshops, writing books, and painting quirky illustrations. But now I had a bunch of skills from being in management, self-compassion for forgiving myself what an idiot I was, and a good amount of resilience.

 

I wrote and illustrated my first book.. which started out as a book to help depressed people, because I returned to working with them and was one.. but it turned into book about creativity… which could also be considered a book that helps depressed people because some of us get depressed when we aren’t being creative… or wonder who we are. The book helps with both of those

It's called the Nine Modern Day Muses (and a Bodyguard) and is about ten powerful creative principles personified as quirky but clever Muses (and a bodyguard) who take you deep into the landscape of your creativity with mindfulness, imagination, and profoundly effective tools, prompts, and test-driven ways to get through blocks.

 

I am still in San Diego, found my bliss, the Muses and Bodyguard and I still hang out. I have been using them to teach creativity coaching and workshops since 2004 I no longer enjoy shopping at malls, I enjoy skydiving, stamp collecting, and dissecting chocolate souffles… no wait, that’s someone else – except the part about souffles. I’ll get back to you … on who I am in another episode. I’ll also tell you more about the Muses, but not now, I’m running out of time and want to go paint a picture.

But if you want to go deep with your creativity and celebrate more of who you and/or facilitate groups that do that … there’s a training coming for the up in September and there are spaces left.

 

A Muse's Daydream Podcast - subscribe wherever you get your podcasts ... or just stay tuned here.

https://www.buzzsprout.com/1301089/13478017

 

All best,

Jill

 

Duck painting by Alan Brooks

Jumping Too Soon

"Comedy is tragedy plus time,
but the time is different for everyone."

- Mike Birbiglia

“So much of what is neurotic or damaged about me is the thing I tap into to be creative or to write or to create comedy, it’s all from the wound in some way.  I find myself swimming in it creatively and in my imagination to create stories. “

-Writer, director, comedian, Judd Apatow
 
 

“Be careful, lest in casting out your demon you exorcise the best thing in you.”

― Friedrich Nietzsche

    Listen as you read

   Begin Again

   This episode begins when I was three years old sitting in a movie theater and having a moment       when Disney’s 101 Dalmatians started playing on the big screen. Rich red velvet curtains swung     open and through the dark, colored light projected a gigantic musical cartoon with puppy dogs,      cats, and a lady villain. In that moment I began a lifelong love affair with cinema.  What we loved     as children carries over, indelibly, to adulthood.

 

The first encounter I had with a kitten was in the parking lot of a New Jersey barn turned to shoe store around age 4. I remember being enchanted with a little furry creature who ran when I tried to pet it; the moment still plays in my head as if it were yesterday.  Cats have been ruining my furniture ever since. 

And …  I remember the first time I made my parents laugh.

Humor

Making my parents laugh was the only way I could get their attention other than putting a thermometer on a lightbulb to feign impending death.   My role in the family was that of clown and comedian. Humor became my #1 coping skill, … and I needed a lot of coping skills to deal with the consequences of my impulsive, impatient, awkward behavior;   something with which you experience when you are highly sensitive and have ADHD.    

When I was five, we moved from New Jersey to Miami and my family joined Kings Bay Country Club. Kids waited in line at the ladder to climb a high diving board and jump into the Olympic sized pool beneath. When it was my turn, I’d climb to the top, frolic like a clown down the board to the edge, then stumble into the chloride sea below. I resurfaced as fast as I could because the most important part of the whole act was seeing my parents laugh.   

 

Jumping too Soon

One time I jumped too soon off the diving board.  I just missed landing on top of six-year old Seth Kleinberg. A pear shaped Mrs. Kleinberg wobbled over as fast as one could wearing gold high-heel sandals. In her loud  floral one piece  and New York accent she shouted, “ You almost killed Seth!! What is the matter with you, you’re a terrible little girl.”

My parents activated their emergency child disownment mode and put magazines in front of their faces. No allies there.  I did see Seth … but it was shortly after I jumped off the diving board so all I could do was wiggle in midair as best I could to avoid him.   Fun fact: Wiggling in mid-air doesn’t really change where you land, gravity is a fairly stubborn like that, but still, I was close, BUT NOT ON TOP of Seth.

I did not like being yelled at by Mrs. Kleinberg, it ruined the rest of my swim. I wasn’t used to being shouted at by adults; my parents’ discipline of choice was a stern look of disappointment paired nicely with a heavy sigh. I thought the words “terrible little girl” were terribly hyperbolic– although I didn’t know the word hyperbolic wback then. (Hyperbolic means of, relating to, or marked by language that exaggerates or overstates the truth). Mrs Kleinberg exaggerated and overstated the truth in front of the world and  I did not rebound too quickly. I hang on to embarrassment as long as possible because evidently my obsessive mind seems to enjoy the torture it delivers.     

 

Heart Break

Like my childhood love for movies and cats that turned into adult passions, the diving board incident represented the impulsiveness that followed me into adulthood and made jumping too soon into abyss of life’s  awkward moments a common occurrence.   I jumped too soon into unsuitable jobs, purchases I later regretted, hot tubs, and romance.  Not too long ago, I jumped way too soon into a romance with who I believe was a poor representative of the male gender. As a child, I believed that when you ask a prince, “So how long since your last relationship ended, your majesty?” he would answer honestly. This guy told me he was out of a relationship for two years, so I jumped off the high dive of discernment into the dangerous undercurrent of infatuation;  he was the lead singer in a rock and roll band, and you know how that is.  The infatuation rendered me delusionally hopeful when I should have maybe taken a little more time to see who he was.  Turned out his last girl broke up with him two WEEKS (that’s 14 days or 336 hours) prior to our first date, not two years (a decent amount of time to get over someone) and he was still seriously hung up on her. Four months later when she saw he was spending time with someone new, all of a sudden she had renewed interest in him and plotted to win back his affections … which wasn’t hard since they never faded. So, as the gentleman he was, he told me that I was wonderful, but he was still in love with someone else and that it was best we cease all courting behavior. Just kidding.  He was no such gentleman. He didn’t say I was wonderful, nor reveal her actions, his feelings at all or any kind of decency at all. Instead, he took me to New Orleans. [music] Little did I the purpose of them trip was to deepen her envy so he could win her back,  nothing more was I, than a pawn in his deceptive ruse. I tried wiggling in mid-infatuation, but like gravity, it didn’t change where I fell.   And yes, I know what you're thinking, it was a free trip to New Orleans, but he treated me like an extraneous annoyance the whole time so not even the beignets and jazz music could mollify my anguished confusion because I had fallen for him. Well, okay, the shrimp and grits were good, and so was the jazz, but I assure you, if he was ever in a pool under a high diving board, I would jump right on top of him even if his mom was watching.    

Creative Remedies

“Laughter is carbonated holiness.” ~Anne Lamott

There, I feel better about the whole thing now because I wrote about it and put sound effects and music behind it. Humor can lift us out of the abyss of awkward and painful moments so I’m glad it’s been along for the ride.

When one jumps off life’s diving boards too soon, gets a scolding from Mrs. Kleinberg, and a heartbreak from a lead singer in a rock and roll band, so be it. Hurray! I bet you have some stories too, we all do, … life is a tapestry of stories, woven with creativity and the eventual healing that comes from said weaving.  Some of my tapestry is woven with silly string because humor is my out of jail card .  My childhood love for laughter is stoked by stories that were once painful and now sting less because in a story I can fictitiously jump off a high dive on top of a scoundrel without a the consequences of a law suit.   If you’re a highly sensitive person and/or of the ADHD tribe… good news, according to valid studies other than my own first-hand ones, chances are you also have heightened creativity and humor. We get to celebrate those qualities in writing, art, poetry, music, podcasts, and stories that didn’t used to be funny, but now, with a some shrimp and grits, they are…     

And public service announcement: It’s best not to jump too soon into a relationship with a writer if you are of a dubious character ,  you may end up in someone’s podcast.

 

In my Wild Abandon workshops at Omega and in Italy, the first thing we do is address intimidation, comparison, and high pressure expectations by giving permission to be human. Once out of the way, we are free to be kids, proclaimed artists, writers, and photographers - letting loose so fast (and recklessly, often blind) our work is filled with energy, mystery, and instinctive genius, not to mention playful madness, but I did anyway.

 

Join me:

Wild Abandon at Omega Institute of Holistic Sciences: New York

October 1-6, 2023. A week of immersing ourselves in Wild Abandon writing, art, photography, and good times in a forest in the Hudson Valley.   Register here

 

Art Walk and Creativity on the Italian Riviera 

October 14-20, 2024 Plenty of time to save up for gelato! 
I'll be providing the creative part of a tour to the Italian Riviera. Here's the link to sign-up      For all levels from beginners to travel-hungry pros.

The Case for Recklessness in Art

A Muse's Daydream continues to explore misadventures that led to Wild Abandon art and my quasi brand of sanity. This story is from a past where my ADHD and my poor life choices met literally and figuratively with hitting bottom (or in the literal case, a large boulder) and how that led to the discovery of writing and art as a sanctuary and a reason to live. 

 

For Friction Reasons
Listen to the audio, music, and sound effects while reading (or while doodling recklessly).

 

“ADHD, also called attention-deficit disorder, is a behavior disorder,  characterized by inattention, impulsivity, and, in some cases, hyperactivity.  ”  

 

I’m not “some cases” of hyperactivity unless we’re referring to my mind which is often everywhere except where it should be, which is dangerous when an emergency brake is involved.    

 

Let me explain. Several years back, I lived on a steep, boulder-strewn hill in the high desert outside of San Diego with an incompatible boyfriend for far too long, … and yet, just the right amount of time. 

 

One December day, I returned home from buying some festive pink and green ornaments, design courtesy of Martha Stewart and groceries. I opened the trunk of my car and hurried the groceries into the house but when I came out, eager to retrieve my new stylish Christmas ornaments ….my car was gone.

This is what my eyes looked like: 

 

Actual size

 

I froze. I stared hard at the spot where my car used to be as if doing so would suddenly make it reappear. I stared longer than a psychologist might warrant normal. My state of shock teamed with my imagination  and constructed the following implausible stories:

• In the 30 seconds I was gone, someone stole my car.
• Maybe I parked it at the bottom of the driveway and forgot.
• It will be back in a minute.
• It was not back in a minute, an hour ,… or a hope.
   

I literally had to force myself to look down the steep, concrete driveway because a sickening dread pressed heavy on my chest.

I didn’t hear any screaming, a good sign.

I didn’t hear a crash, that’s weird.

I spotted it.  Just to the right of the driveway, my car was on perched halfway up one of the boulders in the front yard.

 

Dramatization, not actual size.

 

Strangely, there was no damage to the car (or the ornaments), but more importantly no one had been in the path of my runaway car. Kids lived on that block.  An older couple lived right across the street. It could have been horrific!

 

That I was relieved was a colossal understatement.

 

The artist part of my brain briefly admired the composition of Red Car Climbing Beige Boulder with Scattered Pink and Green Ornaments. That moment was quickly replaced by my decomposition of Embarrassment, Sadness, and Shame.

 

I called my boyfriend, he called a tow truck company, the tow company called the fire department, for friction reasons - if the car scraped against the boulder it could cause a fire.  Two members of the fire department and one man from the tow company arrived. All chuckled in disbelief, HAHA… They had the car carefully towed back to the driveway, and waved good-bye.    I wanted to hide

 

 

This was my wake-up call. I would be more mindful from now on so nothing like that would ever happen again.  “I am grateful for this momentous turning point in my life,” I announced to the Christmas tree as I hung the ornamental survivors of Runaway Car 2005.    I released a sigh of belief in this new chapter called Paying More Attention So I Don’t Kill People.  

 

I wish that’s what happened, but it’s not.  I didn’t kill anyone … but two months later, I came out of the house, and …  my car was gone again.

I forgot to secure the emergency-brake for a second time. Again, thankfully, it rolled into the front yard, but this time it didn’t land on the boulder, it crashed into the boulder and totaled itself. I don’t blame it, I didn’t listen enough the first time.

Self-Loathing

I was totaled too. I was drowning in self-loathing. I wished some nice person would throw me a life-preserver and make it okay. My boyfriend treated me like I was an imbecile; I should have had myself towed somewhere else, … for friction reasons.  I did not catch fire but I felt like an imbecile, and went inside to hide under the covers, and cry.

 

While I was under there, I started writing and illustrating my second book, The Awe-manac: A Daily Dose of Wonder, a book created with the intensity of someone needing a break not only from disturbing consequences of absent-mindedness, an emotionally abusive relationship, and deep self-loathing, but from the emotional wreckage that included cutting ties with a toxic family. A perfect storm for an escape from reality,

 

As I wrote and illustrated it, I experienced how writing, art,  and humor could usher me to a sanctuary of sanity and then, resilience. I had a burst of visceral … self-like. My illustrations were imprecise, reckless, and inconsistent, because … so was I. Art allows for variations on recklessness. In fact, if you are confident in your recklessness, it becomes your style. It became mine. 

 

"From the moment I held a box of colors in my hands, I knew this was my life. I threw myself into it like a beast that plunges toward the thing it loves." Henri Matisse said that from the moment I said "from the moment...", not me.

 

But I did throw myself into art and writing, not quite like a beast, more like a squirrel.

I still am compromised in other areas of paying attention, but the concentration gleaned from writing and art drifted over to paying attention to important things in life like the taste of watermelon in the summer, how music is medicine, and turning off the   in the kitchen.   

 

Writing and art became a reason to believe in myself.  Finding a reason to believe in yourself can be a life saver, I assure you, it was for me.

 

 

In my Wild Abandon workshops at Omega and in Italy, the first thing we do is address intimidation, comparison, and high pressure expectations by giving permission to be human. Once out of the way, we are free to be kids, proclaimed artists, writers, and photographers - letting loose so fast (and recklessly) our work is filled with energy, mystery, and instinctive genius. And playful madness.

 

Join me:

Wild Abandon at Omega Institute of Holistic Sciences: New York

October 1-6, 2023. A week of immersing ourselves in Wild Abandon writing, art, photography, and good times in a forest in the Hudson Valley.   Register here

Art Walk and Creativity on the Italian Riviera 

October 14-20, 2024 Plenty of time to save up for gelato! 
I'll be providing the creative part of a tour to the Italian Riviera. Here's the link to sign-up      For all levels from beginners to travel-hungry pros.

Melted Crayons and Fresh Water Pearls

The story below begins in the Miami sun with wobbly sailboats incarcerated in the straight lines drawn by a well-intending mom and ends with... wobbly sailboats sailing free. It highlights the power of perseverance which is a byproduct of finding the joy in the process and not worrying how things look. There are advantages of being a perfectionist with ADHD. Stick around and I will share more.

 

You may have read this story before, I posted it earlier, but now it is a podcast with cameos by Morgan Freeman and Harrison Ford. :)

 

 

 Link for listening

When I was little, I accompanied my mom on art outings to a very tropical looking bay called Coconut Grove, where painters would do their best to capture the sunlit glow of sailboats anchored in shimmering turquoise waters.

 

Mom had her oil paints; I had my crayons. In the Miami sun, the crayons melted which at first upset me until I realized I could color in yellow, aquamarine, and midnight blue all at the same time when those colors melted together in  a giant mutant crayon.

 

Mom painted like a professional. She had been a draftsman for the aeronautics industry and you could see this in her precise paintings of  Jamaican women with wicker baskets on their heads, white foam waves so realistic they splashed over rocks and almost out of the painting, and … shimmering sailboats with perfectly captured reflections.   She never considered her art good enough because … Mom was a perfectionist.

 

Mom would take a non-mutant crayon and draw over my wobbly drawings with corrective scaffolding to make them look more accurate; my sailboats were then incarcerated in someone else’s expectations.   Therefore, I concluded, my drawings sucked. I inherited my mom’s perfectionism, but having ADHD made drawing with exactness like a driving a car with no steering wheel. My drawings swerved a lot, looked like they’d driven over a few speed bumps and often crashed before they were finished.   

 

I was still in love with art because I could make flowerpots fly, entangle scribbles in doodle contraptions, and create odd birds with superior attitudes.   I could stave off the anxiety, neglect, and inferiority included in my mix of childhood angst with this place where I was inventor, director, and free spirit.

 

The process became most important because I assumed the end product wasn’t going to be acceptable art anyway.  If the world of art was an oyster - my clumsy style led to its pearl. 

  

As I stayed with my version of uneven, imperfect squiggles, they evolved into a style of imprecise whimsy, purposeful flaws, incomplete completeness … a style of fleeting, freeing mystery I could relate to more than precise drawings.  There’s an energy to loose and free drawing that to me has more of a story than rigid, precise drawings.

This gravitation to playfulness liberated disobedient spontaneity.  I entered the league of Wabi Sabi.  

 

“Wabi-Sabi,” says novelist Tom Robbins, “is the aesthetic of finding beauty in the imperfect and unexpected; the secret, private joy of being attuned to the Zen of things.”  Wabi-Sabi is Wild Abandon, a form of art I teach now.   Wild Abandon is letting go of conformity to rules, tossing perfectionism to the wind, and sailing away to find freshwater pearls. 

 

 Fresh water pearls hang out with melted crayons and wobbly sailboats freed from the shackles of corrective scaffolding. 

 

If you want to find or deepen your own version of Wild Abandon... check at my workshops and training listed below.

 

 

 
Is Creativity Ruining my Creative Mojo?
Tuesday, August 8 11 am pacific/ 2pm eastern
We don't have time to keep putting our creative pursuits off, but the insidious reason we procrastinate or don't feel what we do or who we are is good enough, could be perfectionism. Here are some answers to how to deal with it.
Register here: live and recording available for a week
 
Kaizen-Muse Creativity Coaching Certification Training: Zoom
August 21, 2023 — December 11, 2023 17-weeks of learning tools and approaches through a rich online community, two live-inactive Zoom classes a week, discussion, reading, and experiences based on science, mindfulness, intuition, and permission to be free from the fear, habits, pressures, and messages we get that stop our creative joy. KMCC here
 
The Modern Day Muse Group Facilitation Training: Zoom
September 12 - December 5 (no class Thanksgiving week)
Two Muses: Albert (Terry Way) and Bea Silly (Rozy Walker) will be teaching you how to run your own creativity groups based on the book The Nine Modern Day Muses (and a Bodyguard). Or take it to return to, unleash or deepen your own creativity.
Save the date - registration will be coming up in upcoming newsletters.  Sign-up here
 
Wild Abandon at Omega Institute of Holistic Sciences: New York
October 1-6, 2023. A week of immersing ourselves in Wild Abandon writing, art, photography, and good times in a forest in the Hudson Valley.   Register here
 
The Muse in Winter: Writing and Art Retreat in Taos New Mexico:
One spot opened up... email me if you're interested. I'll send you the info.
Feb 10-14, 2023
This year the workshops, art, improv, even the entertainment will be all geared toward writing. We will explore and celebrate creative writing and make art for writers in enchanting Taos.  Payment plans available until October. 
 
Art Walk and Creativity on the Italian Riviera 
October 14-20, 2024 Plenty of time to save up for gelato! 
I'll be providing the creative part of a tour to the Italian Riviera. Here's the link to sign-up      For all levels from beginners to travel-hungry pros.
 
The Underground Highway to Creative Results: Zoom and FB
For regular Fun Creative Prompts and a spectacular group of supportive creatives, join me in the Underground . 

Monthly Zoom Creativity Workshop and Wild Abandon art and writing prompts weekly  and a secret FB page (optional)  for only $23 ..  .  Check that here.

Perfectionism is Creativity's Evil Stepsister

If you've been in earshot of me randomly bending a stranger's ear or at one of my workshops or trainings, you've probably heard the story I'm about to tell you.  I share so maybe a little light is shed on the poison of perfectionism as it relates to doing two of the most important parts of the creativity:

1. enjoying the process

2. enjoying what you've done.

3. sharing it with the world

 

Listen while you read, here

Several years ago, I painted prolifically in watercolor and ink with the boyfriend of that time. We ventured out to the everywhere of landscapes, coffee shops, and unsuspecting people and brought home copious amounts of half-done renderings, foiled attempts, and maybe an accidental masterpiece.

I liked very few of our paintings; he liked all of them. I kept my painting-mishaps because I would either use the flipsides for other paintings or I’d rip them up to make collages. This guy I was with would frame all of his paintings with glass and black electrical tape and hang them in cafes and hair salons around town. This made me cringe yet at the same time I was in awe of his enterprising courage, absence of stifling self-judgment, and his audacity.  

Confidence was an inspiring trait of this man; having boundaries … not so much. One day I walked into a café and saw a painting of mine that I despised, framed in black electrical tape. So  in broad daylight everyone could see this imperfect rendition of wobbly coffee cups. I was embarrassed, angry, and no doubt, a scene ensued when I got home.

The next day we went to retrieve my painting and guess what? It had sold for $300. Whaaaat? Someone had bought and planned to hang what wasn’t even finished. Without revealing my mortification, I sheepishly asked the purchaser, “So … what do you like about it?” She replied, “Well, everything ... especially the unfinished look.”   Really?

After evaluating that she was indeed sane, I experienced one of those cellular changes where the epiphany is greater than the sum of the painting.

Couldn’t I see the value someone else could see in my work?

Am I not even my own audience? 

Was I doing what others considered good work and not even knowing it?

Just curious… do you need to ask yourself these questions too? Whether it’s art, writing, music, or whatever it is that you do?

I was sad, excited, confused, but ultimately inspired to paint more. I looked at my results in a new light. I had no idea that my standards might be suspect for what was considered “good.” At an earlier time I would have discounted the fact that someone considered the painting good enough to be bought by just writing it off as a fluke--stuck in a belief system I didn’t even know was sucking out my creative mojo. I guess I was ready in that moment to let it go.

T.S. Eliot said, "Between the idea and the reality ... falls the shadow." How we think our art and writing should look and what actually happens is often out of our control. But that doesn’t mean it won’t be something as good or better than we planned. If we are attached to the vision of what it MUST look like, we are robbing ourselves of the pleasure that can come from going with the flow seeing how the work emerges. It’s one of the joys of the creative process to “see what happens” instead of controlling it.

It took a lot of looking through the eyes of the people who appreciate my art to melt  the deep-rooted illusion that wanted me to keep me believing it sucked, to relax a little into self-appreciation

Perfectionism is creativity’s wicked stepsister. She dismisses the compliments of others as ignorant, uninformed, or simply them trying to be nice. She towers over us with a disapproving look that robs us of the joy in the process. She insists that we keep our work to ourselves to avoid the embarrassment of our ineptness. She needs to be stopped.

Perfectionism’s rigid demands and unbending standards can prevent the sweetness that comes with savoring our own work.  

Not everyone will be our audience and that’s okay. But if we hold to relentless standards, we will have a hard time believing anyone would be our audience. And that’s just sad.

Perfectionism sees in black and white. Our work is either perfect or it sucks. She’s never pleased because her standards are unreasonable.  

If you are a perfectionist, just reading this may give you some awareness but a hardcore perfectionist will have difficulty relinquishing those high, often unrealistic standards. They are programmed from heredity, messages in childhood, and society and are well ingrained in the fabric of who we are. They come from fear of not doing or being enough.. fear is the thing that sucks… but it comes with the creative process so finding a way to overcome it is key.

Where do we start to let go of some of this oppression so we can enjoy ourselves more?

With compassion, which is tricky for a perfectionist. It’s what we teach in Kaizen-Muse Creativity Coaching.

Learn more:

I'm holding a free call on Tuesday August 8, 2023 11 am pacific/2 eastern called Is Perfectionism Ruining My Creative Mojo ? It will give you give  you an idea of some of the principles I teach in Kaizen-Muse Creativity Coaching and my workshops, and may lend a little freedom to the evil step-sister of creativity: perfectionism as well as how you can use compassion to move yourself out of both perfectionism and procrastination. Register here