Ten things, part five

Notes and snippets from life lately

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A song I’m loving:

Almost back to the parking lot, 35mm film

Here’s Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

TEN THINGS

1. “And sometimes I’ll ask what people have recently—say in the last day or two—come to realize they love, a question that at first seems to be difficult for some of them, as they say, “I like” this, or “I like” that, to which I try to lean on them by saying, “No, no, I said, what do you love?” Because sharing what we love is dangerous, it is vulnerable, it is like baring your neck, or your belly, and it reveals that, in some ways, we are all commonly tender.”
   This excerpt from Ross Gay has had me thinking about how often we associate vulnerability with hard stuff, when for many of us, it is perhaps even more so experienced with letting in the good, with admitting what we cherish, with showing our loves and obsessions and interests out loud, declaring ourselves in some small way. I’m thinking about how I can find more comfort, or embrace the discomfort, in sharing what I love without wincing so much, without wondering what someone will think, without feeling like it’s a step too far. It also has me considering these words from Samantha Irby, this radical reclamation of owning our loves and our likes and our interests, regardless of how it’s received — and what an act of self-assuredness it is to do so.

2. We’re all scared, aren’t we? Scared of the unknown, of how we’re perceived, of the climate crisis, of raising children, of being judged for not wanting children, of putting ourselves out there, of failure, of death, of being totally honest, of trying new things, I could go on. I wonder what would happen if we were all allowed to just name how scared we are — what kind of judgment and externalized hatred would get eliminated, what kind of comparison and criticism would hush, what kind of actual connection would occur. I’m scared. Just going to say it out loud.

3. I’ve found myself wanting to get out of the liminal place I’ve been floating in — wanting it to be done already, wanting to arrive in clarity, wanting to feel more certain or sure about what I’m supposed to be doing and how I should be doing it. Part of me feels like this pressure to “get there” comes from the false belief that there is anywhere but here to get to; part of me feels like it comes from the false belief that I’m supposed to turn everything into a lesson into meaning, which liminal spaces aren’t so convenient for; part of me wants something to show for the swirl I’ve been in. Just naming these things is helpful; there isn’t always a fix; just admitting what’s happening is helpful; there isn’t always an outcome.

   

   Coastal barn, 35mm film

4. I’m bopping back and forth between book ideas, for months, really, and I realize part of the reason it’s happening is because I’m searching for a way to make what I want to write work for everyone — for my agent, for publishers, for you who is reading this, for therapists and readers of literature and every single person in the world, really, as if that’s possible. After writing a self-help book, it’s been a big challenge to truly turn inward and explore what wants to come forth in this next book — not what will be most helpful or most liked but what I want to write the most. There is some grief around how blurry this has felt, as if I should know and be totally clear on it; and there is some relief in admitting just how hard it can be, and not rushing to clarity before I’m ready, before I’ve done the work that is needed to stay in integrity. Creating is hard sometimes. This isn’t a problem.

5. The approach to September brings the closer-to-the-finish-line feeling of Summer coming to a close, which always automatically makes me feel more like myself. I will miss juicy stone fruit, perfect tomatoes, and bright evenings; I won’t miss much else. I am ready for Fall.

6. I finished facilitating my first three-week writing workshop and when I tell you I walked inside from my office after each workshop and said to my partner, “I don’t know if I did a good job or not,” I’m not exaggerating, and when I tell you the feedback from the workshop has brought me to tears, I’m also not exaggerating. I laughed at how different others’ feedback was from my own self-feedback, at how often this is the case. Our ideas about what we’re capable of so often leave out the true capacity we have. Our perceptions of ourselves are so often narrow compared to how others receive us. And our self-expectations often make it impossible to see all we’re already doing, and how good we are at doing it. Really feeling this after having a lived experience of it the past three weeks with a group of incredibly kind humans.

   

   

   Some of the feedback received, essentially proving my inner critic wrong.

7. For a while, I thought I had nothing to offer outside of my large social media following. I thought I was tethered to the platform because it was all I really had going for me, as someone who was “discovered” there as an Instagram Therapist years ago, when I was still sharing as a mental health professional. The unraveling from this role and identity has, in a way, felt like a multilayered tending to the parts of me who want to belong, who don’t want to be left, who want to fit in. Facilitating my writing workshop created an embodied in-road to remembering I am not my platform. Starting this newsletter last year and seeing the ways it resonates with readers created an embodied in-road to remembering I am not my platform. Slowly learning to let go a bit of the way I’ve been writing for so long and trudging toward the book I want to write as a person, not a self-help fountain of wisdom, is creating an embodied in-road to remembering I am not my platform. All of this has felt healing for the versions of me who felt I needed to keep going in that direction to belong. Sometimes, untethering from the laid-out, obvious path is what actually leads to a felt sense of belonging, most importantly to ourselves.

   

   A resting kayak, 35mm film

8. As it turns out, Doing Things Afraid is an option. And, as it turns out, I (maybe we) can Do Things Afraid and have those things go better than our fearful selves know how to hold as a possibility.

9. I’ve been practicing letting go of the delusion of stuckness by taking tiny, small actions when I assume I’m just bound for stagnancy in certain areas, and it has been both humiliating and humbling to remember momentum doesn’t need to be so hard, so intense, or so big to matter.

10. The world has felt like a lot lately, for reasons I could list but won’t (I know you know); because of this, joy has felt more necessary than ever, and I’ve been seeking it out like a mouse on the hunt for a thick piece of cheddar, and I’ve been finding it because I’ve been more open to looking, and when I look, there it is.

Thanks, as always, for being here.

△ On creative grief

△ In The Summer — a stunning read from

ADL

△ Currently devouring Inciting Joy by Ross Gay and Thin Skin by Jenn Shapland

△ “You have to like it better than being loved.” This poem… whew.

△ Very into watching home tours lately, for a not-yet-determined reason

△ On the difficulty of getting rid of books

△ The views & vibes of my local farm weekly CSA pick-up

Not pictured: the donkey that lovingly nuzzled my daughter.

And here are links to the most recent letters for paid subscribers, a new one coming in the next two weeks:
~ Behind the Scenes #1: On less-than-ideal conditions for creating
~ Behind the Scenes #2: Courage over confidence & fraudy feelings
~ Behind the Scenes #3: Money money money

With care,
Lisa