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In my writing class my teacher Laurie Wagner always reminds us to write as badly as possible. Like it’s the goal. Messy. Imperfect writing.
I never thought I’d take a writing class. That sounds way too scary! I’m not a writer!
Then, I signed up, well because it was conveniently being held in my art studio at the time and heck, I was already there and making coffee for it.
Now, I see my writing class as my weekly therapy, re-set button and way to engage with myself and others on this entirely other level. One that I never have exactly experienced before, but gotten tastes of through other art classes.
The thing that continues to amaze me personally is if you had ever asked me if I wanted to take a writing class, my answer would have been no.
If you had ever asked me if I’d want to read my writing around a table to other women… my answer would have been NO.
In theory it’s the scariest thing for this introvert to do. Read my written word directly after writing it with no time to edit. YIKES!!
I’m not a writer!
Which I realize, I have written a book… but… that’ just a painting book… and I’m writing right this moment… but it’s my blog.
It’s funny how we categorize ourselves as creative or not. As artists or not. As writers or not. We all have the ability to dabble. To own it. To jump on in!
And the beauty is that it stretches us. It reminds us that we are in fact alive and learning and growing and stretching ourselves to our edges.
Doing it badly along the way. Giving ourselves permission to make mistakes. It may be exactly the answer to connect the dots to what makes you FEEL. Isn’t that why we’re alive in the first place? The human experience. Being present. In the flow. Having fun!
I’m reminded of all of this while reading Anne Lammot’s words on Brain Pickings.
Stuck in traffic and you thought the the story of your life would be….
One version is me with an old turquoise pick up, red cowgirl boots, braids, daily hikes, a big place to paint overlooking the desert. Georgia O’Keefe style.
The other is by the sea. Cable knit. A lab. A scruffy husband with laugh lines. A baby. Sweet dinners at home and hand holding.
The 3rd is maybe a little influenced by Eat, Pray, Love— me in Rome. Riding the backs of mopeds.
Just don’t be boring is the theme. Take the road with the most delicious fruit.
Did I tell you I’m moving a house in Nova Scotia? Assuming the building permit goes through. I’ve been talking a lot with the Canadians. Loving their Scottish- Maine sounding accents. “So we’re gonna move your hauuus”, says the excavator.
I want to be a grounded dreamer. A do-er. A make it up and make it happen gal.
I see myself sending fabric and pillows for the inside of the house. Wall-papering the inside. Before it has plumbing or electricity. Who needs it?
A compelling thing about my boyfriend is that he initiated a work trip to Nova Scotia. He’d look mighty fine with a tool-belt.
All my fantasies today are about escaping.