Dreams and Theme Music

I was just chatting with a friend about those moments in our lives when we're pursuing - or even living - our dreams, but we feel like frauds.

During grad school, I felt as if I were a fraud the entire time. I was just waiting for someone to discover that I had no idea what I was doing and then, in a very stern voice, ask me to leave. I cried most days.
And then I started to work on my thesis. I holed myself up in the radio lab and spent weeks working all night, sometimes even taking naps on the floor, using my coat as a pillow. I had somehow remembered that even if I hadn't gone to a big-named undergrad, or I didn't have the same newspaper background as my classmates, or I hadn't published a book, I still loved to work and give storytelling my best shot.
Eventually, I realized that maybe I wasn't a fraud as much as I was just a work-in-progress.

Same goes for my never-ending journey to define myself as a writer. I spend my days writing, thinking about writing, reading about writing, and still. I can't help but think I'm a fraud.

And then there was my friend, who is busily working at all hours of the day as an interior decorator, her lifelong dream. She dresses like a decorator - fashionably draped in fine cloths and textures with a touch of something fun, like an unexpected colorful broach. She talks like a designer, seeing the world through its visual beauties. She easily points out the details that make a room, a person, or even a joke special. And yet, as she finds herself swimming in stores surrounded by thousands of fabrics, she's not so sure if she's got it all together.

Yesterday, she received a little bit of validation after a visit with her old college professor, who's - of course - impressed with her work. Here's a little bit of something she just shared with me:
"I really needed that step back from my life which I tend to get overwhelmed and stressed and insecure about, and to realize that I actually am doing what I want to be doing. And that I am pretty successful. I don't think I knew that about myself. Lately I tend to feel like I am failing."

Oh!!! How glorious is that?! She is such a success already! Yet, she's in the midst of those trying, delicate moments when we are wanting - so badly - to be great at something. We are trying so hard, that all we can see are the mistakes!
Don't we all do that? We make so many mistakes along the way, that we somehow think, "I'm no good at this at all."

We are all taking our journeys up the mountain. And with each step closer to the top we think, "how much longer is it??" Sometimes we feel all like Sisyphus, pushing that boulder up only to fall back down to the bottom. We stand, yet again, at the bottom of the mountain and look up wondering, "Can I do this?"

Sure. There is much to be said for people who really aren't good at certain things. There are times we need to reassess, accept defeat and disappointment, and take our lessons to move on. Those moments are humbling and beautiful.

But there are also the times when we are working so hard to keep fulfilling our lives that we forget about all the work that's already been behind us. And all the potential that remains ahead of us.

Are you in the midst of something great, but there is so much ahead of you that you feel overwhelmed by the remaining part of the journey?

Here was my fleeting advice to my dear, successful friend:
"Sometimes i feel like my "love story" is super lame and that I'm super lame. "There are days we all feel that way. Okay, let's be honest... there are MONTHS we all feel that way. But nah. You're doing so well. You're living your dream! You just kinda forget that you are because you don't hear all the theme music."

How easy to forget! As we are living our dreams today, let's turn up the inspiring theme music in our minds and remember where we are really standing.

A Whole Lotta Love. But How Much Life?

What's your priority these days? Are you living your life the way you want?

Sometimes I feel like I go to bed every night and all I can think about is how I'm not of any use or being as useful/efficient/helpful/hard-working as I need to be. Hmmm... actually, I'm pretty sure that's how I feel every night.

So I'm starting to think about all those beautiful sayings that tell you how to live the life you want:

"Be the change you want to see" - Ghandi

"We become what we want to be by consistently being what we want to become each day." - Hugh B. Brown

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” - Albert Einstein

"One Day at a Time" - A.A.

"I yam what I yam" - Popeye

How do you live your life? Is it in line with how you want to live your life?
I once had a bishop who would tell us, "How you're living your life today will help you predict what your life will look like six months from now." I thought that was smart.

I guess this means I need to get moving so I can start going to bed at night without so many regrets...

Do You NaNo???

I love November. For a million reasons.

I love the Fall and everything about it. The crisp air. The beautiful trees. The feeling of change whipping through my heart. It's wonderful. Every November I feel as if I'm falling in love. The whole month.

This month I'm stepping things up a bit. This month I'll actually get outside and work out. This month I will finish this darned draft. And this month I will be more grateful. Would you like to join me?

November is National Novel Writing Month. The challenge is to write 50,000 before midnight, December 1st. If you feel like writing with the thousands of other people who have signed up, find me online and we can be cheerleaders for one another. (I'm a great cheerleader!!! Go! Go!!!)

Also, this November I would like to focus on gratitude. A few years ago, a group of my friends emailed each other once a week. We all listed what we were grateful for and it was inspiring. I'm spending this month in gratitude mode. Gratitude is one of the strongest tools we can use when we're looking to improve our relationships. Once a week, let's think of what we're most grateful for. I'm going to post a little something on my 31 Dates site. Every week, I'm looking for little posts of things you're grateful for. We'll call it... Thursday Thanks. Or something like that. (You know I love me some good alliteration.)

Life is good. And can be even better if we allow ourselves to see it that way.

I am a Writer?

I'm a little ambivalent about titles. On one hand, I feel as if they can pigeon-hole us: the cool kids, the dweebs, the nerds, the band geeks, the jocks. On the other hand I feel as if titles give us... well... a sense of entitlement. Or empowerment: esquire, president, CEO, secret agent, supermodel, superhero, etc.

Over the years I've traveled through a bunch of titles:
Actress
Singer
Daughter
Sister
President
New Kid
Lonely Girl
Popular Girl
Sorority Girl
Nerd
Producer
Unemployed
Girlfriend
Wife
Couch Potato
Runner
Marathoner
(and back to) Couch Potato :)

Yet there's been one title I keep struggling with over the years: "writer." Have we talked about this already? I feel like I talk about it all the time.

When I was a kid, I remember holding my first "published book" with pride. We were in third grade and had been assigned to write a book titled "All About Me." The book was about 6 pages long with one sentence per page. In the school's office, it was spiral bound with a laminated cardboard cover. Inside you would read about, well... me. I had a big brother and a cat named Maxinne. I wanted to be an actress, a hairdresser, or a lawyer. At the end, it was followed by an "About the Author" page, which listed the same information.
I thought it was a treasure -- and certainly I was sure it was the most brilliant piece of literature ever created.

I wrote for fun. Or for comfort. Poems and prose got me through my tough teenage years. Journaling helped me feel as if I had an outlet.
In college I majored in English because it made sense. It balanced out my theatre major, which was "fun." The double-major in English would make me appear "serious." Graduating in three years would make me appear "super serious."
I fell into my career naturally. Having both parents as journalists (mom, a print reporter and dad, a photojournalist) would mean the apple wouldn't fall far from the tree. My dreams of becoming a hairdresser/lawyer/actress had fallen behind and my dad easily tricked me into the news business.

For years, I spent my days writing and producing stories and newscasts. I received a master's degree on fellowship from the world's best journalism school. I became a network news writer. I joined the Writers' Guild. I even landed a book deal.
And yet, even with those pretty endorsements, it has still been a struggle for me to identify with this title without following it with a question mark: I am a Writer. Period.

Sometimes I believe this struggle to call myself a writer is simply because I don't feel as if I write well enough. Or often enough.
My self-criticism serves as my limitation.
My grammar is strong. But my vocabulary could be stronger.
I compare my rough drafts with published works.
My discipline is weak.
My ideal of what a "writer" is somehow seems greater than I could ever hope to be.

And then I think of Mile 8.

As I was training for a marathon a few years ago, I would spend every Saturday morning waddling several miles, adding a couple miles to each weekend, slowly (very slowly) building up my endurance to 26 miles. I had never been a runner.
During high school I was well aware of my lack of coordination. I much preferred the camaraderie and kilts than the actual athleticism of my team sports. I happily took my place on the field hockey team playing "left bench." Lacrosse was no different. I stood in the goal, watching the rest of my teammates skimper up and down the field, praying no one would toss the ball my way. If we were challenged to run a mile during practice, I would gasp and walk and grip my aching side.

Who was I to sign up for a marathon?

I had worked my way up to eight miles in training. Eight miles without dying! It was then, that somehow I knew, no matter how slow I would end up, I would some day finish a marathon. I wasn't fast. I would certainly not win a marathon. But I spent my mornings donning a race cap and running shoes. I was slow. But I was dedicated. And by merely getting out the door in the morning, I was a runner.

So today, as I continue to fear my editor's deadline, to compare myself to "real" authors, to feel the weight of the world peeking over my shoulder and criticising every word I write, I will take a few minutes to allow myself to waddle into the world as a writer. I might tip toe my way to the end of my book. It might not resonate with any readers. But for today, I am showing up to write. I am committing to my title without question mark.
Today, I AM A WRITER.