January 2009 Newsletter
01/01/2009
Dear Writing Friends:
It is mid-December and we’re in the middle of a cold snap, unusual weather for Austin, the temps dipping below freezing for the second day in a row. I am sitting at the Triumph Café on Anderson Avenue, having just finished eating an enormous plate of curried vegetables. I have discovered that if I come here after the lunch hour, around 2:00, it is quiet, and I can eat and write in peace. The surroundings are less than elegant, but there is good light here and no loud music, no music at all in fact, which I appreciate in this age where every retail and dining experience requires a soundtrack.
I am thinking about how 2008 started for me, in a state of total burnout. I remember being in New York in January, sitting at an Au Bon Pain, a few blocks north of Houston Street on the East Side. I was in between appointments with a large chunk of time to kill. My energy was fading and I decided to stop for lunch before heading to the New Museum in the Bowery. I ducked into the familiar chain restaurant and bought some lentil soup and a chunk of bread. I sat down at a Formica table, propped my feet up on the chair next to me, and ate. When I was finished, I returned to the counter and bought an enormous cup of coffee, enough I thought to jolt me back to life and get me through a museum visit and my 5:00 appointment. I emptied the cup, but I felt more tired than before. I thought about returning to my friend’s apartment and taking a nap—I’d have enough time if I got in a cab—but an old familiar voice told me to press on. I should make good use of my time. I’m in New York. I should see some art. I shouldn’t waste my time sleeping. And so I pressed on, going back to the streets on legs that felt like they might break and with a foggy head.
I had been reluctant to go on this trip. The fatigue had set in earlier in the month when I was visiting my family in California. In the mornings, after drinking my requisite two cups of Earl Gray tea, I found myself stopping at Starbuck’s for an extra lift. It crossed my mind that I could stay home for a change, stop running off to more interesting parts of the country. I knew it would be cold in New York and, even though I had bought a beautiful new coat in San Francisco, I dreaded that achy, icy feeling you get at night when you’re tired and cold. And then my beloved cousin, Robert Friedenthal, died just a few days prior to my leaving. I wanted to pull inward and grieve for him, pour over my memories in peace. But I had important interviews planned. One of them had been particularly hard to pin down. I knew I had to go and I knew the toll it would take on me.
When I returned from my trip I was sick, a stomach bug that I had a difficult time recovering from. I lay in bed for a week and although my appetite eventually returned, my energy did not. I knew what it was. I had it once before: adrenal fatigue, which I recognized from the unmistakable feeling that I might be dying. I know that sounds dramatic, but ask anyone who has suffered from it and they will tell you the same thing.
I saw my nurse practitioner and I saw my acupuncturist. They both prescribed rest, which wasn’t difficult considering I could barely haul my butt out of bed. But it was also frustrating. I wanted to work on my book, to make measurable progress, and I had no stamina. Anxious to get on with it, I sought the services of my friend Carolyn Scarborough, who had recently become a life coach. During our first conversation Carolyn surmised that I was working on the rewards system, meaning that I would write a certain amount each day and then reward myself with something pleasurable, like a walk or trip to the florist. Except I was leaving out the rewards. To rectify the situation, Carolyn gave me an outrageous suggestion.
“Why not reward yourself first,” she said, “and see how that radiates.”
Radiates? What the heck did that mean?
“Why don’t you see what happens when you take care of yourself first and see how that affects your attitude toward writing and taking care of your family?”
Taking care of my family? That wasn’t what I was getting help for. I didn’t feel like doing that. I wanted to work on my book, make forward progress, move on, get things done, watch manuscript pages pile up on my desk, not serve three square meals a day, make the beds, whistle while I work, etc.
“Why don’t you just try it?” she said. “It will be your homework for the week. We can talk about it more next Monday.”
And so I did what she suggested. In the mornings, when my husband and daughter left the house, I crawled back into bed with a book. Some days I took magazines into bed and cut out pictures of homes and gardens and other things that looked appealing to me and pasted them in a scrapbook. I took long baths with sage oil I bought in Taos, and sat meditation every morning. I stared out the window and thought about my sweet cousin. And I took a lot of naps. I tried to eat good food (my acupuncturist was pushing greens) and I cut back on caffeine.
And the results? It was a very good year. In 2008 I began teaching again. I started with a few three-hour workshops and they have blossomed into longer courses and a full-day retreat that will take place this spring. I also reinstated my newsletter and showed myself that I was still capable of meeting monthly deadlines. And the most satisfying piece of all: I found a structure for my book. After almost ten years of searching, it fell into my lap.
My attitude toward my family has improved. On days when I’ve had time to myself, I appreciate their company. I still don’t feel like cleaning up the crap they leave around the house, but that’s a different issue that doesn’t have anything to do with writing—I don’t think. If I find some way to tie it all together, I’ll let you know.
Once a week, my husband’s parents have dinner at our house. For years, my mother-in-law has been telling me to slow down. “You look tired,” she says. “You need to put your feet up.” Sure, I’d think, like I have time for that. Lately, at the end of an evening when she is about to leave the house, she takes me by the shoulders and looks into my face. “Take care of yourself,” she says. “And God will take care of you.” It’s a Yiddish proverb, which my father-in-law repeats for me in the old language: “Dee heet zech oop un Gott vell deer heeten.” I’m finally beginning to understand.
This month’s quotation:
An artist must have downtime, time to do nothing. Defending our right to such time takes courage, conviction, and resiliency. Such time, space, and quiet will strike our family and friends as withdrawal from them. It is.
Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way
Writing Topic: Rest
To find out about Carolyn Scarborough’s coaching practice for writers, see her website: www.backyardpearls.com. Her recent blog posts have tips and reflections for writers. Carolyn’s book, Backyard Pearls, a wonderful collection of stories and “pearls of wisdom” from everyday life, is available on Amazon.
Course reminder: “Writing Practice, Memory, and Memoir” begins on January 17th. To register, go to http://store.writersleague.org/writingpracticememoir.aspx.
Wishing you all a wonderful new year. Rest, eat well, and write.
Saundra
It is mid-December and we’re in the middle of a cold snap, unusual weather for Austin, the temps dipping below freezing for the second day in a row. I am sitting at the Triumph Café on Anderson Avenue, having just finished eating an enormous plate of curried vegetables. I have discovered that if I come here after the lunch hour, around 2:00, it is quiet, and I can eat and write in peace. The surroundings are less than elegant, but there is good light here and no loud music, no music at all in fact, which I appreciate in this age where every retail and dining experience requires a soundtrack.
I am thinking about how 2008 started for me, in a state of total burnout. I remember being in New York in January, sitting at an Au Bon Pain, a few blocks north of Houston Street on the East Side. I was in between appointments with a large chunk of time to kill. My energy was fading and I decided to stop for lunch before heading to the New Museum in the Bowery. I ducked into the familiar chain restaurant and bought some lentil soup and a chunk of bread. I sat down at a Formica table, propped my feet up on the chair next to me, and ate. When I was finished, I returned to the counter and bought an enormous cup of coffee, enough I thought to jolt me back to life and get me through a museum visit and my 5:00 appointment. I emptied the cup, but I felt more tired than before. I thought about returning to my friend’s apartment and taking a nap—I’d have enough time if I got in a cab—but an old familiar voice told me to press on. I should make good use of my time. I’m in New York. I should see some art. I shouldn’t waste my time sleeping. And so I pressed on, going back to the streets on legs that felt like they might break and with a foggy head.
I had been reluctant to go on this trip. The fatigue had set in earlier in the month when I was visiting my family in California. In the mornings, after drinking my requisite two cups of Earl Gray tea, I found myself stopping at Starbuck’s for an extra lift. It crossed my mind that I could stay home for a change, stop running off to more interesting parts of the country. I knew it would be cold in New York and, even though I had bought a beautiful new coat in San Francisco, I dreaded that achy, icy feeling you get at night when you’re tired and cold. And then my beloved cousin, Robert Friedenthal, died just a few days prior to my leaving. I wanted to pull inward and grieve for him, pour over my memories in peace. But I had important interviews planned. One of them had been particularly hard to pin down. I knew I had to go and I knew the toll it would take on me.
When I returned from my trip I was sick, a stomach bug that I had a difficult time recovering from. I lay in bed for a week and although my appetite eventually returned, my energy did not. I knew what it was. I had it once before: adrenal fatigue, which I recognized from the unmistakable feeling that I might be dying. I know that sounds dramatic, but ask anyone who has suffered from it and they will tell you the same thing.
I saw my nurse practitioner and I saw my acupuncturist. They both prescribed rest, which wasn’t difficult considering I could barely haul my butt out of bed. But it was also frustrating. I wanted to work on my book, to make measurable progress, and I had no stamina. Anxious to get on with it, I sought the services of my friend Carolyn Scarborough, who had recently become a life coach. During our first conversation Carolyn surmised that I was working on the rewards system, meaning that I would write a certain amount each day and then reward myself with something pleasurable, like a walk or trip to the florist. Except I was leaving out the rewards. To rectify the situation, Carolyn gave me an outrageous suggestion.
“Why not reward yourself first,” she said, “and see how that radiates.”
Radiates? What the heck did that mean?
“Why don’t you see what happens when you take care of yourself first and see how that affects your attitude toward writing and taking care of your family?”
Taking care of my family? That wasn’t what I was getting help for. I didn’t feel like doing that. I wanted to work on my book, make forward progress, move on, get things done, watch manuscript pages pile up on my desk, not serve three square meals a day, make the beds, whistle while I work, etc.
“Why don’t you just try it?” she said. “It will be your homework for the week. We can talk about it more next Monday.”
And so I did what she suggested. In the mornings, when my husband and daughter left the house, I crawled back into bed with a book. Some days I took magazines into bed and cut out pictures of homes and gardens and other things that looked appealing to me and pasted them in a scrapbook. I took long baths with sage oil I bought in Taos, and sat meditation every morning. I stared out the window and thought about my sweet cousin. And I took a lot of naps. I tried to eat good food (my acupuncturist was pushing greens) and I cut back on caffeine.
And the results? It was a very good year. In 2008 I began teaching again. I started with a few three-hour workshops and they have blossomed into longer courses and a full-day retreat that will take place this spring. I also reinstated my newsletter and showed myself that I was still capable of meeting monthly deadlines. And the most satisfying piece of all: I found a structure for my book. After almost ten years of searching, it fell into my lap.
My attitude toward my family has improved. On days when I’ve had time to myself, I appreciate their company. I still don’t feel like cleaning up the crap they leave around the house, but that’s a different issue that doesn’t have anything to do with writing—I don’t think. If I find some way to tie it all together, I’ll let you know.
Once a week, my husband’s parents have dinner at our house. For years, my mother-in-law has been telling me to slow down. “You look tired,” she says. “You need to put your feet up.” Sure, I’d think, like I have time for that. Lately, at the end of an evening when she is about to leave the house, she takes me by the shoulders and looks into my face. “Take care of yourself,” she says. “And God will take care of you.” It’s a Yiddish proverb, which my father-in-law repeats for me in the old language: “Dee heet zech oop un Gott vell deer heeten.” I’m finally beginning to understand.
This month’s quotation:
An artist must have downtime, time to do nothing. Defending our right to such time takes courage, conviction, and resiliency. Such time, space, and quiet will strike our family and friends as withdrawal from them. It is.
Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way
Writing Topic: Rest
To find out about Carolyn Scarborough’s coaching practice for writers, see her website: www.backyardpearls.com. Her recent blog posts have tips and reflections for writers. Carolyn’s book, Backyard Pearls, a wonderful collection of stories and “pearls of wisdom” from everyday life, is available on Amazon.
Course reminder: “Writing Practice, Memory, and Memoir” begins on January 17th. To register, go to http://store.writersleague.org/writingpracticememoir.aspx.
Wishing you all a wonderful new year. Rest, eat well, and write.
Saundra
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