Happy Valentine's Day ❤️💝
I am enjoying the number syncing of writing my 214th Friday Letter on 2.14 :-)
Thank you for the care so many of you shared with me after my last Friday Letter. That letter was one that I sent out and then thought…maybe I shouldn't have sent that…
However, by sharing, it opened up the door for others to reach out to both give support and to reveal struggles with similar feelings. This made a huge impact on me and I feel like it helped diminish the monster a little bit, knowing I am not alone. Thank you!
It is strange to me how the political sphere lives in this state of chaos and active destruction while day to day life continues in a quite ordinary way. It is disconcerting how things feel as though they are about to break and also continue on in this odd stability. And so I share with you some recent ordinary experiences with the hopes of spreading some joy in order to actively build hope and connection as we all traverse this new landscape of America.
Last Sunday I had the extraordinary chance to attend a writing workshop at the Bloedel Reserve on Bainbridge Island, miraculously just 20 minutes from home. That morning, as I was getting ready, I tore off a page of a calendar with inspiring quotes my friend gave me for Christmas.
"Your external world is a mirror of your internal world"
Oof. That one hit hard. I thought my internal world must be a bit of a mess with my fish out of water job at the grocery store, my neglected painting practice, my on and off depression, let alone the political state of the US (if I expanded my external world that far) So many things feel not quite right. It was a sobering moment where I thought, I have some work to do. I pondered this on my way to the writing workshop, thinking at least I would have plenty of material to write about during the day long event.
I parked and began walking towards the workshop. The grounds were stunning. Layers of verdant greens, rich with dew surrounded me. A path with cut rectangular stones lead under a wooden archway opening up to a stunning Japanese guest house complete with a zen rock garden. Giant glass sliding doors allowed access inside into a cozy sunken living room with vast views of the manicured forest. I thought, maybe my internal world is better than I thought if participating in such a gorgeous space was also part of my reality. Slowly the other participants entered into this abundant and elegant space. After gathering coffee, donuts, and sharing introductions, we all began to write - separately together, using the Pomodoro method - 25 minutes writing, 5 minutes break, all day long. I loved it!
Everyone else there had projects they were working on, novels, essays, fiction, poetry. They studied and discussed craft the way I did with painting. But I was there as a beginner, just thrilled to write. Writing was a lifeline to unlocking my own life, with no external endgame. During a break I overheard someone talk about using description and detail to help build a scene. I was inspired to try to describe an aspect of work specifically, hoping it might help me break through my sweeping emotional judgements about it.
The electric doors woosh open. Walking in. Name badge on. Attempts to arrive before the punch in time successful by minutes. 120 seconds to go upstairs, put away my purse and feign a sense of calm authority. Walking up the black rubber stairs, each step freshly marked with a yellow safety stripe. Warning, each step takes your spirit. An industrial laundry bag filled with blue rags marks the right turn. Two high vis rain jackets reign above the rags. At the top of the stairs one framed, faded photograph of a Paris storefront hangs alone on an empty tan wall. The storefront says Fine Art Gallery.
The amazing moment for me in writing this paragraph was how it cracked open my own ability to see. Writing became like drawing. Slowing down to observe allowed me to actually begin to see the reality in front of me. It also sparked my imagination. Stairs became a metaphor. I began thinking all of the stairs in buildings I have worked and lived. I thought about stairs as a metaphor for consciousness. Suddenly my walk into work became a map to so many other possibilities and worlds. It amazed me how much everything changed once I started to get specific and pay attention to what was actually in front of my eyes. The world becomes rich and alive with possibility.
Until next Friday!
Be well, breathe, read, and make some art!
Jen
ps. The photo used for this letter is another set of stairs at work.