Category life

Happy birthday, Caravan of Composition!

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Today has been a full day. Youngest graduated from elementary school, and both boys enjoyed the bell-ringing satisfaction indicating the start of summer break. Following the graduation ceremony/last exam, we celebrated at their favorite restaurant, then came home and brainstormed a summer chore chart and screen time limits. I shifted my focus toward Camp NaNoWriMo, which starts on Monday, and checked off a handful of items on my to-do list. I nearly let the milestone pass me by.

Caravan of Composition is officially two years old today. My blogging habits seem to go in waves, but I am pleased to say I’ve kept up with this blog and my previous one for over eleven years. That’s like a million in procrastinator years. It’s challenging sometimes to come up with things to write about as life isn’t always “blog-worthy”, and I struggle with insecurities regarding the merit of what I have to say. A good friend sent me a recent copy of Josh Radnor’s Museletter in which he mentions nearly the exact feeling. We might not always feel that what we have to say is worth saying. Are my words of value to my readers? Does what I say matter?

Let’s get one thing straight: I like to listen to myself talk. My family can attest to this. I love to tell stories, often the same ones over and over (more vigorous nods from the van clan), and the level of exaggeration often increases with each retelling. For dramatic effect, of course. A small stretching of the truth makes things more interesting. There is always a fair amount of accompanying hand gestures, because my heritage demands it and they, too, add to the drama of a good story.

Blogging is different. First of all, I can’t use my hands or facial expressions to drive a point home. Second, the delete button allows me to rethink things that may sound stupid or cause a foot in mouth moment. (I have a lot of those in real life.) But it also sometimes restricts the flow of words. I have several unpublished blog posts that sit in the drafts folder because either I got distracted by life or decided what I had to say wasn’t of any value.

We are our own worst critics, aren’t we? Some of us don’t care and live an unfiltered life – taking the good and the bad as they come. Some of us let our inner critic keep us from pursuing our dreams. Some, like me, fall in the middle. Moments of feeling brilliant coupled with moments of crippling self-doubt. And I can’t write this post telling you how to quiet your inner critic, because if I did, mine would be muzzled in the corner. But I can say this: we rarely give ourselves the credit we deserve. Celebrate your successes, no matter how small they seem.

Today, I celebrate my eleventh year of shouting into the void, and the second birthday of my current blog. I celebrate getting my kiddos through another school year. I celebrate the sun, and summer, and the start of another month of Camp NaNo.

And I celebrate you, dear reader, for allowing me to keep doing what I love.

 

Hold on to the feeling

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Pardon me while I dust off the blog cobwebs. April was a busy month. I successfully completed Camp NaNoWriMo with over 20k words added to my manuscript! YAY! But don’t pop the champagne cork just yet, I may end up scrapping most of it and submitting an earlier version of the book. BUT, it felt good to stay focused on a goal and see it through to the (almost) end. One motivational note remains unopened on my cork board — the one I can open when I complete the draft. Which I haven’t done. Yet.

May has also been busy. I recently got back from the PennWriters conference (more on that in a bit), I’m working on a new freelance project, and I had my first author visit. Life has been, well, life. Let’s just say there’s never a dull moment when your spouse works two jobs (both of which require travel), your children are in multiple activities, and your cats don’t like it if you try to sleep past 5 am.

As much as I wish I could veg out in the sun (SUN! WE HAVE SUN!) with a good book, I’m happy to have a bit of chaos in my life keeping me on my toes. I know the day will come when the birdies leave the nest and I’ll have to find strange children to drive around town in my van.

Wait. That did not sound right at all.

So, yeah, PennWriters. It was incredibly fun, as always, and I loved being able to spend time with my writing tribe. I traveled down with a group of friends; we met up with other friends and had a blast.

Writers make the best storytellers (duh), and I laughed so hard my belly hurt. I pitched my manuscript (and got requests!), attended my first ever group book signing, met new people, and learned more about writing.

signing

Also, after acting as a reader for Read & Critique, where writers can submit their work anonymously and have it critiqued by industry professionals, an agent said she’d “listen to me read the phone book”. Stay tuned for my YouTube channel featuring: The White Pages, a Dramatic Reading.

Every year I’ve attended the conference has been a different level of awesome and always leaves me feeling inspired. Unfortunately, this year when I returned to “real life” several problems hit me in the face before I even had a chance to unpack. I wanted desperately to get back to the feeling I had jumping on the bed with my friends, the feeling that I could accomplish anything I set my mind to. Conferences give you a sense that you are a part of something, you belong, you are capable of reaching your dreams.

Despite the exhaustion and tears, I decided to face the next day with a returned sense of hope and positive energy. On Monday morning I went to a nearby high school for my first author visit. The teacher and librarian were incredibly kind (I am so thankful to John who connected us!) and they raved about my book. Said the students loved it and were eager to finish it and share it with their families. My heart burst with joy when I heard that. For me, writing is not about the money (HA!) or the fame, it’s about reaching an audience, about getting my words into the world in hopes they will affect someone in a positive way.

After I left the school I thought about the writing world and how it can be full of rejection and heartache. One of the students asked if writing was hard. I told her, yes (HELL YES), it can be difficult and lonely and you will want to give up a thousand times. But you search for people to stack in your corner, and you keep pushing ahead, and you find ways to fill your creative bucket.

There are things in my life right now trying to pull me under. But I choose to focus on what keeps me afloat: friendships, laughter, kind words, a sense of accomplishment, determination. Opportunities for growth.

And when I need an excuse to smile I watch this:

take two

 

What’s the worst that could happen?

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A common approach to dealing with one’s fears and anxiety is to imagine a worst-case scenario. What is the worst thing that could happen if you do X? For some reason this approach doesn’t seem to work on me as I have already imagined not only the worst-case scenario but also the slightly less troublesome scenarios on a sort of sliding scale. Want to know what I’m worrying about at any given moment? Pull up a chair, I’ll make you a list.

We’ll start with this one: I have a slight car wash phobia. The car wash in Buffalo is not simply a place you go every once in a while to get your car cleaned. It’s a way of life. If you think I’m kidding, stop by a car wash in Buffalo on a sunny day in January-April. Better yet, try to drive down the main road that leads into said car wash. People around here are very serious about salt removal.

And for good reason. My last van rarely saw the inside of the car wash due in large part to my irrational phobia, and it suffered from extreme rust. When we bought the new van, hubs decided I needed to get regular washings. He signed up for the unlimited car wash club because you get to go through the express lane, and he didn’t want to wait three hours every time we came to the car wash. Whenever it needed to be cleaned, which is pretty much every day for the entire season, I politely asked hubs to take my van please and drive it through so I don’t have to. Why, what’s the problem? he asked.

What’s the problem? I’m afraid of the car wash. Obviously.

We’ve known each other for 26 years. He’s used to my laundry list of ridiculous things that send me into a panic. Bees. Parking garages. Ordering food on the telephone. Making any phone call at all for that matter. So he didn’t seem all that phased by my car wash phobia confession. Didn’t tease me about it. Took my van when he could and would make sure he was driving if we went through together. At one point he asked what it is exactly, that makes me nervous?

Me, slightly embarrassed but nevertheless pleased he seemed to be trying to understand my phobia: Everything.

How do I even attempt to explain — it’s the social construct of getting into line and negotiating exactly what needs to be cleaned on my car and how, lining the tires up perfectly on the track and then relinquishing control of the steering wheel, the claustrophobia of the actual car wash, and of course my environmental brain that can’t help but wonder how many gallons of water pump through that place all day. Oh, and then getting out of the parking lot safely and back onto the busy street while a pile up of anxious drivers in clean cars accumulates behind me.

See? Everything.

He made no fuss and continued to take my car in dutifully, until he left for three weeks. And it snowed. A lot. I had to face the demons in my mind and just go through the stupid thing by myself. So I did. After a lot of deep breaths and a quick pep talk on the way in. I even went back a second time with my son, who happens to LOVE the car wash for some strange reason. One of the things that has helped me face my anxiety is having to parent with it. I refuse to allow the panic to win when I’m with my kids. It’s not always easy, believe me, and I got super lucky to adopt two outgoing boys who aren’t afraid to ask for things or stand up for themselves.

But the experience got me thinking. Living with anxiety is a daily struggle, but there are things I can choose to control that will make it easier. For example: when it comes to socializing and making small talk, I’m — oh what’s a nice way to say this — I suck. But I’ve learned through attending conferences and my job as an admissions counselor that it is a skill one needs in life. I’ve been working on it and (hopefully) getting a bit better. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve still gone to parties recently and stood awkwardly by myself staring into my glass or walked away from a conversation thinking, why the hell did I say that?

Baby steps.

I decided to do a bit of a life experiment. When something comes up that makes me anxious, instead of asking myself what’s the worst-case scenario, I ask myself, would you feel better/improve the situation by doing the thing currently making you anxious? The car wash still makes my heart race, but I love seeing my clean vehicle and feel better knowing I’m protecting it against rust damage. There have been times when I felt the fear creep in during a situation — say I was nervous about asking someone for help or directions, or to clarify something, and I asked myself, will the information I need make the situation better? Yes? Then ask.

There are a lot of layers in my psyche full of worst-case scenarios. I already told my oldest that he better get used to checking in as I will regularly be imagining him in a ditch on the side of the road. I can’t alter the fundamentals of my brain. But I can take small steps toward not letting my fears keep me from the good things in life, like a clean car, new friends, or instead of the worst thing — imagining the best thing that could happen.

Yeah, it was cold, and I’m a little crazy

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Friday morning at work, the wind whistling angrily against our office windows, the following conversation took place:
Coworker: What are your weekend plans?
Me: Oh, I’m going camping.
Coworker: …
Me: Yup.
Coworker: It’s supposed to be really cold this weekend. Are you crazy?
Me: (briefly contemplates) Yup.

One fateful day, when oldest was in first grade, I walked past the cub scout recruitment table and asked for more information. I had been a girl scout through high school and thought scouts would be good for our boys. Oldest and I went to the information night, and he was immediately hooked.

Little did I know how that decision would affect my life these past six+ years. Both our boys are active in scouting and oldest hopes to earn the highest rank of Eagle. Many of our close friends are fellow scout parents, and scouting has seeped into my life in more ways than I could have imagined.

Writing, for example. Leo, the main character in SECOND IN COMMAND, is working toward Eagle and strives to live his life by the scout law. In my current WIP, the main character paved the way for girls in BSA (the new name for Boy Scouts of America as girls are now welcomed at all levels). Side note, I am all for an integrated scouting program – we are one of the only countries who segregate by gender. Personally I think we should merge the good things about girl scouts and boy scouts and create one unit, let’s call it something simple like, Scouts of America (why are they leaving the “B” in there I wonder?), and allow anyone to join.

Scouting has also pushed me out of my comfort zone on multiple occasions. Sometimes to an unpleasant end, like the time I rowed into the swimming dock. And sometimes to an uncomfortable end, like this past weekend when we camped in single digit temperatures (minus 20 with the wind chill). But I’ve learned in my wise old age that trying something you didn’t think you could do introduces you to some amazing experiences. A good friend tried Aerial fitness a few years back and is completely hooked — we tease her that she joined the circus, but the stuff she does is incredible.

When oldest started going on camp outs with scouts, hubby would take him. They would have fun and come back filthy, the clothes I packed still neatly folded in their bags. I’m pretty sure the kids stayed up until 2am and ate an obscene amount of cheese puffs on those trips. Then youngest joined the pack, and I decided to go on camp outs too, partly because I wanted to have an extra set of hands/eyes on our kiddos, and partly because I didn’t want to be left out. I love camping and nature. I don’t mind outdoor bathrooms (although I will say after this weekend that you haven’t truly lived until you’ve experienced sub zero winds under the doors of a latrine) or getting dirty and going without makeup, running water, etc.

Problem: I didn’t exactly want to be the only mom there. The party crasher who makes her kids brush their teeth, go to bed before midnight, and change their underwear. Thankfully one of the other moms joined me on my first camp out, and we’ve gone together to almost all of them since. And now there are lots of moms who come out, and they bring disinfecting wipes for the latrine and healthy snacks, and I love that we watch out for each other. Some of them have become my closest friends.

camp moms

Camp moms are hardcore*

Just as scouting has opened up new ideas and opportunities for my boys, it has given me the chance to connect to nature, to other people, and to my own strengths. I joined the committee and developed my leadership skills. I’ve learned how to deal with challenging situations. I’ve been able to perform for an audience (my rendition of “Have you ever seen a penguin drinking tea” is killer) which fuels the attention seeking side of my introverted personality.

I guess my point is this: you never know when an opportunity is going to change the course of your life. Stay open to new things. I volunteered to co-lead an activity at my son’s school and met my very first writer friend. She led me into a world of other writers which eventually led to the opportunity to write SECOND IN COMMAND. Sometimes when something new comes our way our first instinct is to say no, our plate is full enough already, thank you. But the thing you are eager to say no to might just be the thing that changes your life for the better.

*It was 4 degrees out when we took this picture.