Like a Shooting Star (Blog #1018)

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It’s eleven at night and I’m in my favorite chair. I’ve been here most the day, reading. Recently a friend posted that they’d spent their evenings last year re-reading books from their childhood, stating that it was a perfect way to recapture the magic we all too often lose as we grow older. Well, I got inspired. Yesterday I went to the juvenile section of the library and checked out six books. And whereas the ones I got weren’t ones I’d previously read, the fact that I walked out of the library with a lilt in my step convinced me that they were full of magic nonetheless.

As someone who’s hung up on completion, I can’t tell you how satisfying it is to read a kid’s book. Y’all, they’re so SHORT, and the words are SO BIG (the better to delight you with, my dear). You can finish them just like that. This afternoon I completed two whole novels. Well, a collection of short stories and a novel. And whereas the collection of short stories–The Devil’s Storybook by Natalie Babbitt–was both fun and creatively inspiring, the novel was nothing short of miraculous.

The miraculous book–The Invention of Hugo Cabaret by Brian Selznick–is about an orphaned boy who lives in a Paris train station and, unbeknownst to anyone else, works on and repairs the clocks in the station. Taught by his deceased father and his uncle who’s gone missing, Hugo’s a born engineer, a fixer. And, because he’s able to astound others with his slight of hand and disappearing acts, a magician. Although he’s not immediately aware of this last fact. Anyway, Hugo’s main objective is to fix one of his father’s broken projects, a robot of sorts that, when wound up (like a clock), can write with an ink pen. Convinced the robot’s message will change is life forever, Hugo wonders, What will it say?

Wonder. Magic. Mystery. These are the things that are becoming more and more important to me as I grow older. Not that I don’t enjoy a good fact or “cold, hard news.” But as a long-time cynic, I’m tired of things that make me bitter, that make me want to say, “I told you so” or “I already knew that.” Personally, I think we all are and imagine this is one of the reasons we’re so drawn to stories of wizards and unicorns. Despaired by the reality in our lives, we seek refuge in anything that connects us to our innocence and imagination, those parts of ourselves that are forever young and see the world with wide eyes. Those parts of us which require nothing more than a bendy straw to engage in a sword fight or a blanket to build a fort.

So here’s something weird. Less than a week ago I stayed up late surfing the internet and ended up buying two brooches from the same seller, some lady in Michigan. And whereas I’ve been buying brooches to sell, I bought these just for me. This is a horrible business strategy, I know. But, y’all, they’re just so fun. The first brooch is a wizard with a sword.

The second brooch is of the heavens and depicts the sun, moon, stars, and even a shooting star.

So get this shit.

Although several of the children’s books I checked out yesterday were recommended by an article I read online, The Invention of Hugo Cabaret wasn’t. I just stumbled across it in the “award winning” section and got enchanted (the illustrations are fabulous). Well, just as I got to the end of the book today, guess what I found? An illustration that included one of the main characters wearing–of all things!–a cape with the same design of the “heavens” brooch I bought on it. Complete with one shooting star.

Y’all, I actually put the book down and looked around my room. I thought, What’s going on? What are the CHANCES that I’d buy a brooch with a design on it that matches an illustration in a book I randomly picked up at the library? Am I in the Twilight Zone?

But wait, there’s more.

Remember that wizard brooch I bought? Well, the Hugo book mentions a real-life silent movie called A Trip to the Moon, so after I finished the book I watched the movie on YouTube. And, y’all–no kidding–in the final scene there’s a statue of–a wizard.

Now, I’ve experienced my fair share of strange occurrences and synchronicities. Indeed, the further I go the rabbit hole of self-growth and spirituality, the more they occur. And whereas I think they’re “fun,” I also believe synchronicities carry a message for us, something God, the universe, or our subconscious wants us to know. In one of the last paragraphs of the Hugo book, the character with the cape tells our main character, and these are my words not the author’s, “YOU are a magician, a wizard. YOU are an alchemist, someone who can turn anything into gold.” This is what I’m being reminded of more and more, that each of us has the power to decide what kind of world we want to live in–a world full of cold, hard facts, or a world full of miracles and wonder. Likewise, each of us has the power to go through any rotten circumstance and walk away with only the best of it. This is to say, each of us, like a shooting star, can leave the past behind.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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For I am a universe–large–like you are, and there is room here for all that we contain. An ego, of course, is small, and it is disgusted and humiliated by the smallest of things. But a universe is bigger than that, much too big to judge itself or another, much too big to ever question how bright it is shining.

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Ora et Labora (Blog #777)

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Currently it’s 8:30, and I’m excited about the idea of getting the blog done earlier than normal and having the rest of the evening to myself. Of course, writing this blog is a very “myself” activity. It’s like a letter written by me to me (that anyone else with an internet connection can read). But it’s also a job. Granted, a job I don’t get paid for in dollars, but a job nonetheless. On some level, it’s a job I “have” to do. Because I’ve chosen to and am committed to sticking to that decision. All this equals the fact that there’s a certain amount of build-up or pressure every day (every damn day) to get this thing done, as well as a certain amount of relief every day (every damn day) when it’s over.

Until the next day, of course.

In the beginning of this project, I worried about what I would say. I’d agonize over it throughout the day and fret about it when sitting down to the keyboard. Some days (or nights, rather), I’d mentally scratch my head for hours before typing the first word. Then I’d erase it, thinking it wasn’t the right one. And whereas when I sat down tonight I felt a tinge of “I don’t have anything to say,” I’ve come to trust The Process. I know if I start with the basic facts–the truth–the rest will follow. This is why so many nights I begin with what time it is. Sure, it gives you, the reader, a context. This is where we are. But it’s not like it’s that interesting. No. It’s simply a primer, a warm up, a way for me to get started. There are nights I go back and delete my entire first paragraph. Because once I get to the end, I realize the warm-up isn’t important. Just as often, I leave it in.

It does, after all, contribute to my total word count.

I’ve said before that when I sit down to write, I rarely know at the onset if the day’s (or night’s) particular blog is going to be “good.” I mean, I think they’re all good but I certainly think some are better than others. Even when I think a blog is blah, there’s always SOMETHING I like it about–a certain phrase, a joke. So even though the reward of the “best” blogs are enough to keep me coming back every day (every damn day), the reward of these little nuggets (as one friend recently called them) motivates me even more. They’re like pulling a rabbit out of a hat or materializing a coin out of thin air. That is, I often sit down with no idea of what to say, and an idea simply appears.

Voila!

In her famous Ted Talk about creativity, writer Elizabeth Gilbert says that as creatives we can’t MAKE something wonderful or magical appear. That, she says, is basically up to the gods, up to wherever ideas come from. Our job, she continues, is simply to show up. To put our butts in chairs and tell the universe, I’m listening. Talk to me.

You know, if you want to.

Earlier today I read about the Latin phrase ora et labora, which means “pray and work.” The text I was reading said that some schools of religion credit salvation to “all grace.” Others credit salvation to “all work.” Rather than putting things completely on God’s back or completely on your own, the concept of ora et labora distributes the weight. “Pray” is asking God to do his part. “Work” is doing yours. As James says, “Faith without works is dead,” and (by implication), “Works without faith is dead.”

Ora et labora is a religious or spiritual concept, but I think it easily applies to creativity or any serious endeavor one chooses to tackle. It’s the idea, I think, Elizabeth Gilbert was driving at but said in a different way. That is, in any project one undertakes in their personal, creative, or spiritual life, there are certain things they can’t control, certain things that are left up to The Unknown. This is God’s Part. If you focused solely on this side of the equation, it’s possible you’d simply “pray” and never take any action whatsoever. Before my dad started going to the gym, he used to say, “Why bother? I’m still going to die.” The other side of the equation, of course, is that certain things ARE in your control. These are The Known things like going to the gym to take care of your body or putting your butt in a chair to write or create something. This is Your Part. This is “work,” and they don’t call it work for nothing.

Every day (every damn day).

This is where grace meets effort.

I’m not saying you (or even I) have to putt your butt in a chair seven days a week in order for inspiration to occur. Inspiration, that’s what the book I read this afternoon called the marriage of God’s Part and Your Part, the marriage of ora et labora. I really like this idea (and it’s been my experience), that I’m not working alone here, that it’s not completely up to ME to make inspiration happen. Sure, I’ve got a job to do and I’m gonna SHOW UP (my butt is currently in a chair) and do it. But I can’t FORCE a good idea to magically appear anymore than I can force the sun to rise. It either will or it won’t. Still, speaking from experience, if you sleep in, you can’t SEE the sun rise. Likewise, I don’t think you can see a good idea if you’re not in the habit of putting your butt in a chair and sorting through a million bad ones. It takes a habit, a discipline, to know when the gods are talking to you. This is where prayer meets work–where grace meets effort–where you don’t get all of the credit, but you do get some of it.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It takes forty years in the desert for seas to part.

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my inner control freak (blog #6)

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Attention: Today’s blog was brought to you in part by Corona. (Alcohol: Helping control freaks let go and inspiring writers since Hemingway. Please drink responsibly.)

It’s eight in the evening, this is blog number six, and all day I’ve been sure that I have nothing left to write about. Like not just for this post, but ever. I’ve spent all day thinking about topics to discuss, and none of them seem interesting or right, so I’m convinced all my good ideas are dried up, inspiration is done talking to me, and I should just resign myself to watching soap operas with my parents for the rest of my natural-born life.

My therapist would probably call this type of thinking an abundance issue, like, everyone else has all the good ideas and there aren’t enough good ideas left for me (scarcity). My homosexual friends would probably just call me a drama queen. (We may be getting warmer.) I, on the other hand, am pretty sure I’m a control freak. (Take as much time as you need to get over that shocking revelation.)

Earlier today, I went for a walk around the neighborhood, reconnected with one of my favorite people, and got a much-needed haircut from my dear friend Bekah. (The above photo was taken post-haircut–Doesn’t it look great?–and that’s Bekah’s dog, Charlie. And for those of you who are prone to make assumptions about gender identification, Charlie is a girl.) After the haircut, Bekah and her husband and I visited, and they shared stories about their teenagers that not only made me laugh, but also made me thank Jesus I’m not a parent.

On the surface, the day was great. But as a general rule, I always run a low level of anxiety about something, and today that something was whether or not I’d be able to come up with a good topic for tonight’s blog. Had you been able to listen to my thoughts, you would have heard something like–There’s a mailbox with a pineapple on it–I could write about pineapples—No wait–What about squirrels?–Or clouds?–Ideas are like clouds–I heard that once in a meditation class–Maybe I could blog about my haircut–Has my therapist ever said anything insightful about my hair?

After eight hours of this bullshit, I decided to go out for Mexican food and beer. (I guess that guy who lives in my head and talks so much likes beer, or it at least makes him tired, since he’s quieter now.) At dinner, I started thinking about Bekah and her husband and what happened right before we parted our good company. Bekah said, “Where are we going to eat?” and her husband said, “I don’t know,” and then Bekah said, “Okay, but really. What are we going to eat?” and her husband said, “We do this every day. She can’t stand not having a plan.”

Well, I can relate to Bekah. That’s exactly how I feel about my blog posts every day–What am I going to write about?–What’s going to happen next?–Okay, but really–What am I going to write about?

My Aunt Terri has been in a book club, ironically named the No-Name Book Club, for as long as I can remember. She told me several months ago about one of her friends in the club who, anytime she starts a new book, reads the last paragraph first.

If this woman’s behavior makes you mad (like it does me), I’ll give you a moment to calm yourself down. (You might consider drinking a beer. I’ve heard that helps.)

Personally, I believe reading the last paragraph first is the same thing as cheating. Like, it drives me crazy when I watch movies or detective shows with my dad because he’s constantly trying to guess the ending, like–Do you think it was the guy with the limp?–I bet she sleeps with him and then steals all his money–The owner probably started the fire for insurance money.

More cheating.

What I realized at dinner was that when it comes to books and movies, it’s easy for me to think, Just let the author tell their story–Trust them–Sometimes it’s fun to be surprised. But when it comes to writing, and especially when it comes to when I’m going to move out of my parents’ and get on with my life, I’m a lot more like my dad and that lady in the book club than I care to admit. I can’t stand not knowing. Just like Bekah, I can’t stand not having a plan.

As a kid, I remember being a neat freak, which is probably just a control freak in a bow tie. It’s like everything had to be in its proper place. Well, it must have been pretty bad because one time I was at a friend’s house and I started cleaning his room for him, focusing mostly on a cabinet that had a giant glass jug full of coins, except my friend had carelessly thrown a bunch of coins all over the floor, so I picked them up and put them in the jar. I can still see the pennies. They seemed happier, shinier, where they belonged.

My friend wasn’t so impressed. He called his mom in from the other room, like, Mom, can you believe this? Marcus is a fanatic. (Fanatic. That was the word he used.) I had to look it up later, but I knew it wasn’t a compliment. (How a seven-year-old manages to have a stellar vocabulary and a sloppy room, I’ll never understand.)

Looking back, I know the control freak in me is related to our house burning down when I was four. And I’m sure it didn’t help that Mom was sick. It’s like, live through a few surprises and you can quickly figure out they’re not all fun, so you end up taking control where you can get it. But whereas it makes sense to me why my personality developed the way it did, I have to say, sometimes it can be really exhausting always having to put my pennies in a jar, always having to know what’s coming next, always trying to figure out the end of my story. I’m sure it’s the way Charlie feels about people always assuming she’s a boy–it gets old.

I’m hoping this blog will be a way for me to relax a little. It seems that ideas to write about inevitably show up in their own time, and I’m usually pleasantly surprised. I know that lately I’ve been looking at my life as if it’s not in order. I’ve been thinking that I need to take control and make something happen. But really, life doesn’t need my help. It’s bigger than that. And I don’t know if someone else is writing the story of my life, but if they are, I can only imagine that they would appreciate my letting go a little bit and trusting them because, obviously, we’re not to the end of the book yet. What’s more, I see now that pennies are probably happier not stuck in a jar. No, things that shine do better when they’re scattered about. Sure, they’re vulnerable out there, not knowing where they’re going to end up, but at least their destination hasn’t already been decided and all things are still possible.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is.

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