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Getting to the roots, Engaging to the core

Two weeks ago my beloved 50-foot silver maple tree succumbed to high winds and uprooted my lawn and my world. I’ve just spent five days taking my world back, not replanting to replace or duplicate, but embracing the opportunity to reach deeper, higher, differently.

The seed: a five-day program called Engaging and Awakening Others. That is what authors do and why they do it. However, some of us called to write have heard and heeded the spark of creativity, but have way too many layers of self-doubt, fear, anxiety, conditioning, and others’ values and beliefs to allow that creativity to take form and shine. This program is not just for writers; in fact, in my few years of connecting with Wel-Systems programs I have met everyone but those who make their living from the printed word. But spending these five days exploring who I am, who I am called to be and why the hell I’m not doing it will not only make me a more whole and happy person, it has given me the skills to tackle those classic writing blocks and excuses that keep my words hidden and my creativity hostage.

Here are three excuses that have locked my words and ideas in the dungeon, and what I’m doing to release them:

1. I don’t have time.
Classic strategy, and one easily sold to those who observe a busy mother of three, an author, publisher, freelance writer, communications consultant, friend … yes, I am and do all of those things, but I still have time to write. An hour, 15 minutes, a day here and there. I make time to eat, nap, pick up my children (when someone esle could do it), meet with clients, flop on the couch for reruns and linger over laundry as if it were prized artwork. I make time to do what I feel is important. Me saying I don’t have time to write is me saying writing isn’t important to me. Why would I say that and be called to do it at the same time? Because to feel its importance would be to admit that I love it, and past experience with myself and observing others is that you should love nothing or no one that much, let alone show it. You’ll be teased, you’ll be used, you’ll have your heart broken. That’s what I was telling myself every time I thought about writing. But no more. Writing is what I do. It is part of who I am. That’s why I wrote the Finding Maria series. Yes, it was to give someone I love their life back. It turns out the stories and their process of creation were also to give me back my own life.

2. My writing sucks.
The only voice to tell me that is the one inside my head, the voice of my intellect which in its bid to keep me safe needs to keep my world small and all external influences out. Quite frankly, all writing sucks and all writing is brilliant. The only thing writing can never be is perfect, which is the unrealistic ideal I set up to keep everything shut down. ‘This isn’t perfect, so it must suck … quit wasting your time and go do something useful.’ I still hear that voice. Yet as I write this, my body is absorbing the anxiety and using it to slide words from my cells to my fingers. Yes, I own it, my writing sucks. It is also brilliant. It is up to the reader, not me, which description they choose.

3. Everyone will hate me.
This is my eight-year-old voice, the one who craved attention on the playground, standing among kids bigger and older because she was moved ahead a grade, teased and avoided because she was the ‘smart one.’ Success brought ridicule, I learned early on. Fitting in, now, that was a safe place. It just wasn’t a place to be creative, innovative, or shiny, which is what writing can do. Writing can also give insight into one’s essence: hopes and dreams, fears and doubts, opinions and vision. To have someone criticize, demean, or attack anything in there is like having a chainsaw loosed on your insides. However, in finding my adult voice I realize I don’t need playground attention from those seeking the small and weak. I crave attention from those who own and love themselves, share that love and respect with others and acknowedge that when they shine, the whole world becomes brighter. To attract that attention, I have to start within, embracing the dark,light, and grey that is me, owning it all. In the past five days I’ve learned that the ‘everyone’ I was giving my power to was actually myself. No one hated me, except me. Inviting myself to love myself allows me to love the words I create. Will these words be a commercial success? Maybe. What is guaranteed is that they will be authentic, which will serve mne long after the promotion fades and the royalties dry up.

This is by no means an easy process, or over and done with in five days. This is the start of a new way of living, with thoughts fed by feelings, rather than the other way around. Like my tree uprooted, my life is now upside down. But like my tree, which has found renewed purpose in new form, so will my life, if I let my spirit and body lead my once-overwrought mind.

Have a good week!

Jennifer Hatt is author of the Finding Maria series and a partner in the publishing company Marechal Media Inc.
www.FindingMaria.com

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A life uprooted: seeing the possibilities

Last week I was sulky because of the rain pelting on my window. I had a powerful lesson handed to me a few hours after that, as our century-old giant silver maple succumbed to hours of intense wind and tipped over, literally ripping its roots out of the lawn. The body truly can process a trillion bits of information in an instant: there was terror at what had caused the groan and thud, shock at opening our door into the maelstrom and seeing nothing but leaves, gratitude that the house and our power seemed intact, then a pall of pure and utter emptiness. We have lived in iour home for 20 years. The tree was what drew our eye to the out-of-the-way property in the first place. Its rustling in the summer was soothing, its shade cool, its unique size a proud part of our yard, and our street.

Now, in a blink, it was uprooted and splayed across our yard and driveway life a discarded giants’s toy, leave that once touched the sky now trailing the ground, branches once warmed by sun now buried in the dirt at the points of impact. There are the logical steps that followed: power crews, telephone crew, tree removal team, but behind it all was plain and simple grief. This was a devastating surprise, a loss not completely unexpected – nothing lives forever – but not anticipated right this minute. No more shade, no more sturdy trunk or embracing branches, just an empty lawn and a crater where the root bed parted ways with the earth.

Once the storm passed and the grief began to process, the world got brighter, and bigger. The tree was beloved, but also of concern. Its age and size was beginning to worry us about potential damage to the house and cars. We were also planning to install vegetable raised gardens on onur lawn next summer, and the sahde from the giant tree was creating a challenge. No matter how abruptly, those two issues were now resolved. And the crater? With the weight of the tree removed, the stump is expected to pop back into place, but it will be a stump no more. It will be a wooden table, with three matching woden stools, and two matching benches to accessorize our raised veggie garden arrangement. The tree will live on, but in a form more fitting to its age and our needs.

Huh.

Being uprooted is terrifying. Even seeing roots evokes waves of panic, loss, an unsettling something-is-not-right feeling. When down becomes up, and upbecomes sideways, we lose perspective and fight to go back to the way it was, a natural reaction for safety. What we need to do is allow time for the panic to subside and the grief to be honoured, then look at the possibilities. It might be a tree uprooted, a home damaged, a job lost or a manuscript rejected. Perhaps its a scathing letter from someone you thought was a friend, a harsh critique of a work you believe to be your best, or a letter from the admissions department of the school you were hoping to attend saying – better luck somewhere else. There is much we cannot control and ultimately, that is good for us; otherwise, we’d control ourselves from cradle to grave in a straight line that would deny us the ability to test our roots, stretch our reach, and see furniture where others see only destruction.

In the days since the uprooting, as I walk past the soaring leaves and maze of branches, I realize I am closer to a massive tree than I will ever be. It looks so very different than when upright, yet is still magnificent, sturdy, proud. It fell in the one spot to spare us any harm. Change is perceived to be scary, but often is not. Case in point, I’ve written more this past week on Book 5 than I have in the past few weeks combined. Did I have more time? No. I had more courage. Staring at roots can be scary, but it can also be freeing.

Thanks for reading.

Jennifer Hatt is author of the Finding Maria series and a partner in Marechal Media Inc.
www.FindingMaria.com

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Unthankful things for which this writer is thankful

Rarely do I gush about gratitude, because with all the good in my life, it’s easier to list things for which I’m ungrateful. Snakes, rain on my beach day, a blank page that screams at me to fill it while my inner voice tells me what a lousy writer I am, those things that I think I could do without.

But could I?

It turns out I’m grateful even when I’m ungrateful. For example, it’s pouring a sea today and windy to a point where taking a refreshing walk among the autumn leaves after a gut-busting round of turkey would result in me being blown into the next county, or drowned in the process. I was bloody cranky when awakened tyhis morning to the sound of driving rain against the windowpane. One Thanksgiving day a year, and the driest few months on record, and the rain has to let loose now? No way I was being grateful for that, until I imagined life withou the windownpane upon which the rain could pound. My house isn’t fancy but its sturdy and the wind can howl its fiercest, my house stands firm and cozy. It sounds cliche but it’s worth repeating, especially in earshot of my kids who wonder why we live in an old house when their friends live in new ones. Well, dears, it’s called career choice (stay-at-home self-employed parent) and debt management (no bills to follow you from my grave). I made those choices fully supported by my instincts, my fanmily partner, and my awesome network of clients and friends. For that, I am immensely grateful, and it took raining on my imaginary parade to see that.

Here’s another one: I’ve spent years every September slipping and sliding around my backyard thanks to the fallen apples from numerous trees, elderly by age but still spry enough to procreate bushels of fruit that, if not wormy and bruised, could have been useful. Instead, they become fertilizer for my lawn, but not before turning it into a minefield of squishy, crunchy proportions. Then yesterday, after buying our autumn pumpkins and arranging them on our autumn hay bales (eventually mulch for the garden), I knew the scene needed something. We had orange and yellow, but nothing red. I looked down, and there they were. The dreaded apples. Except this time, they gleamed a tantalizing scarlet. There. Free. Perfect. I gathewred the least scarred of the lot and tucked them into a plant pot. An accent that both Mother Nature and Martha Stewart could be proud. Messy and annoying, until there for you iin a pinch. Sounds much like life itself. The picture, you’ll notice, is blurry. Rain on the lens, and a fast-moving photographer racing for the safety of her house. Was I thankful? See example 1.

And finally, since offices are closed and things are quiet, I spent the morning getting caught up on my mail. Aw, crud, wouldn’t you know, the phone bill has gone up, again. And yes, I choose to have phone and internet service, but to choose not to have it could effectively cut my ties to employment as well. Spend some money, or make no money. I choose the former. And yes, there are multiple providers but at the end of the day. any savings gained in price are lost on service or reliability. It is no win. We are in the information age and these companies know it. Thankful? For this? Not a flippin’ chance in … wait a minute … I can call them tomorrow, and get the lowdown on what I’m paying for and if I can make do with less. Yes! I can do this. I should do this. Self-advocacy and negotiation are equally vital skills in this information age, and too rarely are we taught, mentored or practised in how to do it properly. This is a chance. An opportunity. I am, it turns out, thankful for that.

So there it is, thankfulness from unthankfulness. Setting Thanksgiving on its ear. That’s what writers do: show you things from a different angle. Happy Thanksgiving from wet and windy Nova Scotia! Many thanks for your visit.

Jennifer Hatt is author of the Finding Maria series and partner in Marechal Media Inc.
www.FindingMaria.com