Creativity Archives - Page 10 of 27 - Lisa Colón DeLay

The Familiar Enemies

Risk Below are some of my “field notes” I collected from this extended and uncut interview with Brené Brown on Krista Tippet’s show “On Being”

[emotionally toxic / unhealthy] people suffer from similar traits:

• Perfectionism

• Self-righteousness

• Tying self-worth and personal value to productivity and success

• Wanting to perform and get validation

• Using exhaustion as a badge of honor

• The quest for certainty

Quote/snippets
• The enemy of creativity is comparison.

• Vulnerability is the core the heart and the center of meaningful human experience.

For woman the biggest fear/risk looks like this: “do it all and do it well and look perfect doing it”.
For man it looks like this: “do not appear to be weak”.

If people have never really struggled with adversity it shows up as hopelessness.

Hope is not an emotion; it’s a cognitive behavior process that is a function of struggle [and resiliency]. It doesn’t happen in the absence of pain or when we are spared pain.

Our defining moments (what makes us who we really are) happen not in joy but in adversity.

(Vulnerability is uncertainly, risk and emotional exposure ….and it’s courage. —my note: all things artists and innovators MUST have.)

When we don’t have space to be vulnerable and have fears we become dangerous.

If these sound like helpful, juicy nuggets to you, listen here:

The Universal Memoir that wrote itself

When my friend read the draft of this, she wept.

The nutshell is this:
I wanted to write a story that captured my story.

Recently, I was intrigued by the phenomenon of “The 6 Word Memoir” idea. I like that idea that you can share a lot about your self quickly.

It’s poetry, really. (But that word scares -some-people.)

I’ve also felt nudged to write a memoir myself. But on which part of my life? There’s a lot of drama!

And really, I don’t have the fortitude to cover the seriously painful parts of my life. It wrecks me. I see why people just hire editors for that sort of thing. But, those are the parts that offer the best memoir material.

Also, any successful memoir is written by a famous or infamous person that has a following of some sort. The other kind of written for family member to read. The only reason I want to create one, or a few (it’s not an autobiography I’m interested in, mind you) is because have so many stories that beg me to tell them. To birth them into the world. But, it’s a lot like yelling into the void or dancing alone in a hall of mirrors.

And then the idea hit me to write a short story that was a kind of universal memoir.

In the same spirit as The Little Prince and Where the Wild Things Are I started writing something and in about a day and a half it was done. It was gestating for a long while. Years. (And of course, I just mean the first draft was done.) But, in truth, the story came out in nearly one whole piece. That never really happens.

So, now, I’m in the final stages with the layout. Gorgeous photos are in place. Illustrations are forthcoming. It’s a passion project and those sort of things have to be done independently–not for the publishing industry Machine.

Since an ebook can be done so easily, that bit should be available semi-soon and I’ll list it for free or a low cost. But, the nature of this book is not good for that format. It’s just NOT the sort of book. It won’t “work” 100% if it’s only digitally available. It should be material.

It should be held and kept by the bed table. Read to children who turn its pages and hear the sounds of the paper, and feel the texture on their little fingers. It should hold the occasional tear puddle like some of my Narnia books, and my Little Prince book have. It should be beautiful and lasting and not just a click away.

And for adults it promises to have the same magic of the classic stories read to them once in the twilight nights of warm summers when the lighting bugs danced, and everything was possible.

So, I’m going to raise money and self-publish with art book quality as a short run. You can join me in this leg of the journey.

Here is the cover.
(Stop by within a week and see another spread.)

I’ll gave you more details soon.

The indefinite place

fog I am in the indefinite place.

Caught between what is and what could be;

Or what is not and what will not be.

Between knowing and belonging.

Between A and B.

The corner–and there’s always one rounding somewhere ahead–isn’t just curve now, it’s in a soup of fog.

Not a kiln of refining fire, but the slow burn of a sauna and that makes you drip and wrings you out.

That wearies you until you can quench something fathoms deep.

Deeper than you know about.

A thirst unquantifiable.

In the indefinite place.

Robin Williams and a sad end

robinwilliams

I want to say something substantial about the life and death of Robin Williams, but I’m still reflecting on it. It’s too big.

My brain is stumbling and stuttering on it all.

Here’s a short something that’s been percolating today and I hope to find more thoughtful things to say later. It’s just sad and it’s hard to write when I’m sad.

A life cut short is sad and tragic. But, a life negated (taken. i.e. in a murder of one’s self) instead of lived is incomprehensible. Incomprehensible to a healthy mind.

The instinct to live is so primal that we avoid accidents and death reflexively. A deer crosses our path and we slam on the brakes without ever thinking that we are making the choice to save our lives. We duck when we hear loud sounds.

But, too much thinking that can go badly.

Depression is illness. One that kills. It grabs hard and won’t let go. Chronic depression is like a blindness that never really ends until you do. You can get through life, but you are impaired the whole time.

Having struggled with it in fits and stages since early adolescence, I’m more devastated by the idea of depression beating Williams than I thought I’d be. I also compensated for it all by trying to be the funniest person in the room.

Eventually, I looked for healing instead. Sometimes I feel like I’ve found it, at least in part.

“[of Depression] All it wants is to get you in a room alone and kill you.” –Harvey Fierstein

May his soul be now at peace.

Friendship: Unnecessary for Survival?

Prompted by a C.S. Lewis quote posted by fellow-writer Mark Zellner, hug

C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art…. It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.

New to my life is this:

I’m a manager on Saturdays at Spring Gate Vineyard in the tasting room.

It’s a place where friends meet. It’s a great place to get to know people, and also to study people as they socialize (observe and people-watch).

People could meet there for business, and some do. But these sorts of gatherings are few by comparison to all the others.

There’s something about friendship that gets enhanced through the communing with food and drink in a bucolic setting. People linger and relax. They smile more.

I’ve never seen someone pre-occupied on there smartphone, unless they were checking on their friend’s arrival. Most everyone is fully there enjoying the company, the setting, and of course the wine (and the food from the caterers we partner with).

Alcohol? Is that part of the equation?

Not in the way you would think.

This is no place of obliteration with alcohol (the odd exception being the occasional limo parties who make us one stop of many). It’s a moderate environment in every way.

Friendships that can help moderate the cruelties of life are a treasure.

The complexities of flavors…in the wine, the food, and the company are savored where I work. And that is the sweetness of life.

I do pity those without friendship. I pity those who do not make friends by being a friend. My mother told me this is how it works. I agree with her, but that’s how you get one started.

They need nourishment, cultivation, compassion, and sometimes weeding or pruning–the hard work of digging in and getting dirty when things are not perfect.

And I do pity those who dare not trust and risk to forge close friendships, because the rewards of deep friendship are lavish.

(This is not to say that pain will be absent from friendship. Any friendship without some pain is a swallow one. Sadly, though, the threat of this (typical sort of) pain keeps too many watching at a distance.)

Perceived betrayals and miscommunication are the tannin.

And like tannins make wine better as it ages, the bumpy patches can (potentially, and with God’s help) work positively make our friendships get better with age.)

I’ll add to Lewis’ thought,

“Cooperation-not friendship-is necessary for human survival…but friendship elevates survival and gives it the balance, lovely complexity, and long, sweet finish.” -LD

So there is, like many things in this world, a “wastefulness” about friendship. Like beauty and ingenious design, of say a fly’s wing or a plant, friendship has something that points off the map to a greater reality. A greater Truth.

Friendship may be the most necessary thing after all to feel fully alive. It taps deeply into our wiring, into our human need for connection and meaning. It may look a bit different for each of us, of course.

Without it we may have a disease of mind, or of society at large. Without it we can tap into the hopelessness that strikes when we feel we are forgotten or alone. Disconnection is hell after all.