Fitting In--and not

Last week I spent a few days working in DC for my 'day job.' While I like Washington, I find travel, especially business travel, to be difficult. It seems that when I'm in between places, and when I get out of my daily life, that I start to examine/assess/evaluate how things (like my life) are going, which isn't good for my state of mind.

Waiting at Logan Airport for my flight to take off, I naturally looked around at the people (mostly men) who were sitting around, waiting for the US Air shuttle. Businessmen, some of them young, and most of them looking sharp in their corporate drag, tapped on their Palm Pilots, or Blackberrys. Suddenly I felt under dressed. After all, I was going to meet a contact at one of DC's museums, and I should look my professional than I did in my comfortable but frayed black jeans.

A few hours later, after checking in at the museum, I had a free afternoon in the nation's capital. And yet I found myself restless, lonely, disconnected. It's often when I travel that I feel the absence of having a significant other, a partner. It's then that I realize--or feel more deeply--the knowledge that there is no one back home missing me, no one waiting for my call.

And so I fell into a funk, the funk of not fitting in. As I walked around DC, everyone seemed to be on a mission, to know where they were going, and why. I walked aimlessly,
anxious to get back to Boston, not because someone was waiting, but because the loneliness I feel here--at times--is eased by the comfort of the familiar, the salve of the routine.

Do What I Say, Not What I (Don't) Do

Lately I've been teaching a series of memoir and essay-writing workshops. Generally, I feel good about the fact that I'm actively writing, and finding ways to get my essays and stories published, (usually in small publications, but at least I'm getting them 'out there). But over the past few months, I've gotten away from my book project, and I haven't felt inspired to write much beyond my Bay Windows column, "Life in the Slow Lane." (See www.baywindows.com).

Last month I co-taught a 4-week course at the Cambridge Center for Adult Education, and the writers in the class were amazingly motivated. They wrote, refined and prepared to send out new material--good, polished essays. Meanwhile, I'm in a writing funk. I'd love to get some suggestions on how to get unstuck and re-fill my creative gas tank. Any suggestions??

Memoir-writing

I went to the first day of a two-day writers' conference yesterday, here in Boston. The conference, "Muse and the Marketplace," featured a mass of professional writers of various levels and pedigrees. The invited guests--those speaking on panels and in the breakout sessions, had impressive credentials. Meanwhile, I'm still plugging along, trying to shape/shoehorn my essay collection into book form, and trying to figure out how to structure a memoir.

That process, of telling an interesting story in book form, which is not too monotonous, depressing or repetitious, has been elusive, slippery, like trying to pick up a fish with my bare hands. In a sense, I am using my hands to write, to remember, and to frame a story in a (hopefully) engaging way. But the pieces haven't come together yet. I've got vignettes that work, but divining how they fit together is another story.

I'd love to hear from writers who have shaped their own experiences into a book, and how they decided on a narrative frame and time sequence in their books. In the mean time, I'm slogging on, and looking forward to Lesley University's writers' conference in July, when I can get more help and advice.

Gratitude

I managed to get through the stress test. It was aptly named; I was at the heart center for four hours, and the various phases of the test involved a lot of waiting. But I got through it, and the next day, I met with the cardiologist, who informed me that my heart function was "excellent," and that I have no evidence of heart disease. I felt, after seeing my father go through his heart dramas, that I was literally given a second chance to create my life in a way that's meaningful.

Time is precious, and who knows, ultimately, how long I have. As Pema Chodron, a wise Buddhist teacher and author has said, "Life is like getting into a boat that you know is going to sink." While my boat is floating, I want to make the most of my time here on the planet. That means more teaching, performing, writing--doing the things that add richness to my one precious life.

The Heart of the Matter

Tomorrow I'm headed over to a heart center in Brookline for something called a "nuclear stress test." (Sounds sort of ominous, hmm)? The test involves receiving a radioactive dye, and then waiting about an hour before the actual test. It's something that was recommended to me, given my father's early heart attack--at 44, and his blocked arteries--he had a quadruple bypass at 60, and died a year later of a second heart attack. My older brother was diagnosed last fall with a blocked artery. So, I'm showing up to hopefully find my arteries are clear, but if not, to be proactive and not wait until something happens.

Ah, genetics!

Schadenfreude

Schadenfruede, however you spell it, is an interesting concept. Taking pleasure in the misfortune of others. Last Sunday I saw Avenue Q, a wonderfully twisted musical, beautifully done and very creatively staged. The numbers included "Everyone's a little bit racist" and one that was something like "It's OK if you're gay," sung to a puppet named Rod, who is a closeted gay Republican. Another number, Shadenfruede, focused on the evil pleasure of looking at others' miseries and thinking, 'hey, my life isn't so bad....'

I feel a touch of that, at times, if I hear about a writer who is mired in writer's block--especially if that writer is more successful than me. It really comes up around book writing; despite what I say in my writing classes, I feel (when it comes to myself at least) that real writers write--and publish--books and therefore, I still have yet to arrive.

When I get into my competitive writer's head, and my inner critic is whispering into my inner ear, or shouting at full volumne, I drop headlong into another dark emotion--jealousy.

Still, I try to keep focused on doing my own work rather than worrying about what others are doing. Which is fine, as long as I don't hang out with too many successful writers....

Overdue

So, I'm already late with this post. I could make excuses--I had a column due for Bay Windows, (which should be in this Thursday's paper), but that's lame. My plan is to post each Sunday or Monday, and do this weekly. Now, I need to figure out ways to keep writing and working on two book projects. The first one, a collection of essays called "Finding My Place," keeps coming together and falling apart. I just got feedback from another editor, (who I owe about $150), who doesn't think the collection works as a book.

Ugh! Putting together a book that does work is a lot more complicated than just organizing and writing a good essay. I'm used to writing in short stints and creating brief pieces. While I'm working on these projects, I could really use a writing buddy who would keep me honest (i.e. plugging away at my tasks). Writing date, anyone?