Creating New Habits

How long has it been since I have written a post? The last few years have been filled with writing, with running, with teaching, and with learning. I completed a thesis about female writers and the power of phallocentric language. I began working on a master's degree in creative writing and have been writing chapters of a memoir. But I have been neglecting this blog, which has, in the past afforded me the ability to explore different topics without the worry of a decent grade or spot of income. Writing for pure pleasure needs to become a full fledged habit, a habit which affords its own entry into my calendar.  

I have been fairly successful recently in establishing some new healthy habits. This journey began with an appointment with a plant-based nutritionist and running coach Kayla Slater. Each week we create new goals and I track them on my Habits app. I have found a successful approach is that of addition rather than subtraction. What I mean is that my first goal was to add in 5 or 10 minutes of meditation every day rather than stopping the consumption of sugar. I would track this goal to hold myself accountable each day. Each time I successfully completed my new task I would check off the box on the app, which is a strangely satisfying ritual. I have been adding tiny new habits to the application and now have a nice morning routine which includes a ten minute meditation on Headspace,  PT exercises while brushing my teeth, and a five minute warm up class on Peloton, before heading out the door to run with my dog Luna.  

Friends have always told me about the positive impact that meditation has had in their lives. A Covid 19 shutdown afforded me the luxury of a bit of extra time, time usually spent commuting, for the addition of a few new rituals and routine. Thus a daily mediation emerged from the depths of laziness and despair. I can now safely say that I should have listened to my friends earlier. As someone who tends to hold obsessive compulsions and tendencies, meditation was a way to take an edge off and provide my brain with some much needed rest. Not that I do not plan out my lessons in the middle of a body scan or rehearse my big "storming out of the building" scene. But there are moments of respite. I am grateful today for the new habits that I have incorporated into my busy life and career and family obligations. My list is now much longer than it was in April, but I feel a sense of pride when I tick the boxes on the app and now, click publish on this post. Thank you for sharing a few moments of your time with me. My goal today is to spend a few minutes each day writing, whether it be a poem, a jingle for Dr. Pepper, or a paper on the plallocentricity of language. .   

Poetry fun

Once every few weeks I play a poetry game with my creative writing class. I have a bin of words taken from various poetry books, random words that I like; dust, bamboo, spotless, sherbet...we each choose a word out of the box and use that word in a line of poetry. After the line is written we pass the word to the person next to us. My the time we have chosen four or five stanzas worth of words we have poems, using the same words. The poems are all completely different and fun to read out loud. Here is one of the first I wrote with my class.

Branches canopied over the deep forest floor -
a tent breaking the horizon into shards
of glass. The roots, selfless in
their hold, spring into amber twilight.

Imperfect buds wrap tightly,
ready to open purposefully when
clumsy Spring makes her appearance -
daffodils mirrored in muddy waters
while bullfrog bellies bloat.

Centuries of mating songs echoing
in dark damp earth. Nothing
prepares you for the closeted song -
females - choosy in their search for love
find solace in raspberry bushes
and the canopy of vines.

Can you figure out which words I was forced to use?

Beginner Mind

It has been a long time since I have sat down to write; my fingers miss the rhythm of the tapping on the keyboard and my mind misses the meditative state that writing induces. It is a blustery Saturday in the Berkshires; the snow is still piled up in the backyard, but Spring birds have started their morning symphony. All is well.

I have not taken the time to write, I have not given myself the space to prattle off a poem, or even just a few lines, lines that someday will transform into a story, a post, or even just a note to myself. I have been too "busy," rushing about my day, working and commuting while squeezing in runs and yoga and shopping and bill paying and time with my partner. Too often, what is really important, what really brings me joy, those activities are stuffed into a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. If I were to go back, to read my previous blog posts, I would undoubtedly find a post similar to this one, following months of silence. What is really important to me today? Do I make the space in my day to nurture those things? Probably not.

It is National Poetry Month. Yes, it is already April 4, but I remember last year on April 1 I made the vow to create one poem per day. I upheld that vow and was left with 30 poems, some corny, some nonsensical and a few that made me smile. The act oif creating as a daily practice is intensely powerful. It is within the act of caring for my self and my soul, that I find God. It is within the intersection of self-care, silence, and creativity, that my Higher Power exists.

So right now I gaze at the sun-streaked sky, the balsam pines swaying in the wind, the snow disappearing, and oak leaves floating across bare ground. It is in this moment that I am grateful, for the desire to put my fingers to the keyboard and the space and time to do so. 

Maya, In Memorium

I wrote this in 2007, to my hero, Maya Angelou (4/4/28 - 5/28/14).

AN ANSWER TO MAYA ANGELOU

What could a mere poet be
who speaks of rivers
and rocks and trees?

To a young girl
who might not believe
she is sturdy, whole and free.

What if this poet told her

“Give birth again
To the dream.”

So this girl would know
how to touch the stars
when they appeared too far to reach.

If this poet rose,
and danced and sang
and prayed.

Would that young girl
see that she could
rock the world with her whispers,
unafraid?

To that dear poet
who pulled herself from beneath
and said to this young girl
it was all right to believe.

To that rock
that river
that tree –
it is with tenderness and love
that I take root and grow,
to be happy
to be joyous
to be free.

Accomplishments

I am pleased to announce that Crescendo Chorus has won the prestigious Alice Parker Award. Two movements of a piece I wrote, along with composer Cheng-Chia Wu, were part of the winning repertoire. Hearing my words sung by a thirty person chorus was enough of an honor, but I am so happy to hear that the chorus has received recognition.
http://worldclassmusic.org/crescendo/About%20Crescendo/chorusamerica_award.htm

A Poetry Experience

March has passed. At the beginning of the month I set out to write a poem per day, for the entire month and I was successful. Some days the poems were short and sweet, but toward the end I looked forward to a few minutes with a stack of word cards and a challenge, to write a poem. Not only is my notebook a little heavier, but my soul is a little lighter. Writing each day makes a difference. I am forced out of the day to day mundane details, into a world where anything could happen. And it did. I was transported to chapels in the middle of the woods, fields filled with milkweed and goldenrod, and hotel rooms in foreign countries. For the short time I was writing, I became a writer. And that felt amazing.

It is now April, and Spring is attempting a takeover, with some success. It is National Poetry Month, so maybe, just maybe I can continue the challenge, continue to explore other worlds with words. Here is yesterday's poem, to finish this much needed experiment (experience).

Dancing

Smell the rain,
sweet-scented clouds release
their torrent over hills -
misty vegetation - dandelion
greens. Milkweed pods
and goldenrod release
their fragrant centers.
A community of crickets
nestle into crevices -
And I -
fingers and toes
covered in mud begin
to dance down the aisle -
damp grass swaying in
the breeze -
in Earth's Chapel.