Serendipitous Surprises

When I started my most recent venture in writing, I explained that I didn't know where it was going to lead me. I didn't need or want to know. I just wanted prance playfully along the path as it became visible, one leap and skip at a time. Well, the path took a surprising turn about which I wanted to share.

Last week, I received an email from one of the ladies in my company who works in Danville, VA. She and I are friends on facebook and she said she'd read my post "Being Someone's 'Angel.'" She asked if she could put it in her Hospice Volunteer Newsletter. Surprised, but pleased I assured her that would be fine and that I was honored she valued it enough to want to share it with others. From this conversation, I decided to show it to my own office's Volunteer Coordinator (henceforth "VC") Teresa. I know she is always looking for pieces to put in her newsletter and if this other VC found my blog interesting, I thought it might be worth showing to Teresa.

She also liked the words and immediately said that she too would like to use it in her newsletter. I was grateful for the compliment and the alacrity of her positive response. I also found myself feeling abnormally surprised and taken aback by her encouragement thinking to myself, "Really? You liked it that much?" I'm not sure why I responded so critically to my own writing. I suppose I've just never shared it beyond the internet world; a world and space that can feel distant despite its public nature.

I then discovered that Teresa shared it with another VC who then asked to know the link to my blog because she now wants to follow it. (Hi Donna!) Then! I find out today that not only did Teresa share it with the VC, but she also forwarded it along to our high up boss who forwarded it along to the woman who collects material for the company-wide newsletter. My boss also wondered about sending it out to the marketing agency that works with our company to potentially bring attention to our hospice in the larger community. Surprise after surprise!

All because of words I wrote. All because of words I wrote.

I feel like this all spiraled so quickly! Just last Monday, my blog was just a place where a few of my friends read about whatever I was currently pondering. I never fancied that a large number of people took interest in it. I'm an external processor and this was just another place that I could sort through my emotions and disorderly brain. And I do feel emotionally cluttered with all this. And since lists go a long way to helping me sort, here's a list of my current emotions: stunned, empowered, grateful, nervous, humbled, overwhelmed, shy, proud, thoughtful, encouraged, and confused.

Confused seems to be chief among my feelings. Confused because I don't quite understand why anything I would write would be valuable to others. How self-deprecating is that?! Especially in light of all that I've been reading from Julia Cameron about all people having a voice and all people being writers. That's all well and good in the privacy of my own journal and the semi-privacy of my blog, but I didn't realize how deeply embedded this feeling of unworthiness as a writer truly is for me. I suppose I have more work to do.

My writing feels valuable for me. It's a way to both experience the world and respond to it. I've always dreamed of becoming a published writer. And by that I mean publishing children's books or maybe even a book about Hospice Chaplaincy. But something like this never occurred to me! After I told my husband all of the above, he said, "You're a published writer." If that's the case, then one more excuse for not being able to call myself a writer has been wiped away from my list of obstacles.

How exciting! And confusing.

Perhaps someday, my other publishing dreams will become a reality. And maybe they will add to our financial livelihood. I think perhaps that's what I meant by being published. Being paid to write. Blech. I don't like defining a beautiful creative process by money. I'll continue to work on disassembling that line of thinking as well.

In the meantime, I'm grateful to report that my words are going to be reaching out to a larger community than I could have imagined. Julia Cameron, in The Artist's Way writes about serendipity, or moments where the Universe responds to our desires and creative yearnings. I think this certainly qualifies as a moment where serendipity has appeared, smiling and waving gleefully! And for now, I'll bashfully wave back feeling grateful for this serendipitous surprise. Thanks to everyone who has always been so supportive. I'm supremely grateful.

-Kelley

P.S. If you're interested in re-reading the blog that started all this, here's a link to "Being Someone's 'Angel'"

Family, Southport and the Postcard Assigment

My family is complicated. Perhaps it's like the ever-evolving American family, but I still consider it unusual. Here's a (very!) quick overview, just to give context to who I spent part of my day with:

My biological mom (hereafter, "bio mom") was a teenager in no way prepared to become a mother. During the first several months of my life, I didn't have a steady home. I was taken to many different places across a couple of different states. Eventually, my bio mom stepped out of the picture. Insert fabulous, dependable, and consistently loving parents! Who were they? My bio mom's dad and his second wife. They have been my wonderful parents ever since. My bio mom had an older brother who I called Uncle Mike growing up despite the fact that we call the same guy "Dad." This weekend, Mike and his wife came into town and I spent the day with them and my parents. Now you should be up to speed on who I spent my day with and how we're all connected!

Southport is a small town south of Wilmington that you can either drive to or take a ferry to. We decided on the ferry route, which was a fun little adventure for the weekend. Here are some photos from when we were waiting for the ferry to arrive.

My beautiful mom

Sheri and Mike

My goofy dad

Now some photos from while we were on the ferry! We had a lovely, windy trip across the water. Especially considering the smothering heat of recent weeks, being blown around by the wind was worth the relieving coolness.

Mom and Sheri getting windblown

The ladies! Check out my mom's faux hawk! :)

Feisty little tugboat doing it's job

We had a lovely time. While in Southport, I was able to find a couple more Christmas gifts adding to my vastly growing gift list found excitingly early in the year! I thoroughly enjoy finding gifts throughout the year as I experience different traveling adventures! 

Also while in Southport I got the supplies for my latest The Right to Write assignment, which was to grab five postcards and send them out to five friends. The full assignment was to set a 15min timer and spend no more than 2-3min on each one. Well...the Olympics are on and I'm captivated. So I decided to leave off the timer requirement and write in the breaks of the gymnastics competition. (On a sidenote: the image of Jordyn Wieber crying when she doesn't make the cut for the all-around absolutely broke my heart.)

As soon as I collect all the addresses from my friends, I'll be sending off five postcards, one each to California, Oregon, Arizona, Michigan and DC. I hadn't realized that I was picking such a broad base for my recipients, but it was a pleasant discovery. 

Southport postcards for my friends

I don't really have a neat, clean way planned to tie up this blog. But, as Julia Cameron constantly reminds me, it's worth it to write simply for the sake of writing! I hope all of you out there had a wonderful weekend and begin a promising new week filled with love!          -Kelley

The "Storyteller" Assignment

Today's chapter with Ms. Cameron was short and to the point. Stop straining so hard to make a story up! Settle down, chill out, and listen for the story that's ready to be told through you. I've heard this described on many occasions in various expressions, but usually it sounds something like this, "It was as though the story was already formed and I was just there to write it down." The image I have here is a tornado of words and images swirling high above a receptive writer. I picture myself flying down headfirst with their stories in a furious spiral toward the writer, eventually crashing with their pen as it flies across the page! It's all rather adventurous!

Frankly, I've been skeptical of this concept. The story as an almost separate being simply out to find the right conduit? Or perhaps envious is more accurate. Either way, I have not experienced this personally. If it really is a true experience and really does exist for some people, why not me? Julia Cameron suggests it's because I'm trying too hard to create impressive words all on my own rather than listening to what's around me. I'm going to give this a shot. Maybe I'll carve out some time this weekend to just...be...and listen. We'll see what comes from it. She suggests letting go so the creative process can work in and through you. I shall try. As Barney, from "How I Met Your Mother" might say, "Challenge accepted!"

The writing assignment from this chapter is as follows: "Pretend that you are sitting under a large tree with your back resting on its trunk. On the other side of the tree, a Storyteller sits also resting against the tree trunk. Take a sheet of paper and number from one to five. Tell the Storyteller five things you'd like to hear stories about." I've decided to type my list here rather than write them in my notebook. So here they are:

1. I'd like to hear a story about the diligent and hard-working person who is hopeful about a life filled with more meaning. I want to hear a story about how opportunity finally knocked for them and new hope was born as they skipped along toward their happy ending.

2. I'd like to hear a story about the committed and loving couple who, having longed for a child for years, finally have their dreams realized in a sweet, healthy addition to their family.

3. I'd like to hear a story about an adventurous woman who traveled the world in search of new experiences and opportunities to bring love and peace into a hurting world.

4. I'd like to hear a story about a child who opened the hearts of adults by being loving, kind, and unwilling to accept the boundaries and walls we create in adulthood.

5. I'd like to hear a story about the family that loves each other no matter what and that, rather than avoiding the difficulties of life, face them together through love, support, and encouragement.

Okay, so one thing is for sure from my list. I like my happy endings. As a friend just wrote today, "I don't need art to imitate life. I want a movie with a damn happy ending....tied up neatly." Well apparently, so do I. it also seems to be a theme that I don't necessarily need the whole story to be sugarcoated. But I am a fan of love, peace, hard work, hopefulness, and positivity winning out in the end.

I also see that none of the stories I want told are entirely new. I can think of several stories already out there that would fit into one of more of these categories. But still, it was a cathartic and energizing process to write them down for myself. Maybe I'll settle more into these ideas when I sit back this weekend and allow the process of creativity to lead me where it chooses.

More to come!

Blessed be,
Kelley

What is a "Writer"?

I was reading in The Right to Write by Julia Cameron about what makes someone a "writer." It was about challenging our notions of who and what writers are. An interesting thing about this chapter is she seemed to assume that associations with writers would be negative. For example, "Writers are broke," "Writers are crazy," "Writers are loners." I think my assumptions are actually glorified in an unrealistically positive light. Some of the assumptions I make are, "Writers get to travel and live abroad to study and gain experience for what they write." "Writers absorb the same world I do, but with interesting and enlightening perspectives that other people want to read." Or even, "Writers are in touch with a deeper creativity and spirituality than the average person." In fact, I often picture a "writer" as worldly woman stylishly dressed sitting at a café in Europe,  watching people, writing, engaging the locals (in perfect vernacular), and committing prose to paper that is immediately revered.

Interesting...

The "assignment" at the end of the chapter was to fill in the phrase "Writers are ________________." ten times. Again, the assumption seemed to be that the associations would be negative and that a spin on the task would be to find the statement's opposite, more positive outlook. Using the examples she gave it would be, "Writers are solvent." "Writers are sane" and "Writers have good friends."

Again, interesting.... Instead of a negative slant, I have an image of a writer lifted onto a pedestal of enlightening creativity. It's much like the place I put Julia Cameron herself despite her constant reminder that her "writing life" looks much like any other person's life, "...just with some writing sandwiched in."

Until the last pages that included the assignment, I was right with Julia. She was challenging my other assumptions that cause me to resist calling myself a writer. Here's a rough idea of what I took from the chapter rephrased in my own words:

If asked to speak on the spot, I feel very articulate. I think quickly and love the challenge of putting words together in a way that's both clear and capturing.  I even feel articulate when writing/typing my thoughts. Though I do often feel verbose when both speaking and writing. Why, then, do I not feel like I can be considered a writer? Answer: Because I'm not published. Okay, that's a true statement, but it doesn't diminish this form of personal expression. However, writing in this blog does make me want to refocus on and embrace a Bucket List item; namely, to write, illustrate and publish a children's book, the rough draft of which is...somewhere. (Note to self: search out rough draft.)

This blog is a creative outlet I'm grabbing hold of once again! I am a writer simply by the beautiful and personal act of writing!!

Some quotes from the chapter onto which I particularly latched:

We make a big deal out of putting words on paper instead of simply releasing them to the air.

What if there were no such thing as a writer? What if everyone simply wrote? What if there were no 'being a real writer' to aspire to? What if writing were simply about the act of writing?

What if we allowed ourselves to be amateurs (from the Latin verb amare, "to love").

And finally...
If we eliminate the word 'writer,' if we just go back to writing as an act of listening and naming what we hear, some of the rules disappear.

So...I write. I look, absorb, process, and then, as a bonus, I put it here (or in my journal or in my morning pages), and maybe it does connect me with something deeper and more. And maybe it also happens to connect me with whoever reads this. All in all, I think that's something worth aspiring to.

So, I'll continue to delve into this book. I'm fairly certain this will not be my last post written in response to one of the chapters. I certainly hope not. Until we meet again!

-Kelley-

Being Someone's "Angel"

Recently, I was sitting with one of my hospice patients who told me she wanted to spend our time together watching "The Price is Right." Works for me! She made a specific request, and I got to fulfill her wish. This particular episode was entirely for nurses. Every person in the audience was a nurse. Most of you out there probably know that Drew Carey is now the host. As each person who became a contestant came down he would ask them what type of nursing they were in. One of the ladies said she was a hospice nurse. It was the first response to which he showed more than a little interest and he responded with something like, "Aw. My mom was on hospice and was taken care of by people like you. You guys are angels."

There it is. "You guys are angels."

Then another day recently, I saw a homeless man on the side of the road. My heart breaks every time this happens. I don't know what put this person there, but I'm more likely to assume it's systemic in its cause. So I bought him dinner and brought it to him. His name was Tom and he thanked me deeply and sincerely. Then he added, "I was praying God would send me an angel and then you showed up."

There it was again. Being someone's angel.

Today, I was visiting a patient I hadn't seen for several weeks. We sang old hymns together and I read to her from verses of the Bible she requested. She told me stories from her life and I sat there, trying to make out her words which are often soft and difficult to understand. As I was about to leave she held my hand, squeezed it with her fading strength and said, "You're my angel." It choked me up.

To her, I was her angel.

A phrase that I used to just brush aside with an embarrassed "thank you" has now stuck with me and has made me wonder: what are the qualities that make someone an "angel" to someone else?

I think kindness and compassion are two of the largest pieces. To be gentle, caring, and willing to sit and listen. To hold someone's hand who's feeling lonely or afraid. To make someone smile and laugh. To share yourself with them and make a deep, abiding connection. To give out of love and compassion. Maybe these are some of the characteristics of a modern-day angel. They seem to be what has brought forth this sweet description lately. I appreciate things that help me embrace the simple/deep/wonderful connections that I find the most valuable. I will continue to think about what it means to be someone's angel. But I will choose not to overthink it and lose the beauty and sweetness of the compliment.

I want to close out this entry with one of my favorite quotes. I think it's another worthy reminder of what is good, and lovely, and true:

“To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson


Blessings,
Kelley

Ramblings

On a friend's recommendation, I recently ordered The Right to Write by Julia Cameron. I think it's interesting that it took me as long as it did for me to call myself an artist. But now I finally feel like I can claim that title for the long years of practice and effort that I've taken drawing and painting. And, though I've been doing it nearly as long, "singer" is another title that often sounds just as pretentious to claim as "artist." But I sing, therefore I am a singer. I create art, therefore I am an artist.

But one thing I have never laid claim to is being a writer. Or, even more scary, a poet. Sure, I write on here and I journal. But really, that's about it. But there is something about this particular art that intrigues me, perhaps even calls to me. One of my life ambitions is to write a children's book and have it published. I have a draft that I need to brush up on and see where it can take me from here. I need to work on it soon because it deeply expresses my gratitude to my parents and I would sincerely love seeing them read it. I think I will share the draft with them.

I have taken one writing workshop that I extremely loved. The guidance via prompts yet the freedom to write were both incredible to experience. So, with that in mind, I'm going to see what the inspiring Ms. Cameron has for me in my latest book experience with her.

I don't know what will become of my writing. Maybe it'll be a helpful, developed from of self-expression. Maybe it'll grow into something more, though I don't have many thoughts at this moment of what "more" may mean. One thing I know it will do is give me an outlet for writing that is more representational of who I am. As a Chaplain, I document my interactions with patients and families. The formulas I use to write are dry and concrete. I do not feel comfortable nor do I think it is appropriate for me to write in the flowery, poetic style that feels more comfortable to me. But I need to do that somewhere! Otherwise it remains bottled inside, swirling and writhing, longing for release. Expression is such a beautiful form of release. Therefore, I hope to express more and filter less. Who knows what may come!

Heartbreak

I'm going to share something that I'm only just coming to terms with. It's scary to share something so personal, especially in so public a forum, but I don't really know who reads my blog anyhow. And I think that's what is helping me continue to type.

Last Fall, I had a miscarriage. It was easy to be in denial that it happened and even now it doesn't feel fully real. Here's why. I never got it confirmed by my doctor. I had positive pregnancy tests at home. I was going to the doctor for other reasons and when I asked for a test there, but they somehow overlooked running it. And by the time I realized that, my tests had started to be negative at home.

For those that know me, you know that I have wanted to be a mom for years. I've come to think in terms of a "veil of motherhood." A barrier I have yet to cross. An inner circle of womanhood of which I long to be a part. With each new announcement of a friend or family member's pregnancy, I fight an internal battle. I want to be happy for whoever it is, but my heart breaks that much more. This past Mother's Day, I did the math at how far along I could have been in my pregnancy and it was so tremendously painful.

I have known others who have had miscarriages. And I have read about how many woman have them and don't even realize it. Somewhere I read it was called "the silent grief" because it's not talked about. I always told myself naively that I would talk about it if it ever happened to me. But when it happened, I only told my husband. I didn't even tell my mom, the other person I'm so close to, until a month ago...nearly 6 months after. I didn't want the sympathy. I didn't want the sorrow. I didn't want the reality to sink in. If I didn't share it, it could continue to be unreal.

But this has become a part of me. It's become a part of my story. And it has broken my heart. But I'm healing. And I'm becoming healthier so that hopefully when I carry a child in the future, my body will be better prepared to nurture and sustain life. A friend of mine recently shared this thought: "...to identify people as parents from the moment of conception." There was something so precious about considering myself a parent, if even for a few brief weeks. I feel like being a parent is a dormant side of myself. It's growing and yearning to come to the forefront. And perhaps someday it will come to fruition.

Thus endeth the most intimate blog I've ever written.