As I go through my belongings and pack for yet another move, I found this tin box that says “Make your own magic.” Inside exists a little bit of old popcorn. No, they are not the buttered old kernels that get stuck in your teeth. This popcorn is something else.
Years ago, I attended a workshop led by the infamous author, screenwriter, and teacher Julia Cameron. She was leading an immersive training on one of her most notable projects: The Artist Way. This event focused on how one can reconnect or jumpstart their creativity. There are writing exercises, self-reflective activities, and within a group one can expect sharing. When this is taught in a group, one thing she had us do was share popcorn. Popcorn are little wishes, blessings, or compliments one offers other members of the group. She used the metaphor of popcorn, because these statements are quick, joyful, spontaneous, and delicious. Even if one is a stranger, you must write a positive fortune for this individual. You can be as creative as you like.
The 12 Week Artist Way is a project I not only finished, but led many groups over the years. And sometimes I bring out the popcorn exercise. In this little tin box, I’ve kept some of these popcorns I have received. I know if I am feeling down, I can go into this box.
One I received said: “Your radiate a warmth and calm energy, that feels like it’s about to have a breakthrough.” Another said “Your kind and open heart will always guide you, as your strong connection to your spiritual center. Let this be the sole guide for your life and never ever let this go for anything or anyone.”
It’s interesting the things we choose to keep over the years. I move frequently, and have donated, discarded, or upcycled many things. This little popcorn box is still quite special to me. I hope you have something like this among your precious belongings.
“A creative life is an amplified life. It’s a bigger life, a happier life, an expanded life, and a hell of a lot more interesting life. Living in this manner—continually and stubbornly bringing forth the jewels that are hidden within you—is a fine art, in and of itself.” ― Elizabeth Gilbert,Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear
Sometimes we seek out creativity without knowing what to expect. This was the case several weekends ago in Santa Fe, where my mom, friend, and I went to a free Denim painting workshop put on by the Site Santa Fe Museum (also free to visit) and 4Kinship, an indigenous owned clothing store in town. We didn’t know what we were in for, as I thought when we signed up that this would be a class to teach us how to paint indigenous designs. Instead the class offered permission and paint to design whatever your heart called for. The theme was joy.
But for before the class began the owner of 4Kinship shared a story of how she had partnered with an organization to build a skatepark on an indigenous reservation. On the inaugural day of the skate park opening, legend Tony Hawk was invited and came to skate in conjunction with all of the other skaters. The owner of 4Kinship recruited an individual Shawn, who had been skating for years, to serve as a mentor 2-3 times a week to teach and lead skating lessons. He offered through mentorship and skating, alternative ways of being and living could be discovered to indigenous youth. Another indigenous creative was there who created a bespoke skateboard company (he also happened to be half Filipino). As this story was told, the owner began to tear up, which made me want to cry out of the beauty of collaboration and commitment to community.
And here we were in a free denim workshop. She gave us permission in that moment to create for the sake of it. As we did, there was initial hesitation and trepidation, what if we paint something and it’s wrong? There’s no erasing…. But we began to follow our intuitive hits. My friend Crystal, had images of faded checkered lines on the back of her denim coat, and was advised a way to seek out those results. My mom free styled a Desigual-esque vibe, as I tried to mimic the essence of examples that were hung of denim with indigenous patterns. Beats played in the background, we all got in the zone, chatted, and painted. It didn’t matter what the results were, we temporarily were all being creative collectively. And there was such beauty in this…
Being in Santa Fe, at this workshop, then strolling down Canyon Drive with dozens of galleries, gave permission to step into my own creativity once again. It’s easy to get caught up in the everyday drama of life, focusing on the daily busy-ness of work and to dos. But to let your mind wander, let the paintbrush move on a canvas, there was freedom there. As someone who is a creativity coach, I am used to talking to people 1:1 about their creativity, but there is a sacredness in doing this in a group. Separate and connected.
The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.-Ellen Parr, graphic designer
Things haven’t worked out as planned. This was a three day weekend that we had planned for my friends to come over and have a vision board party. We set the date on the calendar for weeks, I cleaned the house, ordered a pull out couch to be delivered on time, made gluten free brownies, and bought the right kind of alternative milk and gluten free bread for our weekend breakfasts. Yet things didn’t work out, as a friend’s boyfriend got Covid and she then proceeded to get sick. As precaution, she didn’t come and due to rain warnings with potential mudslide warnings the other friends didn’t come as well. This is post pandemic life. I admit, initially I was highly frustrated. Now that I have a fully time job, these holiday weekends are sparse, and I planned each with intention and purpose. But things don’t always go as we plan. Automatically, I had the urge to come up with backup plans, which included trying to attend a sound healing in Santa Barbara that would be held in a salt cave. I called the healing center, but it was sold out. I could go on a whale watching tour alone, but was weary with the high waves and potential storm brewing.
I was fearing frustration and boredom. I wanted to feel I did something for the weekend, that it meant something and it was worthy of a day off. I was doomed to spend several days at home, with no friends, no dates, no plans. And therefore, I was bored.
Yes, I know this sounds totally dramatic.
I recognized in that moment I had options on what to do or how to think. I could get angry and ruminate on the idea that I can never count on others for plans and view all Californians as flakes, including my friends. I could go to LA and find something to do, dependent on my brother’s plans. I could binge on Netflix shows. Take extended naps. Shop (although I was not buying any clothing or shoes this year). Explore nature. Engage in creative activities.
And in the multitude of thoughts arising, I could reframe it all and view this as a gift. I had my weekends planned out for the next several weeks, including a pending trip to Seattle next weekend. This cancellation of plans doesn’t have to equate with stress and frustration. It could be a blessing, an opportunity for time affluence and abundance.
So my weekend consisted of a variety of these things. Preparing my tax documents for my accountant, catching up with friends on the phone, making new ethnic dishes, taking walks on the beach, preparing for my bellydance classes that I will be teaching soon, reading, watching a Netflix movie in entirety in one sitting (generally this takes several days or one week for me to complete a film), and a little blogging. In addition, I was able to do some crafts with material I gathered from the beach.
In the past I wanted my weekends to be “fun” and worthy of catch up stories to my friends and co-workers. But there is value in life being enriched with doing nothing. With crating crafts or simply engaging in your favorite hobbies, or even resting. There is no prize for who has the most unique plans or most busy weekend. There’s joy in simple satisfaction and contentment, even if it involves simply going to the local beach with my 15 year old dog to walk barefoot in the sand and watch the waves and the local surfers.
As John Lennon once said, “life is what happens when you are busy making plans.”
It was as if I ate a large meal, and could unbutton the first part of my jeans and breathe again.
This is what I felt when I walked the streets of Lampedusa. It was a hectic busy 24 hours flying from Malaga to Naples, going to Pompeii, and flying to Lampedusa. The day was filled with a bit of anxiety, travel stress, and tons of stress. I think my body was on guard and tense due to my strict timelines, the heat, and the awareness of the fact that I could not get too comfortable because I would have to move to the next location. I had not arrived yet. But now walking the quiet “main street” of town, I could relax. I didn’t even need to go to the beach yet to feel the chill vibes.
There was a tranquility here. The restaurants placed chairs on the center of the road and closed off the street for the night to begin. Store workers sat in plastic chairs as tourists walked by. Elderly locals looked over their balconies to observe the newest people to visit their island. These photos capture peaceful moments in this Italian Island, which was once considered a Tunisian territory.
It’s a place I don’t know much about. As I tried to youtube video clips, I couldn’t find much. I know Italians vacation here for their summer holidays. But it’s also more well known for something else. When I told a French guy I was coming here, he said “Lampedusa the place where all the migrants go?” This is true, why most people are aware of this area is it is the location that many refugees try to escape to. It’s a gateway to Europe, people from various parts of Africa voyage to Tunisia. And from there the expedition continues. As you are aware, not many people make it.
This past spring, I decided to set the goal of joining TCC (Travel Century Club), to be part of this, I must visit 100 territories, and I want to do this before I turn 50. Since I want to do this, and was flying to Naples already, why not go to Lampedusa? I also will San Marino, while I am at it. So this is what I am doing. Lampedusa marks the 65th territory I have visited.
I am staying in Lampedusa for five nights, and originally I thought this was excessive. The island is only 7 miles long and 2 miles wide. Would I go crazy, could I fly to Tunisia and check off another territory? But now that I am here, my soul is grateful for what has been planned out before me.
I have time to wind down, write, read, and catch up with myself. The slow pace of the locals and the fact that there are minimal tours here, allows me to wander or simply swim in the sea. I could allow myself to simply be, and I wasn’t aware that this is what I was longing for. Even though I am not currently working, I was attending Spanish classes for one month, and was in the midst of applying to jobs in America and going through loads of interviews. I also am taking a mythology class, which I love and was deep in reading the suggested literature. So overall, I was “busy.” It was a busy-ness of choice yes, and not of necessity, but it was still busy.
As I walk the main street, I note the muted spring colors. Things are not as vibrant as the electricity in hues of Miami or the blue white tranquility of Santorini. There’s a sense of humbleness, in the toned down colors of the building. They are not trying to be anything spectacular or Instagram worthy, they just are. In some ways this a beach Mediterranean island which would be featured in a Wes Anderson film. There are characters that exist here: in the locals that never left the island, the refugees that have fled here, and the vacationers they serve. I’m not sure what the storyline is yet, and maybe it would be a film of an everyday life on this quiet picturesque place, which has yet to been bombarded by excessive crowds.
The days pass, and I note the same people on the street. They notice me and wave. There’s the older sailor man who sails spices, the family who opened a new restaurant serving fresh fish burgers, the Thai and Italian family selling gorgeous clothes, and the local elderly couple who probably own the hotel I am staying in who sit on the couch every afternoon to watch the guests.
The slow pace has allowed me to linger. I walked throughout much of the bottom half of the island, swam in numerous seas, laid on rocks in the style of Barbarella, and had time to write. I appreciate that Lampedusa hasn’t gotten all the acclaim yet. It’s as if I stepped back in time, and could find not just another culture but a more relaxed version of myself I have lost.
“Art is not what you see, but what you make others see.” Edgar Degas
I’m a trained creativity coach, I help people with their creative projects in meeting their deadlines, offering accountability, or just have it be part of their daily lives again. Even though I view my life as creative, I sometimes have difficulty viewing myself as a creative.
Although I journal daily, does that make me a writer? I’ve written one book, numerous blogs, been featured in articles, have a literary agent, and had an article published in the Washington Post this year. Even after all this, it’s been difficult to call myself a writer. But I finally do.
But there are other forms of creativity I dabble in, but I do not think much of them. I have a dslr camera I barely use, but I do take numerous photos on my phone. Last year, I even won a photography contest with the school where I was taking French classes. I won two tickets to a film screening of the Champs Elysees Film Festival. Yet, I minimized it, because the subject in front of me was stunning.
My brother is more of the photographer, with the expensive camera, an eye for detail, editing, and redefining his work. He talks theory of art when framing a photo. While I value this, the advice doesn’t stay in my head, when I want to quickly snap a shot.
Regardless of this, I sometimes still enter a competition here or there. Few, but for the fun of it. Yesterday I received word that although I didn’t win the contest, one of my photographs will be on public display in Malaga for one month. This is two competitions I have entered and been recognized, and perhaps I can finally start to call myself an artist, a creative.
So often we think we need permission or validation to give ourself a title, but why? We can give that to ourselves, regardless of what another thinks. I’ve met people who introduce themselves with their side hustle versus what they do that pays the bills. They are leaning into their new reality, by creating a new narrative. Perhaps I can do that too.
Or I can follow the advice of Mark Nepo
“I started out wanting to write great poems, then wanting to discover true poems. Now, I want to be the poem.”— Mark Nepo
And so I offer those words of advice to you this week. Instead of trying to be an identity or label, be the essence versus the product. Be the verb. Live into that which you are longing to be called. Joy and delight is found in the being versus completing.
Comedy is the blues for people who can’t sing.-Chris Rock
Am I an outsider looking in, or an insider looking out? I couldn’t help but reflect on that as I watched comedian Chris Rock yesterday. I was lucky enough to see Chris Rock in a sold out venue of only 360 people at the Apollo Theater in Paris. He entered the stage wearing all white, the lights were dimmed. When he tried to speak into his microphone, the power on the stage went out. As the staff worked quickly to fix this, he offered to the audience, “I’m a little off, but you’ll have a good show. We know how good I am in crisis.” Laughter eased the discomfort with that one line. He promptly alluded to something we were all thinking. Would the infamous Will Smith slap heard internationally two months prior be addressed? And it was with an insinuative remark.
We were in the 12th row, and it was surreal. The title of his show was called Ego Death, and I couldn’t help but be curious as to the meaning of this title. As I watched his show, I viewed it through the lens of my old psychology profession. This is how he chose to deal with this experience. His craft of storytelling and boldly sharing his opinions in a palpable funny way, was his cathartic journey. This is how he is intentionally dealing with that media driven experience. Instead of being a victim, he is using it as fuel for his work. In his set, he shared that people get attention through either being infamous, excellent, or a victim. He reminded the audience we have a choice. And there was power to that statement. Although he didn’t state it, we knew Chris was opting to not be a victim in this narrative.
To be an American, listening to an American telling jokes in France was like an out of body experience. I haven’t lived in America for almost nine years, most of that time having spent lived in the United Kingdom. But those years were spent working with Americans as a therapist. The USAF to be exact. Therefore, I have yet to pick up any type of accent or new language. I still sounded ‘murican. I could relate to the jokes because I still identify as an American, my family and friends reside there, and I visit annually. But how American was I? Was I American in my ideals, values, or daily living?
As the show continued, I listened to Chris Rock rant about political hot topics, celebrity gossip, the state of homelessness, racism, the pandemic and the overused political correctness that have taken over the country. I laughed at the jokes, as so many were based on reality. But as I laughed, I couldn’t help but think how sad the state of the country was, and wondered if I want to return as a citizen in the future? Did Chris Rock even want to return? He asked the audience if abortion was legal in France, and joked that maybe he could get one while he was here.
And Chris also talked of things that are universal, not just not the crisis of all things American. But the creative process. Chris shared at the beginning of the show how art sucks these days. This includes all types of art: movies, television, music, books, tangible art. He stated all art sucks because there are layers of people who oversee the creative process of what actually gets distributed to the public. Art is out of the artists’ control today and is censored. He exclaimed that all mainstream art seems to be out of one’s control, except that of the art of a standup comedian. A standup comedian is in charge of their own acts and the words that come out of their mouths, not the publishing world, or the television executives, or the publicists. As I heard that comment, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe and jealousy with that statement made. I’m in the process of my book proposal being pitched, and I am keenly aware that much is out of my control. Yet comedians take their art straight to their audience. And they can get away with it.
Just as the olden days of a royal court, the only ones who could get away with telling the truth and not be punished were the court jesters. Buttons are pushed, and often things slightly teeter on the edge of controversial. But then laughter breaks up the discomfort. Viewpoints are shared with audiences in a way they can swallow it. Shock, laughter and wit can go a long way. Their intelligence is hidden with smiles.
As I watched Chris Rock, I reflected on the show’s title: Ego Death. Ego Death disarms the audience, it humbles him, and allows us as a group to take in what he says with more ease. Although he speaks of his lavish lifestyle and the privileges that fame and money bring, he is grounded by being a human being, with the woes of parenting, dating during midlife, and the joys of co-parenting with an ex. It’s a reframe. We are curious as an audience to see this man as a victim of another celebrity’s slap, but we see how he’s fueled to redirect the narrative.
Perhaps we also re-write the current narrative of America. It does not only have to be the bold, outrageous, wild, divided, selfish nation that the media has painted. I feel I’m only watching it from afar, like a reality television show that I cringe to admit I’m a fan of. As a nation, we seem to be getting attention through either being infamous, excellent, or a victim. All aspects are there. We have a choice in how to frame the nation. And what if our ego death as a country is approaching? This may be the key for our story to be reframed in a way that is palpable to the world and ourselves. Laughter may be key to get through and beyond this moment.
It Only Takes A Smile 