“I wake up each day torn between the desire to enjoy the world or change the world, and this makes it difficult to plan the day.” E.B. White

I love to plan, but I think you can only do it to a certain extent. Which reminds me of another quote I love: “Instead of telling our young people to plan ahead, we should tell them to plan to be surprised.” Dan in Real Life

This is the second of 12 weeks I’ll be participating in a book blogging group for 12 Secrets of Highly Creative Women. The secret this week is Honoring Your Inspirations and the question is: What have you always loved? What inspires you? Catches your eye? Makes your heart sing?

• • •

I have always loved words. The way they sound when they’re put together. Everything they can mean. What they can imply. How they can tell a story. How a subtle tone can change their impact. The way they make you feel when someone says just the right ones. The spoken word, the written word, the interpreted word, the visual word. The words that never make it out of our heads. They fascinate me.

In elementary school, it was more about writing them than reading them. And writing a lot of them. In second grade, I remember using the special gray recycled paper that had large rows made of solid lines on top and bottom and a dotted line in the middle. We were writing about being good citizens, or something equally boring, and I remember having to take all my pages into the hallway and line them up on the floor so I could see my whole story as I wrote because they wouldn’t all fit on my desk anymore. And at some point I remember it just being about the person who wrote the most pages and was not going to give up until it was me. This is probably where I got the bump on my ring finger that has never gone away — a bump from the friction of pencil against skin.

During high school yearbook, we went to workshops, conventions and camps across the country where I learned about reading good words — from magazines, books, newspapers and articles that won Pulitzer Prizes. We’d listen to our teachers read and I could feel the joy stir in me, even if the words weren’t pleasant or positive (we read plenty of heart wrenching features from the St. Petersburg Times, and one from Esquire was about rape, but we weren’t allowed to hear the end of that one).

We read so many examples of quality writing to feel how it was structured, what questions the writers answered, the rhythm the words had. After we heard examples, we’d write for 15 minutes (The Artist’s Way feels very similar to me in this way. Just write three pages. Doesn’t matter what about. Doesn’t matter if you can’t think of anything to write about; just keep your hand moving the entire time).

The kicker was that we read our journaling aloud to the class. No one was allowed to say anything once someone was done — you just clapped. This was completely voluntary and I’d avoided it. I could write well past the 15 minute timer, but speaking the words out loud — my words out loud — was a different game. But at the last class, I figured I had to get at least one time in. So I read my journaling to the class. And I didn’t die. And no one made funny faces or whispered behind my back. When I conferenced with one of my instructors later, he reread my story and said, in his disarming Southern accent, “Daaaang, girl! You can write.”

And with those four small words from a very amazing man, I wasn’t as scared to share that part of myself any more.

I still battled that fear in college, actually switching my major from News & Information to Public Relations because I didn’t want to take a reporting class and have the whole university reading my stories (not to mention that I’d have to write three a week!). Two months before graduation, I finally acknowledged that I hated public relations and decided to stick around for summer school and another semester to take the News & Information classes I’d tried so hard to avoid. I realized I could write for the magazine instead of the newspaper, a tone and structure that was more suited to me. During that same semester, I copy edited for the newspaper and website two nights a week and designed the paper two more nights.

I don’t know how I managed it all, but it forced me to do all the things I’d been interested at once. I researched and interviewed people and studied the English language and attended management meetings and had piles of inspirational designs stacked all over my bedroom and the newsroom and attempted to memorize the New York Times’ Week in Review section in preparation for a weekly quiz and subsisted on coffee. This is how I learned that I didn’t have to pick one thing. One career. One passion. One interest. One way.

I’m reminding myself of that lesson again now. I design for a magazine. I contribute to This Ordinary Day. I started this website. I want to design stationery, cards and prints. I want to write books. I find inspiration for all these things from color and honesty and the way letters on a card can be perfectly tucked into each other like a hug and the feeling you get from a really good e-mail from a close friend that you’ve been eagerly waiting for. I’m inspired by warm chocolate chip cookies and a flavorful glass of red wine and seeing snowflakes float up instead of fall down. I’m inspired by sunshine and breezes and mistakes and irony and humor and photography and home-cooked meals and handmade crafts. I’m inspired by courage and confusion, frailty and humility and emotion. By the bravery it takes to be who you are meant to be. I’m inspired by triple espressos and the finish line of a race in Central Park and experiments.

Sometimes everything I’m interested in and inspired by feels overwhelming — because I want to understand it and learn to do it myself (well, not make sunshine and breezes, but the other stuff) — and I feel like I can’t have it all… the regular job, the card company, the leisurely day spent cuddled in bed with notebooks and pens and coffee, losing time while I write; an afternoon of endless flickr faving; a lazy sunday spreading out my paints and playing.

And then I remind myself that I don’t have to make any decisions now. That these things aren’t mutually exclusive. If I really want to do them all, I will find a way. I’m not sure how, and the idea of giving up a steady paycheck, health insurance, a flexible health care spending account, tuition reimbursement and stability freaks me the hell out. But we can’t really choose the things we love — they sort of choose us. So I’m going to embrace what I love now and stay open to what I’ll come to love later.

I’ve been thinking about my word for 2009 for nearly a year, after I first discovered Ali Edwards’ blog and saw the post with everyone’s words listed.

I love words — hearing them spoken, especially when unexpected phrases sound magical (just watch any West Wing or Grey’s Anatomy episode); I love reading them, seeing the power people have when they share their truths, their stories and struggles and celebrations. And I love writing words — expressing myself in ways I could never capture in person or out loud. I love getting them out of my head to make more space for new ones. I love sharing them with my friends and keeping their words to reread again.

My word for the year is momentum.

To keep up with running, which I only started in October. I already know that if I take two weeks off (I’m talking to you, Christmas break…), I’ll have to go backwards for awhile. If I keep up with running, if I do it consistently — not necessarily even running a lot of miles, just continuing to run — then each time will get easier. I won’t fight with myself about hitting the pavement. I will know I can handle it, even if I run out of good songs on my iPod.

I also want to focus on keeping the momentum once I am moving and running, especially when I’m by myself. I give up too easily when I run outside of my class. I still don’t know what I’m capable of and I’m constantly surprising myself with what I can handle, but I still give in too early. Like when I’m bored. Or don’t think I can push through the hard part that sucks out my breath and tires my legs and makes me want to just fall on the ground. In class, I get to that point and keep going, and then it’s manageable. I struggle with breaking that barrier when I’m not surrounded by my class or coaches. Times like Saturday (my first five-mile race), I surprise myself by what I’m capable of running. And then there are times when I can’t even hit two miles on my own. I know can handle two miles, but I have a harder time convincing myself on my own.

I also want momentum in my writing and this blog. I’m getting better about writing every day and wasting less time with things like facebook. In 2009, I want to keep up writing consistently, but also want to write more. I need to take the next step to get what I’ve handwritten on to the screen.

I need momentum to keep writing, even when I think it’s crap or I get lost in all the other ways I could be telling a story or worry that it doesn’t sound like me. I need momentum to move past my fears that someone will not like what I have to say, or think it’s stupid, or be disappointed or judge me. Momentum to just write when I doubt my words and voice and soul. Oftentimes when I’m trying to figure something out, I shut myself up, when what I most need to do is keep the story going, to keep the words flowing out of me. These are the times I most need to keep writing. Even when the words feel jumbled and confusing and scared.

And while running and writing are activities I want to keep up with, I need to get the momentum going with design. I treated myself to a new macbook pro last fall (my first non-Dell computer) and I have all the design software a girl could want. But when I have free time, I gravitate to reading and writing. One of the things I find comfort in is that when I don’t feel like using words to express myself, I can design something that still lets me feel like I’m telling a story. But for whatever reason, I’ve avoided opening InDesign like it’ll chop off my fingers.

One of my goals down the road is to design (and sell) cards. Cards have been an interest of mine since high school, when I started collecting them (what high schooler does that? Seriously?). They’re what I hang up in my room as art work (if you don’t think they can be pretty or inspiring, check out StoryPeople and KOCO New York). I love them. I want to make them. I know that I can make them, but for some reason I can’t take that step to, you know, actually doing anything.

For all the things I want to do and keep up with, I realize that I can’t have momentum unless I take care of myself. Eat right. Get enough sleep (hello 10:30 bedtime). Exercise. Listen to my body when it’s in pain. Ignore my body when it just wants to stop because it’s bored or because it’s the point where I’ve always stopped before or it doubts what I’m capable of. My mind may have other plans, but I have to treat my body kindly in order to keep up with them.

Momentum is more about staying strong, being consistent and not giving up than being the best, the fastest, the funniest. Momentum is about surprising myself of what I’m capable of.

Momentum is my 2009, and I’m so intrigued to see where we take each other.

“You will make all kinds of mistakes. But as long as you are generous and true and also fierce, you cannot hurt the world or even seriously distress her.” —Winston Churchill

I generally don’t worry about hurting the world when it comes to making mistakes (more about hurting some aspect of my future, my options, my choices….) but something about this quote is comforting, encouraging  and so simple — be kind, be yourself, don’t give up.

This is the first of 12 weeks I’ll be participating in a book blogging group for 12 Secrets of Highly Creative Women. The secret this week is acknowledging your creative self and the question is: Where are you on the journey to your creative self?

• • •

My creative self is still in its infancy stage. It was only last year when I discovered blogs; the most influential were women writing about their creative journeys and struggles, about finding the strength to pursue their dreams and abandon security and the known. They were honest and raw and inspiring. It wasn’t until I saw these other women succeeding outside the standard work day and job description that the idea of doing it myself became not only an option in my life, but a feasible goal.

I’m finally allowing myself to test the waters of activities I’m interested in instead of thinking that I won’t be good at them or that it’s a waste of money. Thanks to my employer’s tuition reimbursement program, I took a typography class during the summer and a letterpress class during the fall. While I was on vacation in Portland, I attended a mixed media class at Art & Soul even though I hadn’t touched paint since elementary school.

Grasping that it’s OK to fail is something that I’m still working on — trying to be comfortable with things not going as planned. Because at least that means that you tried something new, something unknown and out of your comfort zone.

My creative self is working on becoming less scared — of putting my works, my designs, my life out into the world, unsure of how they’ll be received. I still struggle with writing what feels authentic versus writing what I want people to read or think about me. This website still doesn’t have an About me section because I’m not sure what parts of myself I want to represent, how much of myself I want to share, what is even relevant to people who’d read it.

2008 was a momentous year in terms of acknowledging that I am worthy and competent enough to pursue my interests in writing and design, and that I’m strong enough to handle whatever challenges come my way during the journey. I’d like 2009 to see more exploration of them. Tangible results, not just thinking. I’m in the middle of The Artist’s Way. I started Project 365. I have compiled more writing prompts than I know what to do with. Now I just have to keep up with them.

Scheduling and finances permitting, I’m hoping to connect more with other creative souls this year, hopefully at BlogHer and Squam (though I’m still debating whether there are enough classes I want to take to warrant the cost, or if a trip abroad would be equally soul-stirring).

My creative self is gradually overcoming stage fright and working on feeling comfortable in the light. I do not yet know how I will make my creative dreams happen and sometimes that scares me, but I’m done letting them whisper unattended in the back of my mind. I want them to shout with joy.

What a year we’ve had.

The beginning saw a painful bout with strep throat that resulted in a day-long trip to the ER, three days off work and the purchase of a humidifier, which turned my room into a sauna.

In no connection with the nasty case of strep, I finally started paying attention to my health. My doctor told me that I had high blood pressure (apparently a number quite uncommon for my age). I stopped eating fast food and drinking pop and have learned to think about what I eat and how much of it I’m eating. I exercised more in 2008 alone than the rest of my life combined. I floss with regularity (except under my permanent retainer, cause that’s just torture). I genuinely want to take care of my body and treat it kindly.

Once of the greatest things you led me to, my dear 2008, was joining the New York Public Library. I was skeptical at first, but have since become incredibly attached, so much so that I’ve had to limit my visits to just once a week. As someone who considers all the books on my shelf friends, I actually prefer borrowing now and never worry about wasting money on a book I don’t like and can’t seem to finish.

At some point, I decided that I didn’t like the way I wrote the letter “r.” I have since trained myself to write them uppercase all the time and I’m much more pleased with my handwriting. I’ve never liked the way I write “f” so maybe 2009 will bring a new manifestation of that letter too.

This Ordinary Day launched in May and I’ve written a post every other week since. Being a part of the site has me in the habit of writing on deadline again, and led me to starting my own website. If it weren’t for this opportunity, I wouldn’t have had the practice, feedback and confidence to realize that I want to write more. That I need to write.

2008 saw four trips home to Kansas City, including a visit in August to surprise my dad for his birthday. I also crossed the Canadian border for the first time, thanks to a verrrry long bus ride. But I had an adverse reaction to vicodin that a doctor had prescribed for back pain and spent the first day in bed and the rest of the trip completely wacked out. Needless to say, I didn’t take any more pills and stopped seeing that doctor.

I went on my first real vacation as an adult — taking off an entire week of work to visit Seattle and Portland and attend a mixed media class at Art + Soul. I was scared out of my mind and had no clue what I was doing, but I left with a handbound book, painted pages and a love for the song Two Points by Deb Talan.

I fell in love with the Pacific Northwest and realized that I feel more balanced when I’m surrounded by nature and mountains instead of skyscrapers and crowds. I need nice people, a calmer, more affordable city and a creative community…Portland, Ore., come on down!

In June, I unintentionally ran a 5K race with my coworkers (despite my protests, because we’d agreed to walk and I honestly hadn’t run since 1996). But it was raining, my coworkers wanted to get the race over with and I didn’t want to be left alone walking with the president of our company, so I joined them.

Realizing that 1) running wasn’t the horrible activity I made it out to be and 2) that I could actually do it without collapsing, I had an eye-opening experience of rethinking my boundaries and the excuses I’d long held on to — that my feet couldn’t handle the impact of running because of surgery on my right foot in 1997. That big boobs were a disaster for such a physical sport. That I was too out of shape to go anywhere for any significant amount of time. That I’d look like a flailing freak show who didn’t know what she was doing if I attempted to run.

All those excuses melted away as I ran in the rain (in hiking shoes, without having stretched beforehand). My coworkers were incredibly encouraging, and I would still be scared of running if it weren’t for them.

That experience led me to sign up for a fall running class and complete my first intentional race in December. The running class also sparked an interest in watching the 2008 ING NYC Marathon. I was in awe of the runners’ determination, persistence and dedication. I knew then that running a marathon was a challenge I wanted to work toward. At any point before my running class, I would’ve thought myself insane. But something in me changed and with that came the sense of possibility. On one of the numerous running blogs I’ve scanned, I saw the quote, “If you can run a mile, you can run a marathon.” And while there is quite a leap from one mile to 26.2, I can now see the steps runners take to get there. The steps that I will take to get there. The process for guaranteed acceptance involves running nine races this year and volunteering for another, and then I will be able run the 2010 race (no way I could leave it to the luck of the lottery when so much effort is at stake). After that, it’s just a matter of training and staying healthy — something I’m already proactive about thanks to my diagonally dancing knee caps.

My next move will be likely be Portland, and the NYC marathon’s course — which goes through all five boroughs of the city — seems like the best farewell I can think of.

I took two continuing education classes through a design school, from which I learned that I could never run my own letterpress design studio and the suicide X-Acto blade is not #11. I also learned that oil can remove ink in place of soap, and that there’s no need to harshly criticize students and their work in order for them to learn.

For the first time, I purchased a Mac computer, renewed my lease and was excited about the possibility of the presidential election.

I finally became goal-oriented and excited to think about the future instead of scared about making a choice and wondering if it’d lead me the right way. I’m still not quite sure what all I’ll pack into 2009, but designing this website by myself, attending BlogHer in Chicago and going to Squam Art Workshops in New Hampshire are on the top of the list.

Stay tuned.

Hello hello 2009.

The WordPress update went well. But if you come across anything weird, please let me know so I can fix it.

I joined twitter today. I don’t really know what I’m doing yet (or understand the whole “@” symbol usage), but you can follow me as I figure it all out.

I also joined del.icio.us a few weeks ago and have been bookmarkin’ like crazy. If you want to take a peek at the running clothes on my wish list (moisture-wicking fabric is my new obsession), the food I want to make (but probably will never get around to) or the designs I admire, check out my links.

I’m actively using flickr now. Finally. I was a Flickr fav-ing machine over the weekend. I had no idea how much inspiration was out there. Now I’m wondering how long it’ll take before I break down and buy the pro account with unlimited uploads. I’m attempting a hybrid 365 photo a day/self-portrait challenge and hope that I’ll start taking photos regularly enough to warrant splurging on a digital SLR (Dear IRS, please give me another refund check this year. Kthx).

I’m always interested in seeing what other people are looking at and up to, so if any of you belong to these sites, I’d love to expand my network.

My wireless internet at home is down though. Major bummer. I’m not sure what happened. One afternoon I was interneting away. Then I checked my e-mail after dinner and couldn’t get anything. I did not know what to do with myself. I couldn’t read because I was at the point in The Artist’s Way when you deprive yourself from words for a week. Of course my internet outage had to happen at the same time. It was torture.

To keep myself busy while avoiding words, I organized my underwear drawer. You read that correctly. That is how desperate I was. I really didn’t know what else to do.

A college roommate and I somehow got into a game of counting our underwear during senior year. Sometimes we’d just blurt the number out in conversation, much to the initial confusion of the other person and anyone else in ear shot. We also held recounts as needed and were constantly surprised by the numbers. There was no point to it; we just thought it was funny.

There really wasn’t any point to organizing my underwear drawer. And I found no humor in it, but I was bored out of my mind with no promising alternatives.

I took out the crumbled contents and neatly started folding them on my bed. I considered how I wanted to categorize them. By color? Style? Fabric content? How much I liked them? How often I’ve worn them? How long I’ve owned them? Does anyone else have criteria to organizing their underwear?

I decided to arrange them by how much I liked them + how often I wore them. Weeks later, they’re still nicely folded in piles and the embarrassment of the act has marginally faded.

Then I realized that I could bide my time watching DVDs (um, duh) and pulled out season seven of The West Wing, which I never actually saw in its entirety because I was studying in Italy for part of it. I almost peed my pants in the excitement of seeing “new” episodes. I’ve continued my binge with season three and ordered season five with Christmas money. Josh Lyman, you’re not going anywhere.

My internet now manifests itself in the form of a very, very long cord that crosses through the entire living room into my bedroom. Sometimes I attempt to close my door five times before I get the cord in the right place to allow the door to shut. I nearly trip over it right after I wake up in the morning. I will not complain too much (because I don’t want to resort to organizing my underwear again and my new DVDs won’t arrive until Wednesday) but I’m holding out that the new modem my dad’s mailing me will get my wireless back up.

Let’s hope the rest of the year isn’t so technologically challenged.