Jen Knox's Blog, page 17
October 31, 2023
On shadows & the dead
“The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.”
—Michelangelo
Happy Halloween! Blessed Samhain! Wishing you a celebratory Day of the Dead.
Yes, I’m a fan of these holidays and even more a fan of the human drive to celebrate the dark months by reflecting on those who have passed while eating lots of sugar.
For Halloween last year, I wanted to be Blanche from The Golden Girls (I tried)*, but my costume contained the wrong wig, so I was a Blanche/Dorothy hybrid. This year, we’ll see . . . And while I’d like to claim I dress up for my nephew, I do it for fun.
Photo by Stefano Pollio These holidays and the general time of year bring with them celebration, and if you’re me, a bit of goofiness, but they also invite us to slow down and pay attention to the shift of season and mood.
In the Northern Hemisphere, there is no more birdsong or crickets to be heard; there is darkness earlier, and the air begins to bite. With this, we have more time with our thoughts. We can bundle in the quiet and reflect. Many people begin to assess their own lives while thinking about those who came before them.
How has the year gone? Where have we succeeded or failed? Where are we shining and where is the shadow? Ah, the shadow. What a delicious topic.
Carl Jung came up with the concept of the shadow self, which is all that we like to hide or run from that exists within us. It is often associated with unsavory emotions such as greed, envy, fear, or shame. The very concept can be uncomfortable to some people. Others might think they’ve reconciled their shadow—done, thanks (see: lacking a bit of self-awareness). But I tend to think the shadow self is here for life.
Part of the human condition is having a variety of emotions—the positive, the neutral, and the undeniably maladaptive. Facing what hurts and what doesn’t make sense will always be difficult.
The shadow material itself might change form but there will always be thoughts and emotions that are less than ideal, and within them just might be a storehouse of creative energy.
In art, shadow is how an object appears to be 3D. Shadows can be used to express emotion and contrast; without contrast, there is no story or dimension. In writing, you might say the same is true. Without shadow, where is the story? The premise to explore in an essay? The question that drives poetry?
“To light a candle is to cast a shadow.” —Ursula K. Le Guin
Prompt: Think about the thing or person who most triggers you, who brings out your less-than-ideal self. The defensive, the petty, the angry. Write about that thing/person for a minimum of ten minutes. Then write about that same thing or person from its or their point of view. Go for ten minutes. See what happens.
*I’ll post a meditation I made for Aura, Embracing Shadow, for paid subscribers soon. In the meantime, my Dorothy/Blanche failure is partly captured below.
My shadow side might have peeked out when I opened that wig — ah, to have expectations destroyed. I ate some Reese’s and got over it though.
Dorothy/Blanche Fail ‘22 (not actively in character)Here we are is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
October 26, 2023
On writing community
The drive home from Youngstown Lit on Sunday started with a full tank of gas and not enough caffeine.
I listened to The Hard Crowd by Rachel Kushner for the second time during the first hour, namely my favorite essay, “Girl on a Motorcycle,” and tried to fight the urge to take photos of the vivid fall oak trees that lined I-76.
Photo by Neenu Vimalkumar When the hour was appropriate, I called my mother. Last Monday, I took her in for cataract surgery, so I asked how she was. She was enthusiastic, explaining that as her eye healed, it was the colors that were the greatest gift—the brilliance and clarity of them changed the way she could see the world. And just in time for a Midwestern fall.
She’s getting her second eye done in a week, so her newly vivid world is only half-revealed.
Because I was heading back from a conference, she might’ve regretted asking me about myself. I prattled on about my time in Youngstown, where I taught a workshop, led a Q&A with the brilliant Alison Stine () and Jill Christman, and read from We Arrive Uninvited (which ultimately sold out - yay!!!) alongside brilliant writers Kim Chinquee and Sarah Freligh. The only snafu was that my author copies of The Glass City arrived too late to have more than two on hand (but I did give away some trees🌳).
Mom indulged my updates. But when I told her how nice it was to be around like-minded writers, I couldn’t quite explain what it awakened. I’d had a similar experience at ThurberCon the weekend prior, where I met with Columbus-based writers and readers in one of my favorite places in the city, Thurber House. Both experiences were like going home. I hope to offer some semblance of this feeling one day with .
Mom told me that a group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope. A kaleidoscope, with its brilliant color and ability to transform perspective, is the perfect metaphor for both the writing life and the feeling when one gathers with others who see the world for its gradients. It’s a way to think of the way we can regain sight.
Not all writing-focused gatherings have the feel that these two Ohio events have. Some feel corporate, cold, and money-grabbing (even if they’re paying you to be there, it feels gross). But these two conferences reminded me of the beauty of community, and precisely the beauty of a community of artists. I was thrilled to find new readers and new voices to read. I was thrilled to write and talk about creativity.
But more than all that, I remembered that there is something that nourishes and sustains artists when we read each other’s works and congregate to share knowledge and resources in a way that is generous and open, that allows all color and nuance and brilliance. A gathering of such writers is, to me, a kaleidoscope.
I am refreshed and reawakened to new possibilities. These experiences remind me of what’s possible when we listen and connect and feed each other without wanting.
Now to bring this energy forward . . .
Prompt: Write a piece that hinges around the word or image of a kaleidoscope.(PSSST - I added a morning meditation with affirmations for paid subscribers.)
October 25, 2023
October 19, 2023
On flow & peak experiences
This is my final exploration into the elements and creativity.
I started with fire because fire is what I know best. I’m concluding with water because the flow is, quite honestly, not where I often find myself. I like to make things happen (or pretend I can).
All the more reason to explore . . .
“I've gone seventy-nine hours without sleep, creating. When that flow is going, it's almost like a high. You don't want it to stop. You don't want to go to sleep for fear of missing something.” —Dr. Dre
I like to think I am about discernment and steadiness over peak experiences and “losing one’s self to find one’s self.” I like to think I’m in control. The truth is that none of us are, but letting go of that thought is not easy.
How do we release into the flow of life? How to release into the flow of writing or art? Should you? I mean, sleep is good, too, Dre.
Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, who coined the phrase “flow state” (and wrote the book Flow) suggests that the best way to get there is to, as you might hear in a yoga class, find your edge. Flow, it seems, is best achieved when you go a little beyond what’s comfortable.
Duly noted.
Comfort is coveted. Silence and ideal situations and residencies are always nice, yes, but it seems that flow is a phenomenon that will completely overpower what was previously considered a constraint. When flow arrives, like Dr. Dre, an artist gets lost in the act. We get high.
I recently heard an interview with Jane Hirshfield in which she says (and I paraphrase) that writing poetry is an action. “Poet,” is not an identity we can carry because we are only poets while writing poetry.
I listened to this again because Hirshfield speaks a truth easily forgotten and rarely spoken about. People tell you to wear your labels proudly. The more, the better. Don’t be ashamed to call yourself a writer. It’s who you are. Own it.
But it’s not. You can’t own it.
“Writer” is not an identity to lean into. We are only writers when we are writing. We are only creators when in the act. Writing is what we do, not who we are. The same goes for being a consultant, an actor or a teacher. You are only these things in action.
Sure, we can live a writer’s lifestyle, whatever that means, but Hirshfield’s message is important. The very act of writing a poem, a blog post, an essay, or fiction is the means and the end. The rest is all posturing and pretense.
More specifically, flow isn’t about peak experiences but simply feeding the activity we love and doing so in ways that stretch and indulge curiosity.
When we think about it like this, perhaps the “flow state” is just a matter of action—whether we feel like it or not.
Less about letting go, flow is simply an invitation to stop pretending we have to be or show up or do things a certain way.
It’s simply an invitation to do what we love and see what happens.
Creativity prompt: Create something that pushes your edge. Write an extra sentence, write when you don’t want to, write something you’ll throw away. Write in a different genre. Take your pick. I can’t guarantee flow, but I can guarantee that while you’re writing . . . my friend, you’ll be a writer.
I will have been part of two literary conferences by next week, and I plan to explore that when we reconvene. I’ll also post a link to an interview about WAU that I did before my PR training (LOL).PS - I updated this meditation. The sound was wonky. It’s for folks who might be struggling with the heaviness going on as well as those who just need a pause.xo
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October 13, 2023
Stillness & Safety Meditation
Give yourself these twelve (9) minutes to listen to the wisdom of stillness. This practice includes a body scan and guided visualizations.
Here we areAll things writing, meditation, philosophy and leadershipBy Jen Knox
Thank you for visiting Here we are. This post is public so feel free to share it.
Stillness Meditation
Give yourself these twelve (12) minutes to listen to the wisdom of stillness. This practice includes a body scan and guided visualizations.
Thank you for visiting Here we are. This post is public so feel free to share it.
On grounding & humbling
I adore my husband. I love him endlessly and entirely—from how he cries at the end of movies to his brilliance to his ability to catch wasps that find their way into our home. I love his moodiness and artistic ego. I love his laugh. I love his genuine generosity. I love that he has a clear moral compass.
younger us, San AntonioFor twenty years (almost half of which we’ve been married now), I’ve adored him more with each passing day. But this wasn’t always the case.
not-so-young us, OhioWhen we first met, I wasn’t in the mood.
Not for relationships, not for men, and definitely not for love. I found his laugh annoying and his intelligence all the more so (Who does he think he is to beat me in Trivial Pursuit? I don’t care about his encyclopedic memory—show off!).
I was pretty sure romance was for suckers and love was a lie. I was healing from the horrible relationship (that I explored in the essay linked below).*
Moreover, even if I hadn’t sworn off relationships, I had a type, and Chris wasn’t it. I truly believed that I knew what would make me happy, and at the time that meant getting a black belt in Aikido and crushing the patriarchy. More than that, it meant being the tough and mysterious loner.
So I was wrong about what might bring me joy, but why does this matter now? And what does it have to do with grounding and creativity?
There’s a little glimpse of wisdom here that I’ve only recently unpacked. It’s a wisdom reflected in the philosophy of John Stuart Mill as well as Kant (in a more cynical way).
What we think we want and what we believe will make us happy should not be an aim of life. Happiness is not something to strive toward, it’s either here or not; our delusion that it’s something ahead of us (or something that comes after death) can only hurt us and those we interact with.
“Happiness is such an indeterminate concept that although every human being wishes to attain it, he can never say … what he really wishes and wills.” —Immanuel Kant
Meanwhile, we might be underestimating that guy/thing/annoyance right there beneath our noses. Could there be beauty right here, right now?
Easier to theorize than to identify, I realize. But if we look at what is happening with honesty and not expectation, that might be enough. We might find more than we can imagine.
This awareness is like gravity, bringing us down to earth. Dreams can sometimes make us lose our footing.
I have learned to seek my happiness by limiting my desires, rather than attempting to satisfy them. —John Stuart Mill
I believe this to be true for all pursuits—creative, romantic, and otherwise. We think we want XYZ (publication in the The New Yorker [an old-school goal by this time], or we want to be left alone or find love, to reach some career goal or salary, to afford a vacation) and, in reality, our perfect reality is what we have right now.
There’s something here that is nourishing us. And until we learn to recognize that, we won’t enjoy the publication/relationship/trip to Cancun.
I’ll keep today’s post short, but I wanted to offer a prompt around this idea of grounding and feeding what is.
really, really young us, OhioSo, again, have you ever found unexpected joy that was right in front of you the whole time? Alternately, or to deepen this same prompt…Where have you strived and scrambled to achieve, only to find disappointment with a seemingly positive result? *The essay mentioned above is “Steady” at Winning Writers (grateful for the Honorable Mention in the Tom Howard Prize today). It’s an examination of a not-so-great relationship that I thought I wanted and the unexpected strength that had been there the whole time.
I’ll post a short practice on stillness and steadiness (without the email notice) soon.
October 6, 2023
On air & unpredictability
How did you end up where you are right now?
Photo by Sander Weeteling If yours was a direct path, predictable and steady, I’d love to know. Most people I speak with are baffled by how they end up where they do.
I don't even know how or why I am sitting here at my computer writing to you and hoping, honestly, that we can connect deeply enough that you will somehow feel heard and seen through my personal musings.
I don’t know how I ended up teaching writing and leadership. I don’t know why I started sharing mindfulness practices or combining them with creative output, and I really don’t know why I’m still alive and healthy when so many people from my past are not.
When I think about the unlikelihood of it all, I am all the more terrified and thrilled to see where I'm headed.
When I was the average age of many of my students, I had a general education equivalent (GED) after having dropped out of high school. I did not know basic grammar. I was working one of many jobs that paid me minimum wage and taking one class a quarter at a community college.
I had no clue where I would end up. I couldn’t picture it, no matter how creative I might have been. I didn’t know how to verbally communicate, even when necessary.
All I could see was the day ahead. The grind. The work. The questions about which path might lead me anywhere else.
One could say I let the wind carry me. And it did. It nudged me toward amazing instructors (shoutout to Dr. Look and Dr. Lakanen). It redirected my gaze from longing to practicality and back again. It gave me just enough fear to take better care of my body. And I trusted it.
If you had walked up to me, a stranger, and given me a ticket to anywhere when I was in my early twenties, I’d have been on the first thing smoking to whatever mysterious lands it promised. All I wanted was that ticket. Permission. Resources. And just as it seemed the world had beaten me down in years prior, the winds shifted.
I wanted to talk about the elements and creativity some more when I sat down to write this blog. I wanted to talk about the value of sitting with thought and watching it swirl, of allowing any fragmentation so as to find a more dynamic puzzle.
But instead, here we are. I suppose I let the wind take this post. It whispers what often seems random but adds up collectively, like fractals, to create patterns more beautiful than we can imagine.
Even those of us who pride ourselves on being creatives.
Sometimes we just need to keep turning corners before we can find the right door. Whether we trust it or not, the wind is almost always at our backs.
Wishing you a little ease of thought and energy as you create this week. I’ll post again after ThurberCon, so it will be a little over a week. If you’d like to join, it’s a hybrid event and quite dynamic. I’ll be hosting events on publishing, submitting work to journals, and AI.
Finally, I wanted to share a breath practice in honor of air (my yoga teacher used to say this one gets you high on your own supply). It’s one I love before events. (Originally recorded for Insight.)
September 29, 2023
On fire & creative energy
I often suggest to coaching clients that they come up with a writing ritual.
This could be making a warm mug of tea, lighting a candle, or engaging in a short meditation practice before sitting down to write. It helps to set the stage for creative activity, especially for those of us with hectic lives or a lot of distractions.
All that to say, I never attached much symbolism to the candle I ritually light before my own writing practice beyond the idea of it being this transition or reorientation around my cherished work. Recently, I started to consider why I light a candle instead of something else, and why I generally remember to light it before drafting, rarely when revising.
This sent me down a rabbit hole . . .
Our human ability to control fire offers us the promise of light, warmth, and security on demand. We are able to survive due to our ability to understand the patterns of fire and manipulate it. We learned how to scour land in the aftermath of wildfires and how to make heat in the depths of cold nights.
In short, fire sustains. It is also the perfect metaphor for creative pursuits, which is reflected in global mythology.
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Brigid, the Celtic goddess of the flame, illuminates creative pursuits while also representing the warrior and art of Smithcraft. Agni, a Sanskrit word for fire, is also the name of the Hindu god of fire who brings life and prosperity. Ra, the Egyptian god of fire, is said to have so much command over fire that he can become the sun itself. The symbolism across cultures is similar.
Ohio caught a few hazy days from the Canadian wildfires that raged over the summer. Two days in particular, I remember grabbing my mask due to the poor air quality alerts, and it made me think about the other side of fire—the wild and unrestrained nature of the element.
To think about our own lives and the fiery moments, we often think of those times that carry great emotion or in which stakes were high and outcomes were unpredictable. Fire can be used as a metaphor for motivation, but it can also become an obsession. What was once contained and safe can sometimes catch and turn into all-out chaos.
And what a joy when this happens creatively.
A candle is a contained flame, largely innocuous to indulging its inherent wild ways, and in this sense, it is only a start. As I create, I try to let go, allow the natural spread and expansion, the fast-moving and unpredictable reach. It doesn’t always go well, but it always grows.
I’m writing essays about my personal life right now, which is particularly challenging. This is an important body of work (to me) and one that can’t be replicated. The emotional resonance feels like a fire, and I’m in that unrestrained place where I feel totally out of control.
While I’d like to think I could imagine myself balancing with a clear water-like flow, the fire is where I’m at. Perhaps if we think of the elements as stages of the creative process, it can offer some consolation.
I’m generating (fire), but I do look forward to that time of transition when I can return to the coolness and flow of revision, of tinkering with words and moving sentences like pebbles to clear a path toward meaning.
Photo by Osman Rana I might write more about flow next week. In the meantime . . . What would it be if you were to assign an element to your current creative state? The groundedness of earth, the flow of water, the (sometimes wild) momentum of fire, or the airiness of thought?
Creative question:
Heartfelt gratitude
September 24, 2023
On the unquantifiable
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
—Mary Oliver
The Equinox is a time of balance, and in honor of that, I’d like to talk about relationships. Specifically, this post is about loneliness and what I believe to be the unquantifiable but wholly balanced existence.
Let’s begin with our feet on the ground.
In the US, and perhaps much of the world, there’s a lot of pressure to hit “numbers” or find fulfillment in false praise. Many things we buy carry this promise and the promise of safety that seems entwined with being surrounded by those who adore us.
Here are a few extreme examples that have stuck with me:
Personal case study: A good friend with a large family once told me that her mother judged a person’s life by the number of people who attended their funeral. Years later, I saw a news story about a man who put out a paid advertisement for folks to come to his wife’s funeral because the couple had no family and a small group of friends.
Observation: Some writers (many writers) I know obsess over social media followings and the following of those they follow but at what cost to their writing?
Data: People living in the U.S. have fewer close friends than they once did but more social media presence, which comes with the appearance of a larger network. Meanwhile, according to a huge study that compared mental health before and after social media, “Facebook led to an increase in severe depression by 7% and anxiety disorder by 20%” in college students. I’m guessing this can be true for us older folks, too.
When I read or hear or observe such things, I can’t help but think: What if we measured our lives, creative output, and relationships by the way we connected with and related to others, rather than trying to hit a number or go for optics/worry about how we compare?
What if our art helped a few people to see the world differently but never hit a bestseller list or was hung on a museum wall? What if we listened deeply to someone who needed an available ear?
Photo by George Pagan III Heartfelt gratitude for your support.
To have a small network of close friends and family, or even a small network in business, is something that we often feel pressure to change. It’s bad for our health and bad for business if we can’t cast our nets wide. Accordingly, we often think we need to double down on the number of people we connect to. But I want to argue that in our hyperconnected world, the urge to quantify makes us simultaneously less alone and lonelier.
To be physically alone or to have fewer family members or friends is not true loneliness, and to be surrounded by people who know you peripherally (or, let’s be honest, are even related to you but you don’t relate to) is never more valuable than a single meaningful relationship.
A person can be just as lonely when surrounded by masses of people or with a full calendar. And to be lonely, thanks to the messaging around it, can often be accompanied by guilt or worry that there is something wrong.
There is nothing wrong. In fact, those with more depth than breadth are often more fulfilled. I believe this is true when it comes to artistic reach as well.
"Not many years ago, it was access to information and movement that seemed our greatest luxury; nowadays it’s often freedom from information, the chance to sit still, that feels like the ultimate prize." - Pico Iyer
I always set intentions this time of year, and one of my aims in the last few months is to better understand how to be alone because I believe the moments of solitude we have can be pathways to something divine (something within).
Maybe it’s something of a writer/artist thing to value alone time, but it can’t be entirely that. The pressure attached to belonging to clearly identifiable groups is toxic. The pressure in the writing world to “be seen” can be toxic also. There is so much competition that sometimes it can be difficult to know if other writers are friends or if they just want what you have.
I adore teaching and speaking. I adore crowds; meanwhile, friendships and close relationships, even with family and mentees, are more about deep and meaningful connections. The check-ins, not the comparisons. The support, not the false praise. The forgiveness, the humanness. The outreach. Did I mention the forgiveness?
It is sometimes only within our moments of solitude that we find ourselves able to better appreciate those relationships we value. These moments help us to mine the value of life in new ways.
And for some of us, knowing we had one person to love fully might be more valuable than hoards showing up at our funeral. Those relationships that we can support without the need for reciprocation are not quantifiable, and that’s what I seek.
The unquantifiable.
The moments that swell.
The art and writing that pierces through the numbers and to the heart.
The depth in work and relationship and life.
To me, this is balance. This is integration. The unquantifiable is the beauty of life.
Wishing you depth of art, relationships, and experiences. If you’re free on Monday, join me here. It’s free.
xo
