Christina Garner's Blog, page 2
May 4, 2016
On Grieving Prince
My grief over Prince is surprising me. Not that I’m grieving, but the depth and breadth of it.
I’m listening to his music non-stop, reveling more in his lesser-known work than I’d have thought possible. I’m gobbling up anecdotes and stories as a lifeline to a man I never met, but now more than ever wish I had.
Rock stars carry a heavy load: the collective dreams, most of them unexpressed, of all of humanity. When one dies, especially one as genius, talented, and prolific as Prince, we begin to question not only our own mortality but but our impact and legacy. Are we living life to the fullest? Are we expressing our gifts? We see an example of someone who most certainly was and begin to question our life choices.
And then there’s just the pain of it. The abject, raw pain of losing such a talent. And our personal pain—the knowledge that whether we never got around to seeing him in concert or saw him a hundred times, the opportunity of just one more is lost forever.
And we hope he knew. How loved, how talented, how appreciated and needed he was and will continue to be. Because what all of us want in our deepest souls is to be seen. To be understood. And that’s why we project so much of ourselves onto musicians. Because they sing our pain and our dreams and our love. They hold it and express it in a way that few others can.
Life is this fragile, resilient, unknowable mystery. No one embodied that more than Prince, with his small frame and large presence. His need to be seen and yet hide.
Words fail me but it’s just as well. There’s nothing I could say that Prince didn’t say himself, and better. I don’t know if I believe in an afterlife, but Prince did. And if ever there were anyone who could will something into existence—someone who, if the rumors are true, would never accept “no” or “impossible” for an answer—it would be him. So I trust that right now he is in a world of never ending happiness where he can always see the sun, day or night.
Thank you, Prince, for giving your life to us so that we might know ourselves a little better, and for keeping so much of it for yourself, so that there was always more to give.
March 8, 2015
What a Bouquet of Flowers Taught me About Feeling Worthy
I’ve had a rough go of it lately.
It’s one of those parts in the journey when just as I’m approaching light at the end of the tunnel, the tunnel caves in and the train blows up, and I’m left knocked on my ass for a few days until I decide I’d better start moving rocks and catching another train.
I’ve been lather, rinse, repeating that scenario for a few months. You’ve been there, right?
One thing this ordeal has taught me is who I can count on. As in, who will show up for no other purpose than to witness me in pain and offer comfort, and who will drop me off on the sidewalk across from my apartment after I’ve undergone hours of surgery, leaving me woozy and navigating the stairs on my own.
I had a good idea of how I expected those closest to me to behave. I was then faced with the stark contrast between what I wanted and what was – which is pretty much the cause of all suffering when you get down to it.
I want A, I get B, I become a real C.
Before I go any further, let me just say that I find the philosophy of “having no expectations” to be both unhelpful and unrealistic. In some contexts I see the wisdom, but in close friendships don’t expect me to not have expectations. Healthy relationships are reciprocal, and if I do what I say I’m going to, I expect my close friends to do the same. Which is why these past few months have been eye-opening friendship wise, and I’ve definitely made some changes in my inner circle.
What does any of this have to do with a bouquet of flowers and feeling worthy?
This past week, as I was breathing a sigh of “things are beginning to suck less,” I got screwed. Literally. As my oral surgeon was removing one of my temporary crowns, he accidentally unscrewed the whole dental implant which was painful, terrifying, and means that I have to start over with two more surgeries.
I texted a friend in San Francisco – let’s call her Lindsey because that’s her name – and she had the very appropriate reaction of “Oh no!!!” and preceded to let me vent my pain, fear, and frustration for a bit.
She then took her support a step farther, and a few hours later I was surprised by the delivery of a beautiful bouquet of flowers. I was so touched and grateful.
For about two hours.
And then I felt…shame. And complete unworthiness of such beautiful flowers and the money they must have cost.
I was floored by my reaction.
This was exactly the kind of care and attention I’d been longing for, and yet here it was and I felt awkward and squirmy about it.
It reminded me of an incident a month ago when another friend dedicated the better part of a Sunday to taking care of me. I had such guilt over all of the things she might be missing out on.
Those flowers brought me to an edge – a belief – I didn’t know I had.
It’s become very clear why I’ve attracted a disproportionate amount of people who seem to care less for me than I do for them. It’s because it’s more comfortable for me that way.
Being cared for is a more vulnerable thing than I ever realized. I’d always thought that caring for someone was the more vulnerable position, and over and over I’ve lived the painful unrequited scenario with both lovers and friends, not knowing I did so because it left me feeling safer and more protected than being loved does.
I’m used to doing what Brené Brown calls, “hustling for my worthiness,” but then Lindsey – who has definitely experienced my flaws – sent me flowers. And right up until that moment I didn’t know just how unworthy of them – and her love – I felt.
Now when I look at them they symbolize not just a friend caring about me, but me being open to being cared about, which is both exquisite and terrifying.
The bouquet is still beautiful, but the lesson, more so.
August 27, 2014
Ready for Tether?
I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to write it. One of my mentors, Hiro Boga, told me that I had to become the person who could finish The Gateway Trilogy, and I finally have.
Which is why Tether is now available for pre-order on Amazon!
The official release date is September 23, but order now and Tether will be automatically delivered to your Kindle (or Kindle app) the second it becomes available. As a special bonus, I’ll give you a virtual hug 
Don’t forget, you can get the first 6 chapters of Tether, just by signing up for my mailing list! (Which also means you’ll get the inside scoop on sales and exclusive content.)
As always, thank you for your patience and support.
August 11, 2014
Rest in Peace, Robin Williams
Robin Williams committed suicide, and it’s heartbreaking. Not because he was funny, or a celebrity, or a talented actor. Because he was a person, and he was suffering. Suffering so much that no amount of wealth, fame, or love from his family could coax him out of the darkness. I know what place well, and while I don’t condone his choice—I hate his choice—I do understand it.
I have lived inside a mind that contemplated suicide since I was a young child. I don’t anymore, or at least I haven’t recently, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still suffer from depression. Sometimes it’s low-grade, other times it’s debilitating. There’s a reason the main character in my novels wakes up in a mental hospital.
They say that the majority of suicides don’t happen from within the deepest depths of depression, and I believe it. In that deep trough, it’s hard enough to brush your teeth, let alone kill yourself. And once you’ve hit that point, you truly don’t want anything—not even death. No, the real torture is on the way down, and on the way back up. On the way down, because you know what’s waiting for you. And on the way back up, because you know it’s only a matter of time before it comes back.
If you’ve never suffered a prolonged bout of severe depression, what I’ve just said sounds macabre, negative, and depressing. But if you’ve been there, you know. And knowing is its own kind of freedom.
I hope to never been so depressed again that I contemplate killing myself. And I hope if I do, I make a different choice than Mr. Williams did. But however long I’m alive, I’ll keep talking about depression: its causes, its meanings, its healing. Because silence stems from shame, and there is nothing to be ashamed about when it comes to mental illness.
RIP Mr. Williams. Thank you for all of the belly laughs. I hope you’ve found peace.
Ready for Tether??
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July 31, 2014
An Evening with the Queen
Last night, I and about fifteen other amazing women, gathered to share our experiences working with The Desire Map: A Guide to Creating Goals with Soul
The Desire Map. It was my honor to lead one of the hundreds of book clubs that took place around the world.
As a surprise–though one I expected thanks to a post on her social media–Danielle LaPorte, the Queen of Desire herself, was there.
The first thing I noticed was her radiance. The second thing I noticed was my own jealousy. It’s not a feeling I experience very often. Unlike envy, which allows me to still feel happy for the other person and often inspires me, jealousy feels icky and comes with a slimy coating of shame for feeling it.
She couldn’t have been more lovely. She embraced everyone, thanking them for being there. Except me. I knew it wasn’t a conscious choice on her part, but I also knew I had some funky energy going on. I always thought that if I ever met Danielle in person, we’d hit it off, so I was carrying that weight of expectation into this circle of amazing women. No wonder she slid right by me! When she’d finished making the rounds, I stuck out my hand to introduce myself because I didn’t want to be left with that “left out” feeling. Instead of shaking my hand, she gathered me in a hug.
We sat in a circle and talked about our Core Desired Feelings and life in general. My attention was bifurcated; I was focused not only on the group, but on my own reactions.
Was I talking too much? The thought brought on more shame, because I hate it when there’s that one person who dominates a group, especially because Danielle was there, and she’s the one whose work we came to honor. But I wanted her to know what an impact her work has had on me, and there was the whole bit about how we were supposed to hit it off.
As the evening went on, I settled into myself and could experience the privilege of sitting in a circle with such amazing women. It’s both nourishing and healing to be in sacred communion with powerful women sharing stories. I found myself longing for more of it.
The circle came to a close, and some of us stayed to chat. Once again, my desire to connect personally with Danielle came up. (I’m deep! I’m fun! I’m vegan! If she knew me she’d like me!) I found myself resentful of that desire, because the more it was running the show, the more needy, awkward, and not my true self I felt. I was relying on my personality to show up because I couldn’t.
I left the experience having no idea how Danielle LaPorte feels about me. (Which assumes she even formed an opinion.) But I know how I felt about me.
My jealousy stems from her success, but more to the point, how she’s successful. She is unabashedly who she is. Meanwhile, I still struggle with the advice I keep getting about not alienating my fiction readers by posting anything controversial. (Side note: I’m getting over it.)
The jealousy is the false idea that I want more of what she has.
The reality is that I want to be more of who I am. And there’s no shame in that.
June 21, 2014
What an Inchworm Can Teach You About Life
Lately, inchworms are have been showing up in my world: in my garden and in images on social media. Never one to turn down a chance to look for deeper meaning, I’ve decided to look at the humble inchworm.
It’s slow-moving, there’s no doubt. And yet, if the desolation of my plants is any indication, it can certainly get a lot done.
That’s how I’ve felt with getting Tether (Book 3 in the #GatewayTrilogy) done. It’s been slow going–slower than the previous two books–and that has been frustrating for both me and my amazing readers who are wondering what happens to Ember.
But I keep moving forward, inch by inch, and Tether IS getting done.
If there’s a project you’ve been having a hard time with, stay the course, even if you’re only moving inch by inch.
Image via Lennart Tange
January 30, 2014
3 Life Lessons I Learned from Writer’s Block
Last night, I was browsing through reference books about writing, looking for something that might help me through a particular plot problem I’ve been dealing with. While the two books I was looking through were helpful, I had a nagging feeling that I needed to go look at another book on my shelf. At first, I ignored the thought, but it was persistent, so I got up off my comfy sofa and retrieved the book.
It actually has a section on outlining when a draft isn’t working, which I figured would be useful, and worth the effort it took to move off of said comfy sofa. As it turns out, there was even more this book had to offer. Tucked in the pages, were three sheets of notebook paper, the first of which had the heading, “The Gateway Series” and was dated May 30, 2011.
For those keeping track, that’s just two weeks after I published Gateway, Book 1 in the series. The three pages contained my thoughts on what needed to happen during the series in order to tell the story and convey the theme I had in mind. While some of the events I had planned out have changed, written in one line, was the exact answer I needed in order to finish this draft. And it was an answer I’d had almost three years ago and forgot.
My lesson in this is threefold: 1.) Trust your instincts. If I hadn’t listened to the voice telling me to pick up that book, I’d still be having plot problems. 2.) Trust that an answer exists. When I sat down to read, I had a very receptive mindset. I’d let go of (most of) my worry, and was willing to just relax, get aligned with the story–and my role as the writer of it–and keep plugging away. 3.) You might already know the answer and just need to remember/rediscover it.
I don’t think this is limited to writing, but extends to life in general. When I get more aligned with the solution than the problem, the answer always comes more quickly, and often effortlessly. Which, by the way, I already knew. I just forget sometimes
November 17, 2013
Why I Write
I write for the underdogs, the misfits, the I-don’t-fit-ins. I write because when I was younger, I felt alienated and alone, and one of the few ways I felt like I belonged was when I was immersed in a good book, or transported by a movie or TV show. I write in the hope that I can give my readers that same experience.
I write for you.
image via Widerberg
November 12, 2013
It’s here!
Thanks to the talented design team at raven + crow studio, I can now share with you the Gateway symbol!
This is the symbol that is tattooed on Ember’s shoulder, as well as keeps the Gateway closed. (And the world safe from demons!)
I hope you love it as much as I do. We designed it both horizontally and vertically because I can’t decide which way Ember’s tattoo should be.
What do you think?
