Teresa R. Funke's Blog: Bursts of Brilliance for a Creative Life, page 10

Do Less and Give More

On his podcast, Your Own Best Company, my friend Franklin Taggart invited us to reframe this busy season as a time of abundance. To remember that all this chaos is really proof of a bountiful harvest. That our focus on friendships, jobs, and families has paid off, and we are surrounded by people and things we love, and who love us back. I needed to hear that. This is the only time of year I’m forced to turn to spreadsheets and to-do lists just to keep up on everything I need to get done, and sometimes I get a bit grumpy about that.

But this week marked our statewide giving day, one of my favorite days of the year. There are several nonprofits and charities I support time and again, and always one or two new ones I’ve discovered. I’ve donated to causes I care about ever since I was a child. Even when I was dead broke in college, I’d drop a couple of bucks in the Salvation Army bucket or hand a dollar to a veteran in exchange for a silk poppy. Giving makes me happy.

And this time of year reminds me there are so many ways to give and also to receive. And while I often wish we could spread some of the madness out across the rest of the year, when I’m truly present and not rushing around, I can appreciate the magic moments. Like yesterday, when I gave one of my health care providers a gift, and she opened it before my eyes as if were the greatest thing she’d ever received.

In order to be more present, I decided to stop trying to do it all. This year, I started shopping earlier to avoid the overwhelm; my husband and I put up minimal decorations at our house; we no longer make cookies, now that there are no kids at home to eat them, etc. Those were just our choices; they do not need to be yours.

But what can you do differently this year to take some of the pressure off and really lean into the spirit of giving to yourself and others? Giving is giving, no matter how big or small. Whether you write a large check to a favorite charity or drop a few coins in a tip jar; whether you buy your presents or make them by hand; whether you go to every party or skip a few to get some extra rest, it’s all good. Sometimes a well-placed smile or word of praise is as important as a perfectly wrapped gift.

Call on your creativity this season to celebrate your own harvest of abundance and to weed that to-do list down to only the things that matter most this year. You can always come back to any of those things in later years, if you want to. Or not. It’s all good, because it all comes from a place of love.

Happiest of holidays to all. And to those who need a little extra receiving this year, may we see you and hold you in our hearts and hands.

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Should We Stay Forever Young?

As a lifelong watcher of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, I caught Paula Abdul’s song and dance performance on the Jennie-O float. She performed her song “Straight Up,” which was released in 1988. There’s lots of praise for Abdul. Other people are noting the flaws in her lip-synching, the doctored sound on her tap routine, the fact that her voice, as played, doesn’t sound much like how she sounds today. And there’s plenty of judgment about her outfit, hair, and make-up, but that’s nothing new for women of any age.

Paula, by the way, is 60 years old and has a long list of accomplishments in the world of entertainment. What I’m interested in exploring here is not just “youth culture,” but how it especially pertains to artists. I’m in no position to guess whether this performance was something Paula really wanted or whether she felt obligated to deliver it; whether it was her idea or someone else’s to show that an ’80’s icon still “has it.”

What I’m curious about is whether it matters if any artist still “has it,” anyway. And why we are not allowed, or do not allow ourselves, to grow. Whether it is society or our own pretenses that lead us to sometimes need to prove we haven’t changed a bit.

Because we have changed! And if we really want to combat youth culture, we need to stop trying to be an older version of our younger selves. And we need our fans to stop expecting us to take them back to their own youth and, instead, invite them to grow along with us.

As many of my artist friends are aging, we’re dealing with this conundrum. Do we continue to do what we’ve always done, even if we can’t do it as we once did? Do we continue to execute projects simply because we’ve gotten really good at them and it’s easier than moving in new directions? Do we hold on to old identities because we’re not sure people will want or accept our new ones? Do we still work as we always have because it feels safer that way (after all the money is guaranteed, the deadlines are known, and the partnerships are in place).

What if we gave our fans the benefit of the doubt, instead, and trusted many of them are true enough to stick with us even if we change? Can we help them grow by not catering to their fantasies that we (and therefore they) are somehow timeless? Can we sometimes—as someone dear to me always says—leave when we’re having the most fun?

Because leaving, changing, defying, and upending isn’t failure. It isn’t wimping out or admitting defeat. It’s nurturing our energy so we can best serve ourselves and others, so we can create something new based on all the skills and knowledge we’ve gained over the years, so we can model for younger artists that our work is not a gilded cage, it’s an ever-growing, ever-changing, ever-curious journey.

As I said, I’m in no position to judge Paula’s decisions or performance, or even to suggest she personally does or does not feel trapped. But from my seat on the couch, what I saw on her face was worry and heavy concentration, and who the heck wouldn’t feel that way tap dancing in high heels on a rickety float at age 60? The fact that she could do it was neither here nor there, to me. At this point, I feel she has nothing left to prove.

But I, for one, am ready to leave the 80s dance party and see what’s coming next! That’s not to say you won’t catch me kitchen-dancing to “Straight Up.” Good songs and good memories are timeless, but I’d also love to see how my kids or someday-grandkids will bring their own new moves to my favorite songs. Moves that didn’t exist when I was their age. Moves there’s no way I could mimic now. Keeping art relevant, that’s the job of future generations. Our job, as artists, is to keep creating in our chosen arts or in whatever new ways we choose.

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With Gratitude

Two years ago, when COVID was raging, we drove forty-five minutes and met my son in a Starbuck’s parking lot with a bag full of Thanksgiving dishes I had packed up for him.

This year, we’re hosting our first family dinner and out-of-town guests since pre-pandemic. Feeling thankful for that.

But also feeling gratitude that we found ways, even during times of isolation, to still make each other laugh, cheer each other up, feed each other’s bodies and souls, and share our love.

History teaches us that humans are nothing if not resilient. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Family, friends, food, and fun. I hope however you plan to spend the day, you find a little something to be grateful for.

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In Defense of the Omnipresent Cell Phone (and Those Who Use It)

Bear with me as I walk you through some familiar scenarios:

1985: Your boss calls and interrupts your dinner to ask if you can pick up extra shifts.

2022: Your boss texts while you’re having lunch with your grandparents and asks if you can pick up extra shifts.

1998: You and your spouse sit at the breakfast table drinking coffee and trading sections of the newspaper.

2022: You and your spouse sit at the breakfast table scrolling the news headlines on your phone.

1990: You and your college classmate meet at the library to research the paper you’re writing together.

2022: You e-mail some links to articles to your classmate via your phone.

1982: You decide to make a mix tape of your favorite songs, so you sit by the radio all day waiting for them to play so you can record them on a cassette.

2022: You scroll through the app on your phone adding songs to your workout playlist.

1975: You handwrite invitations to your birthday party and spend an afternoon stuffing envelopes.

2022: You create a post on your social media platforms inviting people to your birthday party, reaching nearly all your friends at once.

1994: You scan the yellow pages to choose a restaurant and then call to make a reservation.

2022: You Google restaurants near you on your phone and reserve a table on their website.

1983: You clear three hours out of your evening to watch “Must See TV” on Thursday night.

2022: You wile away three hours laughing at YouTube and TikTok videos on your phone.

2005: Your doctor gives you a prescription and you drive straight to the store to pepper your pharmacist with questions about its safety and usage.

2022: Your doctor gives you a prescription and you go out to the parking lot and start reading medical blogs to learn about safety and usage.

1988: You take your Nikon camera on your day trip to the zoo so you can take pictures of the animals, careful not to waste a single shot on that roll of film.

2022: You spend a few minutes at the end of the day deleting and editing the pictures you took at the zoo on your phone.

1996: Someone asks if you can meet a week from today for coffee. You promise to check your calendar or day timer when you get home and let them know.

2022: Someone asks if you can meet a week from today for coffee. You pull up the calendar on your phone and confirm right then and there.

1987: You decide to take notes during the meeting, so you pull out a pen and legal pad. Later, you type it into the computer and print it out. You Xerox a copy to share with the teammate who was sick that day.

2022: You decide to take notes during the meeting, typing them directly into your phone and sharing them later with your teammate.

You get where I’m going with this, right? “These kids today,” are not necessarily abusing their cell phones. It’s just that what once required several tools, devices, mechanisms, and even modes of transportation can now all be done on our phones.

I guess I’m just asking for a little respect when you see someone’s phone come out. Rather than assuming they’re just “wasting time” or “feeding their addiction,” maybe ask, “Are you doing something important, or can I interrupt?” or “Are you expecting any important texts, or can we make dinner tonight a phones-free event?”

On the flip side, if you need to check your phone in front of someone, acknowledge you’re not dismissing them. It’s no different than when our land lines used to ring, and we’d say, “I’m so sorry. Hold on a minute, I have to take this call.”

And if your mother asks you to empty the dishwasher, either do that first and then record your latest video or ask if you can finish your video and then empty the dishwasher.

It’s all about respect, people. I never walked in and just shut off the TV when my kids were watching a show. If I wouldn’t do that to my husband, why would I do that to my kids? I warned them, “When that show is over, I need you to come set the table.”

Afterall, it’s not just our young people who need and use their cell phones. We “older folks” do it, too. One time, I asked for no phones at the dinner table, and I’m the one who broke the rule when I grabbed my phone to show my kids a picture of parachute pants (they didn’t believe me). We wound up having a good laugh.

And if the young people in your lives are just “wasting time” on their phones, does it really matter all that much if it isn’t excessive, addictive, or rude? I know I wasted plenty of time watching TV when I was their age, or running into the store with friends to buy junk food, or driving aimlessly around town burning up gas because I didn’t want to go home yet. The only thing that has changed is that all our “time-wasting” distractions – video games, movies, apps, music, social interaction – are now all in one place. Welcome to the 21st Century!

P.S. Are any of you reading this on your phone? If so, please share!

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The Best Gift We Can Give Ourselves and Others

Buckle up, friends. The holiday season is upon us. This is a super busy time of year for artists, entrepreneurs, and creatives of all kinds. We’re working hard to meet holiday orders, we’re selling at more shows, we’re even creating gifts (often on request) for our families and friends. Put on top of that all of our own holiday preparations and hosting duties.

One of the hardest things for me these days is simply keeping track of all the communications, instructions, and invitations coming in via text, Messenger, LinkedIn, e-mail, and even the occasional phone call. Half the time, I can’t remember how each person contacted me in the first place!

It’s a goal of mine year-round to find ways to support artists, artisans, and entrepreneurs in my community, but as the holidays near, it feels even more important to do so. I plan my days carefully to pick up items I need when I’m in that part of town, not just to save myself time, but to cut down on my carbon footprint.

My old self accepted every invitation this time of year. I’m not sure if I was doing so out of obligation, excitement, or fear of missing out. Maybe all three. This year, I’m tracking my energy more carefully and saying no when I need to. As someone who enjoys doing for others, I’m learning that the more I take care of myself, the more energy I have to do for others.

I admit, I lately started falling into the trap of trying to make everyone happy this holiday season. My energy healer told me I have only one job this year, to do whatever it takes to stay in my highest vibration. I need to resist the pull of fear, frustration, anger, even exhaustion (all things that lower your vibration). Because the better I feel, the more I can do. Or maybe, on some days, the better I feel the less I will do.

In other words, to really enjoy the holiday season and to truly give to others, make sure you give to yourself first. There’s no guarantee that raising your own vibration will raise the vibration of those around you, and according to my energy healer friend, that’s not the point. The point is, there’s a better chance we can make a stronger impact and move a little closer toward making people happy in a way that is authentic and not forced if we first feel good in ourselves.

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The Art of Making Money (Or Not)

I’m preparing to lead a discussion on the book, It’s Not Your Money, by Tosha Silver, for a local writing organization to which I belong. Money is a constant source of worry, debate, motivation, and frustration for artists of all kinds. How much do we give away for free? How high can we raise our prices before we’ve gone too high? How do we advocate so our industries, as well as the buying public, see the value in our work? Or is it just the art that matters and not the money at all?

Most artists accept we need to pay our dues. We work for free or charge little in the beginning, and as our talent and skills develop, we expect to charge more. But in order to get to the point where we’re very good at what we do, we need time. Lots of it! And resources, and training, and all those things that are hard to come by when you’re working various jobs to pay the bills.

At a certain point, most serious artists take the step of trying to work full-time on their art. Some succeed. Others find it impossible to get by. I was talking to a very talented artist friend who said she advises young people to “fund your own art.”  She tells them to keep their outside jobs until they can make it on their art sales alone (if they ever can). I see lots of benefits in that: you are not beholding to any patrons or grants for the type of art you produce; you don’t have to adhere to someone else’s budget; you can try and fail at new mediums without disappointing anyone; and, as my friend put it, having a job gets you out in the world, out where life happens and stories and ideas abound.

Another friend told me once that the money doesn’t matter to her. She produces art because it brings her joy. If someone can afford to pay her, that’s great. If not, and they love the piece, she just gives it to them. More than anything else, she wants her art to find a happy home. She’s never tried to “make it as an artist.”  She just lives as one.

As for me, I decided long ago to walk a middle ground. I created my own company with three revenue streams rather than working for someone else. My books (my main outlet for writing) were only one of those revenue streams. The others involved coaching, teaching, speaking, and community programs. You could argue I was “funding my own art,” but I was also operating as a solopreneur whose interest was in how artists can put good work out in the world, benefit their communities, create collaborations, mentor, and still get paid.  Even still, in some areas of my work, I never solved the problem of how to be compensated adequately for my 30 years of knowledge and experience.

So, what’s the answer? I think passion comes first. I believe most of the famous, high-paid artists in every genre started down their path because they simply loved their art. They wanted desperately to be good at it. They wanted others to access and appreciate the work they did. Some of us never left that first rung of the ladder. We still give away our art because that’s what makes us happy and that’s all the more effort we want to put into it.

Others want it to be our career. We work really, really hard to make that happen, and should, like any other professional, be paid fairly. We decide what that looks like. Do we start side businesses, keep a day job, rely on grants, or raise our prices? But you, our audiences and fans, decide what that looks like too. You pay for the art you love, and you help us spread the word so we reach more buyers. It’s a symbiotic relationship.

The central message of Silver’s book is that trying to grasp at money rarely works. We need to allow it in, and then allow it back out again to do good in the world. In different ways, the successful artists I know have embraced this concept whether they realize it or not. Money is not the root of all evil, nor is it the answer to all our problems. It’s an instrument to put something of beauty, love, and passion into the world. For some of us that means having just enough money to create and gift our art to someone just to see them smile, for others it means selling our art to the highest bidder and moving that money back out into the economy and into our communities.

I’m not going to stop advocating for fair pay for professional artists, but I’m not going to fault anyone who chooses to give their art away, either. Art, like money, needs to be flowing freely in various ways. The free art you give away may create an art lover who one day purchases art from a professional and influences the people around them to do the same. Each of us must find our own way, and feel confident to choose a different path whenever we are so called.

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Stories from the Junk Room

A friend and I were reminiscing yesterday about what people in Idaho called the “junk room”; that room in an unseen part of the house where the door was always closed and the smell of mothballs was ever-present. I had two favorite junk rooms. One was in my grandmother’s house, an upstairs bedroom piled pell-mell with old furniture, toys, outdated appliances, and a large trunk filled with1950’s prom dresses and fake fur coats.

The other was in my neighbor Helen’s house, a back room overflowing with items left over from the days when she and her husband ran a grocery store in the 1930s. Old cash registers, scales, adding machines, and a wonderful Underwood typewriter with the ribbon still attached.

Those rooms were time machines. They were havens for imagination. But most of all, they were stories come to life. And because the stories belonged to people I loved; I loved all the items too.

Maybe we pass down a roll-top desk for generations because it’s beautiful, but more likely because it comes with a story linking us to the great-grandfather who built it. Maybe we leave a set of silver to our heirs not because it’s worth money, but because it was the only thing of value our great-grandmother ever owned. Buying that silver was proof she had achieved the good life she’d hoped for in America.

The items themselves have value, but it’s the stories that make them valuable. Our great-grandparents didn’t build that desk or buy that silver in hopes of “living forever,” they did it to put something beautiful into the world. A bit of love and pride and joy that could last.

It’s tricky though, isn’t it? Not all of our ancestors were good people. Not all of them deserved to be cherished. They are our cautionary tales, but those stories are important too. That may not mean we hold on to the things they left behind, but the history remains. It’s part of us too.

And long past when those items have disappeared or when old traditions and norms, like junk rooms, go away (sometimes for good reason), hopefully the stories will remain.

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Beyond Your Wildest Dreams – Revisited

This post was originally published March 30, 2019

It occurred to me the other day:

–       If I’d been more focused all these years, I could have written 20 books, not just 8.

–       If I’d been more organized, I might not have let so many potential prospects slip away.

–       If I’d been more structured, I might have launched more of those great ideas I’ve had.

–       If I’d been more diligent, I might have earned more money.

–       If I’d kept my nose to the grindstone more, I might have succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.

But:

–       If I hadn’t focused so much on my family, I might not have been able to write such believable characters.

–       If I hadn’t taken time for all those coffees and lunches, I might not have met all the great partners, colleagues, and friends I have now.

–       If I hadn’t leapt from one idea to another, I might never have come up with all the unique products, programs, and services I’ve created.

–       If I hadn’t been so diligent about my daily exercise, I might have ruined my health and body.

–       If I hadn’t traveled, and played, and read books, and helped with charities, and listened, and shared, and observed, and meditated, I might never have succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.

Guess it’s a good thing I did it my way. And you?

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Don’t Just Leave It On the Porch

The other day, a woman I’ve never met e-mailed me because she’d heard about the Little Free Library I donated to a local mobile home park. She wanted to know how to get me some books for the library. I thanked her profusely and in true pandemic-habit mode, I told her she could leave them on my porch anytime that worked for her. She agreed.

Then I got to thinking about it. Here was a person who’d gone out of her way to locate some children’s books just for me, and I had suggested she simply deposit them at the door. I wrote back and said, “I’m not sure how busy you are, but would you like to meet for coffee instead?”

She happily agreed.

Funny how the habits we formed during the pandemic have been slow to change. And how easy it had become to allow COVID-19 to provide an excuse to cocoon. I’ve learned a lot about myself over the past two and a half years. I’ve learned that some of the things I thought I’d miss during that time of isolation, I never really missed at all. I have yet to go back to many of them and probably never will.

I also figured out how many things I took for granted and longed for during the pandemic. Even still, I have lacked the energy or will or courage to jump back into those things right off the bat. Lately, though, I’m coming back to myself. And I’m coming back to others. I’m remembering how good it feels to chat with strangers, to pick up items in person rather than having them delivered, and to take the time to buy coffee for someone who does something nice for you.

A friend was dropping something by my house today. She texted to see when I’d be home. I could have said, “Bring them by anytime and just leave it outside.” Instead, I told her a good time, then I took my tea and my book out to the Adirondack chair and waited to greet her when she pulled up. The sun was shining through the branches, the leaves were swirling across the flagstone patio, a neighbor waved on her way to the mailbox. And my friend arrived with a smile, a hug, and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers she brought me from her garden.

So glad she didn’t just leave it on the porch.

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All You Need is Right At Your Feet

As I mentioned last week, I broke my collarbone while vacationing in my beloved Ireland. In describing the accident and how it affected the trip, I’m tempted to call it a bit of a setback, but that doesn’t feel like the right word. Oddly enough, it was a step forward, not a setback.

I won’t lie, it definitely hurt. A trip to the emergency room is always scary, and maybe a bit more so in a foreign country. A sling takes some getting used to, and learning to do things one-handed was a challenge. As I mentioned, the pain slowed us way down, but it also made me more aware of my own body. How it moves when I walk or sleep or breathe deeply. But also, how it moves in crowded spaces or even how often my husband and my bodies move closely around each other as we prepare dinner, put away groceries, share a bathroom sink.

Because I’d been told by the doctor that the only thing that would significantly impact my healing was another hard fall, I started watching my feet. Carefully. Everywhere we went. I noticed every crack in the sidewalk, judged the height of steps, reached out more often for handrails or sturdy branches for balance, and leaned into the walking stick we bought along the way.

In doing so, I noticed something interesting . . . the rocks in Ireland come in lots of colors: green, pink, purple, black with white stripes, silver with sparkles, bright white. I’ve always liked rocks. When I was a kid, I had a rock collection. I kept it in a gallon-size container under my bed. Every now and then, I’d get them out and line them up to admire them. And now here I was forty-five years later collecting rocks again. I’d point them out to my husband with my walking stick, and he’d pick them up, brush them off, and semi-grudgingly put them in his pockets. We found some of them on nature trails, one on a beach, and a couple near our cottage.

I was picky about the colors and shapes, so sometimes my husband would have to swap one for another. At first, he thought I was crazy, then he started to embrace the hunt. Sometimes he wasn’t sure why I’d discard one that seemed perfectly fine to him. “Rocks are soulful creatures,” I told him. “Especially Irish rocks. It has to feel right.” I’m pretty sure he still thinks I’m a little nuts.

Sometimes on the nature trails, he’d let me walk in front of him so I could set the pace. “Don’t step on the caterpillar,” I’d say, or, “What kind of leaf is that?”  Sometimes I’d point out tiny flowers growing in the grass. Once, a lady called us over to see a baby field mouse.

Often, we’d stop for a rest, and my gaze would travel upward, across rolling hills of emerald green, or gentle waves rolling in from the horizon, or moss-covered trees sheltering fairy houses. I treasure those rests. And I treasure the rocks we packed home in our suitcase. There’s so much joy right at our feet, if we just learn to watch our steps.

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