Teresa R. Funke's Blog: Bursts of Brilliance for a Creative Life, page 17

Happily Lost in Translation

When I was a kid, I loved reruns of I Love Lucy. In one episode, Lucy and her gang are visiting Paris and she is arrested for unintentionally passing off counterfeit money. At the police station, no one speaks English. But Lucy’s husband, Ricky, speaks Spanish and English. A local drunk at the station speaks Spanish and German. One of the police officers speaks German and French. And the police captain speaks French. So, they form a line of translation in order to get at the real story. Lucy speaks in English to Ricky, who translates into Spanish to the drunk, who translates into German to the cop, who translates into French for his captain. And on it goes.

I remember scooting closer to the TV screen during this scene, rapt in awe. A part of my young brain thought if I strained hard enough, I could “understand” each of those languages. Another part was fascinated to think there were so many ways to say the same thing. Another part wanted to go to France and find all these people who could speak in so many ways. And another part of me wished I could be standing in that line, awaiting my turn to use my special skills to solve a mystery and free an innocent person. I think I vowed to learn as many languages as I could.  There was something so fascinating about knowing no matter the challenge, humans will find a way to communicate and connect.

Growing up in my tiny world of Boise, Idaho, this episode piqued my interest in other cultures and helped fuel my desire to travel. I never did go on to master several languages, although I studied French for a while, and I’ve been working on learning Spanish for much of my life. In all my travels, though, I make a point to perfect the words for hello, good-bye, please, and thank you in the local languages or dialects. These, to me, are the four most important words in any language, and I want to honor my hosts by doing my best to say them properly.

When I took my first trip to Europe at age 17 on a school trip, I began to realize there actually was something that allowed strangers from different lands to communicate, even without a shared language. And that something was art. I’d be standing in front of a sculpture or painting in some famous museum or local plaza and the person beside me would say something heartfelt in their native tongue. I didn’t understand the words, but I knew exactly what they were saying. “Yes,” I’d answer in English. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” And they would nod happily. They understood me too.

When you travel, food becomes art. So does a panoramic view. So does a child playing with a boat in a fountain. Art is observation. It’s curiosity. It’s appreciation. It’s a moment. And when that is shared with someone, even a stranger, it is bliss.

This past year, during the pandemic, I couldn’t travel to new places. I couldn’t even visit my favorite local haunts. Last night, I attended the opening of a new exhibit at our city art museum. The exhibit was celebrating the art of Aloha shirts, something most of us in attendance knew little about.  I was thrilled to recognize many friends and acquaintances among the crowd, but equally thrilled to once again stand alongside a stranger who was no doubt remembering a favorite relative who wore those shirts, or a past trip to Hawaii, or how he/she had long ago thought about a career in fashion. Sometimes our eyes would meet and—newly unmasked but still a little wary—we would share a smile. After a year of collective isolation, worry, reflection, and discovery, those smiles said it all.

Welcome back to art.

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A Post-Pandemic Identity Crisis Ushers in a New Me

I was chatting with a good friend the other day about how much I feel I’ve changed since the pandemic. I’ve realized how many of my previous life decisions were dictated by FOMO (fear of missing out). Now, I’m making my decisions by taking a moment to lean in and decide whether my energy is calling me toward stillness or action. And prior to the pandemic, I did everything I could to avoid being bored, but I now realize many of those things did not bring me joy, they just provided distraction. Before 2020, I was either working or thinking about work. Now there are times when my nonstop mind is almost quiet.

Some of my friends seem a little unnerved by my recent attitude and behavior. I don’t seem like “myself” to them. To be honest, this new me sometimes concerns me, too. I worry she’s not the “real me.” I worry she isn’t as fun or creative or motivated. And then I wonder where I ever got the idea that in order to be “successful” I had to be constantly fun and creative and motivated.

I’ve noticed that when people haven’t seen you in a long time, they say, “You’re so busy. Things must be going well,” as if being busy is the definition of success in our society. I don’t straighten them out, though, because they mean well. The truth is, I’m not as busy as I used to be, and I like it that way.

I was voicing these thoughts to my friend and she offered up this analogy: “It’s like when you change your diet in order to feel better. People say, ‘How can you stand to give that up? You love that food. Don’t you miss it?’ It’s hard to explain that those items don’t even look good to you anymore.”

Yes, I said. That’s exactly it! Maybe I just need to give myself permission to accept this new me, because in so many ways it does feel better. I need to stop worrying that something “broke” inside of me during the pandemic and embrace that something grew in me instead.

There’s a new type of creativity brewing, I can feel it. There’s a new definition of fun forming. Motivation awaits as soon as I stop trying to go back to the old ways and embrace the changes inside and outside of me. So many of us are “adjusting our diets” right now, and that’s good. We were eating too much junk food anyway.

So, this is my truth today. And as any good historian knows, the truth is ever changing. I’m lying fallow now, but several months from now, I may be sprouting all kinds of new projects and ideas. It will be interesting to see how future me approaches and develops them. After all, we are not one version of ourselves. The pandemic taught me that. And today’s “new me” might be tomorrow’s “old me,” and that’s okay too. As the song says, “You gotta roll with it, baby.”

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They’re Not Asking

Parents love giving advice to their grown kids, at least this parent does. Advice, though, is not always welcomed or well-received. My husband is always reminding me, “They’re not asking.” And he’s right. Sometimes our kids don’t ask because they’ve already made up their minds and don’t want to change them; sometimes it’s because they want to figure things out for themselves; sometimes they already know what I’m going to say because I’ve said it one hundred times before and they don’t need to hear it again. Sometimes they’re not asking because they’re not yet ready to hear advice – they’re still running ideas through their own filtering processes and it’s too soon to hear what their mom (or anyone else) thinks.

My husband’s good reminder doesn’t just apply to children, though. It can apply to our aging parents or our work colleagues or our best friends. And for artists and entrepreneurs, this can be especially true when we’re in the early stages of creating something new. It’s important to protect our fledgling ideas as they try to take hold, so advice is not always welcome in the early stages.

What people do want, even if they’re not asking, is for you to show interest in the work they do, provide support and encouragement, and offer to give advice or feedback if/when they decide that might be helpful.

I confess I sometimes can’t help myself, especially if I’m sure my advice could save someone time, treasure, or trouble. In that case, I might send an e-mail that starts with the line: “Warning: Unsolicited Advice Enclosed, Feel Free to Delete.”  I’m guessing most people can’t resist at least skimming the e-mail (I know I wouldn’t be able to), so I tack on a line at the bottom that says they don’t have to respond if they don’t want to. I hope that at least allows them the freedom to dismiss my advice without worrying about hurting my feelings. I’ve heard from friends who’ve sometimes skimmed and shelved my advice (and not responded) only to respond months later when the advice was finally welcome or started to make sense.

For my own part, I’ve learned to advocate for myself more directly and much sooner than I used to when it comes to receiving advice I never asked for. I typically thank people for their suggestions and say I’m still in brainstorming mode and will get back to them if I’d like to talk further. I no longer feel the need to explain in detail why I will or will not be taking their advice. Typically, I recognize most people sincerely want to help, and I appreciate that!

For the strangers who write to tell me how I could be doing something better, I no longer respond if their comments are rude or abrasive. If their comments are well-intended, I reply with a simple note to let them know I appreciate their interest and the time it took to write. If their comment is truly helpful, I respond in more detail. The point is, dismissing my lifelong quest to be the “nice girl,” I no longer feel obligated to go overboard in any of my communications.

So, the next time someone is sharing an idea or struggle with you, pause before responding and ask yourself, “Are they asking for my help or not?”

By Teresa R. Funke

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Shifting Fear to a Higher Vibration

I’ve been working lately on overcoming fear. When I tell my friends that, they react with surprise. “You’ve never struck me as a fearful person,” they say. They know me as someone who has traveled to 26 countries, published 8 books, started my own company, raised three kids, advocated for things I believe in, and spoken to large groups of people. Doesn’t sound like a fearful person, does it?

But the fact is, we all have fear. Whether it’s spiders or flying or the dark, many of our fears have been with us since childhood. Others develop as we grow old enough to fear what people will think or say about us. Some of our fears will seem understandable to those who know us, others will seem irrational. But that doesn’t matter, because they feel very real to us.

I read recently that fear is a waste of energy and that struck me. Because right now I’m afraid that I’m stuck, that I’m having a hard time figuring out what comes next for me. Could it be true that I’m wasting valuable energy? That instead of spending my energy to lay my new path, I’m spending it on being scared I won’t figure out where that path is leading.

I wrote these thoughts in my newsletter and a friend responded back. He said I should never view fear as a waste of energy. He believes there’s no such thing, because fear “highlights something about us that we need to attend to.” He’s right, of course. In the past year or two, I’ve learned to sit with fear, anxiety, and anger, emotions I would have previously described as “negative” and repressed them. I’ve learned they, too, have something to teach me. But some fears linger so long that there comes a time when you feel tired of devoting energy to those specific concerns. It’s time to shift that energy, and that’s what I’m now ready to do. It’s not easy, though. Fear is scary.

“If you’re going through hell, keep going,” Winston Churchill said. And what is hell if not fear? Artists are asked all the time to move beyond our fear. That’s part of our job. Fear of failure and fear of success. I’ve tried going around these fears, but that hasn’t worked. I’ve tried pretending they don’t exist. I guess the only thing left to do is work through them. Just keep going until I come out the other side. It’s time to shift this energy to a higher vibration. Are you with me?

By Teresa R. Funke

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Can Success and Complaining Go Hand in Hand? – Revisited

This post originally ran Jan 26, 2020

I’ve noticed when things are going well, we lose our right to grumble or complain. No one wants to hear it, what’s more, they can’t even fathom why you would want or dare to complain.

Let’s say, for example, you just got that big commission you’ve been hoping for, but the deadline is sooner than you anticipated. When you try to talk about the stress you’re under, people often respond, “Well, that’s the price you pay for success” or “Yeah, but at least you got the commission.”

Let’s say a lot of work has come your way all at once. When you try to discuss the issues you’re having juggling it all, people often respond, “You got this far, you’ll figure it out.” Or “Well, this is what you hoped for, why not just enjoy it?”

Let’s say you’ve had a project approved that is exciting and awesome and good, and you know that. But it’s more complicated than you anticipated. When you try to discuss your fears or concerns, people often respond, “Sounds like a good challenge for you” or “Don’t focus on the bad stuff, just think about how great this is.”

When things are going well, it’s kind of like when a thin person complains that she’s too skinny. No one wants to hear it. (And yet, maybe she is concerned she’s lost too much weight).

Every mother of a newborn can tell you that, yes, it’s wonderful to have a child, but it’s also a lot of work, and stress, and exhaustion. And any successful artist or business person can tell you that, yes, it’s amazing to be able to create our work and follow our hearts, but sometimes it’s a lot of work and stress and exhaustion.

How refreshing it feels when a friend actually notices that despite all the good things you’re experiencing, you might be struggling a bit. How good it feels when they see you and not just your success and say, “You look tired. You getting enough sleep?” or “You’ve got a lot going on. Anything I can do to help?”  Or “How are things, really?”

One of the definitions of “complain” is: “state that one is suffering from.”  Our feelings are our feelings, and they are never right or wrong. It’s okay to complain once in a while when things are going well. It’s okay to feel thankful, and excited, and empowered, and also to feel overwhelmed, and unsure, and tired.

Just remember that complaining works best when you do so with the hope of achieving a step forward, whether that is through catharsis or emotional relief; through the seeking of sympathy that buoys you; through a tangible offer of assistance in response to your complaint; or through words of advice that help shed light on your troubles.

In the end, all complaints aside, aren’t we lucky to be moving in the direction of our dreams!

By Teresa R. Funke

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It’s Not My Job to Convince You

A couple of years ago, I was listening to a talk or podcast in which the speaker said something about not feeling the need to convince anyone of anything. The concept got me thinking and led to my new motto, “It’s not my job to convince you.”

To me, this means there are people who will resonate with our ideas, beliefs, knowledge, or opinions and those who will not. For example, I can tell you I have a friend whose intuitive gifts I trust implicitly, and you may respond by saying, “Oh cool, I’d love to do a session with her,” or you may respond, “I don’t believe in that psychic stuff.”

There’s energy behind each of those statements. In the former, I feel the energy of a kindred spirit, someone who “gets” what I believe right away and that’s always exciting, fun, and affirming. That’s easy. In the latter, I might feel levels of energy. If the person states emphatically, “I don’t believe in that psychic stuff,” and a wall goes up between us, I know I’m not getting over that wall. At least not now.

If, however, the person says it with some doubt or hesitation, I know the door has not closed in my face. It’s been left open just a crack so I can say, “Oh really, why not?” As the conversation progresses, that person might start to waver in their statement and eventually come around a bit to my way of believing. Or he/she might close the door the rest of the way, and that’s it, for now.

Either way is fine. I’m on my journey, you’re on yours. It’s not my job to convince you of anything.

Does that mean we should never advocate for what we believe? No, of course not. I’m an arts advocate. I’ll talk to anyone at anytime about why the arts are important. I’ll speak and present about it too. It’s possible, though, by the end of my chat or presentation, you still might not believe the arts are important. That’s fine. It’s not my job to convince you. Why? Because your spirit is not feeling called to it. No matter what I say, your opinion will not sway, at least not yet. And the more I try to convince you, the more energy I lose and the more frustrated, angry, and resentful I become. Those are not productive feelings. That’s not the kind of energy that’s going to propel me forward in my advocacy.

It may sound like this advice works best with strangers, but I’ve noticed it also works with the people we love most. We can speak our truth, quote the experts, rattle off statistics, and form perfect arguments, but if our loved one has put up a wall, even a tiny one, there’s a barrier between us. At that point, it’s better to remind yourself it’s not your job to convince them, no matter how much you think your advice would benefit them. Again, we’re all on our journeys and must learn our own lessons. It’s hard to let go sometimes when we feel sure our advice could save someone, but if they are not asking to be saved, they’re not going to reach for that lifeline.

If this concept feels like giving up to you, be assured, it’s not. We never give up on the things (or the people) we care most about. It’s about keeping your energy high so you can do the work you were put here to do and care for the people you were sent here to serve.

These are challenging and divided times. It’s tempting, so tempting, to want to be that voice that insists people do what we think is right. It’s so easy to employ shame, ridicule, condescension, insistence, bargaining, or pleading to get people to see your way. But anyone who changes their behavior or view because you employed those methods likely did so for all the wrong reasons: to placate you, to avoid conflict, to project an image, etc.  None of those things are permanent changes and none of them carry positive energy. Underneath all of them lies resistance. Better to let it go, for now.

On the right day at the right time and in the right way, if your loved one opens that door just a crack, you can slip your foot in and try again. Maybe you’ll convince them, maybe you won’t. Maybe they’ll convince you of something instead. But the energy will feel productive, and that’s how you’ll know you are both shifting and changing for the better.

by Teresa R. Funke

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How to Be a Master Manifester – Revisited

This post first ran March 1, 2020

My daughter is a master manifester. As so often happens with offspring, you teach them a skill and they surpass you at it. My daughter has learned a few things in her manifestation journey, though. For one, she’s learned the universe has a sense of humor. She once manifested: “Megan will be in my class.” When she arrived, she scanned the room for her friend, and was disappointed not to see her. Then a stranger sat down beside her and said, “Hi, I’m Megan.” My daughter and I have often joked that she needs to be more specific with the universe.

Then again, my daughter has learned that being too specific, too rigid, in your manifestations also may not work. She has occasionally tried to manifest a very certain type of job, only to see it fail to materialize. I suggested maybe the universe could see that she needed to broaden her view of the “perfect job” and what she really needed to learn.

She and I are both discovering that when our manifestations work best is when we can uncover the desire that feels like it comes from our Higher Selves, and then focus on that desire without focusing on how it will manifest. That’s not to say we don’t have a part in making it happen, but first we must let go of trying to control the outcome. I’ve certainly had the experience many times in my life, even in some very big ways, where I felt absolutely sure of something I was supposed to do and had no idea how I’d assemble the money, skills, or people to do it. But I kept the faith, I didn’t overthink it, I kept advancing toward the goal, and those resources came.

More often, though, my mind has been unwilling or unable to release the need to direct how and when I achieve the desired result. So often, I can’t seem to let go of worry, insecurity, fear, and pressure, and it feels as if the universe is saying, “I’m waiting. As soon as you shed all that doubt, I’ll know I have your permission to move forward.” Why, when I know it works to do just that, do I have such a hard time letting go?

I think when I first learned about manifesting, I confused it with the type of prayer I’d grown up practicing. The problem with those prayers for me was that asking for something I wanted always seemed to hinge on whether I was worthy of receiving it or whether the desire itself was worthy. My daughter doesn’t seem to question whether she’s worthy. She knows she is. And that’s where she’s got me beat. That is where she can teach me. And if I can learn that lesson well, maybe I can let go.

By Teresa R. Funke

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Are You Jumping Back Into The “Yes Mess”?

Before the pandemic, I was away from home five nights out of seven. I was busy attending networking, volunteer, or social events, or maybe teaching a class, or giving a reading or presentation. My days were full, as well. Too full. Even before the lockdown, I could feel myself wearing out, but I loved everything I was doing and I believed it was all important, and it was.

Then the pandemic came along, and we were all forced to slow down. I hated that. There were days I’d stare out the window wishing I could get back out in the world. But then I started to get used to my slower pace and to see the value in having more time to myself. I still didn’t like it, but I could appreciate it.

Now that things are opening up, I’m starting to get the invites again, not just to events but also to take part in projects or do more volunteer work. The other day, I was telling my husband some of the things I was considering but wasn’t sure I had the energy to do. He said, “Don’t do it. Don’t jump back into the yes mess.”

Though my first reaction any time my husband opens his mouth is to chuckle at his funny turns of phrase, this time his words really hit home. As normal as it felt pre-pandemic to be so busy, so productive, so needed and appreciated, I’d reach the end of each day drained and yet feeling like I hadn’t done enough. What if I could now develop the strength to resist my do-it-all nature and actually learn to say no more often?

So, I did. I said no to three things last week. And then what? I had to say no to the twinge of guilt I felt in doing so. And no to my fear of boredom and my over-developed sense of obligation and my desire to always, always support my friends and the causes I care about.

“Say ‘no’ more,” the experts tell us, as if it’s as easy as just hitting delete on that e-mail invitation. Maybe it is for some people, but it never has been for me. No one ever taught me how to delete the negative self-talk that comes from feeling like if I don’t attend that networking event, I’m hurting my business; and if I don’t attend that fundraiser, I’m letting the organizers down; and if I don’t attend the party, I’m disappointing my friends.

It’s going to take a while before I get comfortable with saying “no,” but being uncomfortable is how we grow. So, I’ll keep practicing until I find the balance that works for me and my business. A balance that allows me to fill my vessel enough to do some good, but not so much it’s too heavy to carry.

Teresa R. Funke

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What Is Your Worth?

When I first started writing for a living, I worked for several local newspapers and small magazines. I wrote mostly feature articles, often history related. It was not uncommon for me to spend 8 hours on an article for which I was paid $25-50. $75 if I was lucky.

At the time, I knew the pay was far too low for the work I was doing, but it was industry standard in our area, and I figured I needed to pay my dues. Besides, I loved my job. Slowly, though, it dawned on me that even the writers who’d been working for those publications for years were being paid either the same rate as me or only slightly higher. I did break into a Denver paper once, with a very in-depth article that turned out to be a two-page spread in their Arts insert. For that, I received a whopping $200.

When my son was born, it wasn’t hard to do the math. My meager income as a freelancer would not cover his day care if I wanted to continue the job. So, I gradually phased out of work I was really good at because it wasn’t financially sustainable.

And nothing has changed since then. The other day, I listened in on a travel writing class. Someone asked the inevitable question, “How much do they pay these days for travel articles?”

“Oh, there’s no pay in travel articles anymore,” the instructor said. “Most of the ones I get published don’t pay at all, or maybe a small sum.”

We live in an information age. We say we want well-researched and well-written information, but we’re not willing to pay for it. We love books, but prefer to get them for free from the library or at a low-cost from an online dealer. It never occurs to us how little the authors of our favorite books actually receive for the massive amount of time they put into writing those books.

I know, this is a tired, old tirade that sounds more like a whine. So, I’m not going to say more about how messed up the system is. What I want to talk about is how we artists see our inner worth. Because whether you decide to write for the love of it and not worry about pay, or you figure out a way to make money off your writing (through not just book sales but other products, courses, or Patreon accounts), what really matters is how you see your inner worth.

After all,  I can argue till I’m blue in the face about the value and importance of art, and I can argue until you’re blue in the face about why your art matters most of all, but deep down, we all know these truths. We walk around in two skins, the noble starving artist and the highly valued genius. We vacillate between believing that money is the root of all evil and that money will set us free. Our self-worth is often wrapped up in compliments and awards and good reviews, instead of self-compassion, mistakes well-earned, and the gift of our passion.

Our art is subjective. Some will like it; some will hate it. So, the end product does not belong to us. It belongs to those who experience our art, and they will determine its worth. Our drive and desire to produce our work, though, is personal. Only we can decide whether the time, energy, and avidity that goes into making our pieces has value. Only we can decide if the growth and pleasure we experience while creating art contributes to our inner worth.

So first and foremost, do the work for yourself.  Do it because you value yourself as a creative individual. Do it because you value art. As a friend of mine says, just the act of creating raises the vibration. It raises your vibration, gifting you with more energy, joy, and purpose which you carry into other areas of your life, and that raises the vibration of everyone you encounter. And it frankly just makes you a better person inside and out.

I’m not suggesting we stop having conversations about what art is worth in the marketplace. I’ll stay up all night discussing that if you want to. I’m just asking you to never forget that, as an artist, your inner worth is as important as your outer worth. If you value your art first, the rest will follow.

Teresa R. Funke

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Never Look Down at the Cup

When I was in college, I worked at a popular Mexican restaurant. Every Friday night, I’d watch my friend who was a cocktail server maneuver around the packed lobby delivering drinks to customers who were waiting to be seated. One day I asked her, “How do you carry those trays of drinks through all those people with no accidents?”

“Easy,” she said. “When I worked at a breakfast restaurant and had to carry full cups of hot coffee, one of the waitresses told me, ‘Never look at the cup.’ That’s the trick.”

In other words, if you have faith in your competence you’ll have no need to check yourself and you’ll do fine. Thanks to her advice, I have successfully carried thousands of cups of steaming tea down the stairs to my office without ever spilling a drop. But one day, I was at a friend’s house and offered to carry the mugs of coffee to her table. Because I was in someone else’s home and wanting to do well, I doubted myself. I looked at the cups, and they immediately began sloshing dangerously close to the rims. I looked away quickly.

This past year, so many of us artists and entrepreneurs were faced with new challenges that tempted us to check ourselves, whether it was delivering a class virtually for the first time, or redesigning a program to accommodate pandemic protocols, or figuring out how to safely offer our live events outside and socially distanced.

We might have lost sleep over these changes, or preemptively apologized for whatever mistakes we assumed we might make, or lowered our prices because we felt unsure, or quit doing parts of our business altogether because we didn’t think we could do them as well as we had before.

Most of my successes this last year, though, came about because I reminded myself that I’m good at what I do. I’m highly trained and highly experienced. I’m creative enough to overcome the challenges and skilled enough to work past the glitches. In other words, I didn’t look down at the cup.

We will never be through with challenges. If it’s not the pandemic, it will be something else. But we can do this. A little faith saves a lot of worry.

Teresa R. Funke

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