Teresa R. Funke's Blog: Bursts of Brilliance for a Creative Life, page 25

Whatever You Will, Will Be – Revisited

I’ve been thinking lately about all the messages I received as a child, all the things society wanted us to believe that never felt totally right to me, yet I accepted them. Why?

For example, when I was a kid, my mom loved the Doris Day song, “Que Sera Sera.” In the lyrics, the young girl asks her mother what the future holds. Will she be pretty or will she be rich? (I know that sounds a bit shallow now, but go with me). The mother responds, “Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be.”

There’s another version of the song I liked a little better, in which the girl asks her teacher what she should try. Should she paint pictures or sing songs?  The teacher tells her the same thing, “Que sera, sera.” Part of my young heart was always thinking, “Why can’t she do both? Why does she have to choose between the two? If she wants something, why can’t she just make it happen? Why isn’t her teacher encouraging her to follow her dreams rather than saying, ‘Sure honey, you might be good at those things, you might even be ambitious, but it’s not really up to you whether you succeed or get what you want. It’s up to the whims of the future.’” And why did I believe that, too, just because my mother loved that song?

An expression like that really lets us off the hook, doesn’t it? Any time we fail (even if we didn’t really try) we can comfort ourselves by saying, “It wasn’t meant to be.” And other people can offer that phrase as comfort to us, because what else can they say when we’re hurting?

What if instead of telling the child in the song her hopes were only hopes, the teacher had said, “Whatever you will, will be?” How might that have changed things? Would the child have then thrown herself into becoming the best painter or singer (or both) will full confidence and no back-of-the-mind fear that what she wanted most might be taken from her? What if every time something went wrong for our kids, we didn’t say, “Well, at least you tried,” and instead we said, “You’re doing it! You’re living your dream. Keep going.”

For a while, I tried telling myself, “It wasn’t meant to be yet.” It felt far less defeatist and a bit more evolved to phrase it that way. I was proud of that thinking. But that’s also surrendering.

Now I’m telling myself, “It is now. I am living my childhood dreams. I am that girl who grew up to be both a painter and a singer (figuratively), and I’m doing it well. I haven’t reached all my goals yet, but I’m moving toward them. Always. Every day. And that’s success. The journey, the effort, the learning, the growing, the living. This is my bright shiny future. Right now. And tomorrow, if I want it to be. And the day after. The future doesn’t choose when/if I stop. Only I do. Therefore, whatever I will, will be. What do you choose?

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Whatever Will Be, Will Be – Revisited

I’ve been thinking lately about all the messages I received as a child, all the things society wanted us to believe that never felt totally right to me, yet I accepted them. Why?

For example, when I was a kid, my mom loved the Doris Day song, “Que Sera Sera.” In the lyrics, the young girl asks her mother what the future holds. Will she be pretty or will she be rich? (I know that sounds a bit shallow now, but go with me). The mother responds, “Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be.”

There’s another version of the song I liked a little better, in which the girl asks her teacher what she should try. Should she paint pictures or sing songs?  The teacher tells her the same thing, “Que sera, sera.” Part of my young heart was always thinking, “Why can’t she do both? Why does she have to choose between the two? If she wants something, why can’t she just make it happen? Why isn’t her teacher encouraging her to follow her dreams rather than saying, ‘Sure honey, you might be good at those things, you might even be ambitious, but it’s not really up to you whether you succeed or get what you want. It’s up to the whims of the future.’” And why did I believe that, too, just because my mother loved that song?

An expression like that really lets us off the hook, doesn’t it? Any time we fail (even if we didn’t really try) we can comfort ourselves by saying, “It wasn’t meant to be.” And other people can offer that phrase as comfort to us, because what else can they say when we’re hurting?

What if instead of telling the child in the song her hopes were only hopes, the teacher had said, “Whatever you will, will be?” How might that have changed things? Would the child have then thrown herself into becoming the best painter or singer (or both) will full confidence and no back-of-the-mind fear that what she wanted most might be taken from her? What if every time something went wrong for our kids, we didn’t say, “Well, at least you tried,” and instead we said, “You’re doing it! You’re living your dream. Keep going.”

For a while, I tried telling myself, “It wasn’t meant to be yet.” It felt far less defeatist and a bit more evolved to phrase it that way. I was proud of that thinking. But that’s also surrendering.

Now I’m telling myself, “It is now. I am living my childhood dreams. I am that girl who grew up to be both a painter and a singer (figuratively), and I’m doing it well. I haven’t reached all my goals yet, but I’m moving toward them. Always. Every day. And that’s success. The journey, the effort, the learning, the growing, the living. This is my bright shiny future. Right now. And tomorrow, if I want it to be. And the day after. The future doesn’t choose when/if I stop. Only I do. Therefore, whatever I will, will be. What do you choose?

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The Best Holiday Gift Starts with “E”

Yesterday, I needed a break. So, I bundled up against the cold and went outside for a walk. As I picked my way around the ice patches on the sidewalk, I asked myself, “What should I write about on my blog this week?” Seconds later, my answer literally stepped in front of me.

A man in maybe his late-30s got out of his car holding a red tin. I tossed him a neighborly nod, and he tossed one back and started up his driveway. Then he turned around quite suddenly and said, “Want to see what I made?” as he pulled the lid off the red tin. I kept a safe distance, but I looked.

“See, this was a box of candy,” he explained. “I took the molds the candy was in and poured candle wax into them. Then I sunk the flowers into the top. And now all I have to do is pop out the candles and a I have a bunch of Christmas presents!”

“Those are beautiful. What a great idea. And they smell so good too,” I said.

“Thank you! Merry Christmas,” he said, and turned toward his house.

As I walked by, I could have thought to myself, “What was that all about?” or “What a weirdo.” I could have wondered if that was some awkward attempt at flirting or maybe mansplaining. But I didn’t. I thought, “Did you see the look in his eyes? Like a kid in a toy store. How cool.”

See, sometimes our excitement about our art just overtakes us. It’s not that we forget the rules of social interaction with strangers, it’s that we can’t contain ourselves. Our Creative Spirit tugs at the back of our coat and says, “Turn around. Take a chance. You can’t make a connection if you don’t take the lid off the box.”

That man took a chance, a big one. When he asked if I wanted to see what he’d made, I could have said no thank you and kept walking. I could have said nothing and made a wide birth around him. I could have criticized his art and said something like, “But those candles aren’t very big, are they?” He must have known that, but he didn’t care. He was so happy about the work he’d created, he had to share it, even with a stranger.

And that’s what I love about art. It gets us out of our comfort zones. It coaxes us to take chances. It breaks the rules. It gives us a reason to talk to strangers.

So, this holiday season, put your art out there. Sing that song you’ve been working on to your relatives, even if it’s not finished yet. Wrap that homemade gift you made, even if it didn’t turn out perfect. Write that poem into your holiday letter, even if it doesn’t have a holiday theme. Share your excitement because that’s what makes the holidays hum—the excitement in the air as we share not only our store-bought gifts, but the gifts of our creativity.

Happy Holidays!

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What Are You Apologizing For?

Having worked for years as a writer’s coach, webinar presenter, and speaker, I often run into people who’ve taken a class from me or heard me speak about the importance of making time for their art. They often seem happy to see me, yet can’t quite look me in the eye. And then comes the apology. “I haven’t made any progress on that book I was working on. It just hasn’t been calling to me. But next month, I’m going to make myself start again.”

“Wait, did you hear yourself?” I say. “You said ‘make yourself.’ We make ourselves go to the dentist. We make ourselves get the oil changed. We shouldn’t make ourselves do our art. You’re not going to find your passion if it’s encased in any negativity. How about you say, ‘When it calls to me again, I’ll get back to it.’ If it does, great. You were meant to finish that project and the time will be right. And if it doesn’t, that’s okay too. Your creativity will find other outlets that do raise your energy.”

How about if we stop beating ourselves up about our art and change the language we speak. How about instead of saying:

“I started a book years ago and then got lazy and never finished it.”

We say: “I started a book years ago and it was so interesting trying my hand at that. I still enjoy thinking about that book.”

“I used to love playing the piano. I was getting pretty good. But then I got busy, and now it’s too hard to work it in.”  

We say: “I used to love playing the piano. It gave me such joy. I’m so glad I had that in my life. Maybe someday I’ll pick it up again.”

“I used to cross-stitch all the time, and then I lost interest. All those unfinished projects haunt me.”

We say: “I used to cross-stitch all the time, but then I moved on to other things. I’m happy for the projects I finished, though. They bring my family joy.”

“I paid for all those art lessons and then I stopped doing it. I’m ashamed of myself for wasting all that money.”

We say: “I’m so glad I took those art lessons. I learned so much and met such interesting people. It was worth every penny because it helped me grow.”

If you stopped expending energy on feeling guilty, ashamed, lazy, repentant, sorrowful, and frustrated about letting go of some of your art, could you find a new passion? If you stopped thinking of yourself as a quitter, or a failure, or someone who just doesn’t have what it takes, would you start to trust again that your creative spirit is alive and well and waiting for permission to guide you again? If you stopped trying to force your art, might you find your way back to it?

Whatever you do, please don’t apologize to me! I’ve got my own unfinished projects and unplayed piano and unsung songs, so I’m right there with you. But it doesn’t bother me. I see those things as possibilities. I approach them with wonder. I wonder if those arts will ever call to me again. Wouldn’t that be fun? If they don’t, I’m awfully glad I’ve had them in my life, and I’m eager to see what direction my creativity takes me in next!

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A Grandmother’s Lessons on Being

Yesterday, I was having a drink with a friend and some of her friends. A couple of the women were talking about their grandkids and how hard they try to be of service to them, which is wonderful, but sometimes hard.

 

I blurted out, “I don’t know. I spent a lot of time with my grandmother. She never cooked special foods for me or made me clothes or took me anywhere. Heck, we rarely left her home. I only remember one time she ever bought me something for no reason. She was a very quiet person, and English was her second language, so she rarely gave me advice or chatted with me about the things I enjoyed. She never came to any of my school events or activities. Yet I adored her.”

 

This revelation was followed by a moment of silence, as I think we all processed what I’d said. I’ve wondered for a long time why, given the circumstances, my grandmother was so important to me. Why she still is, though she’s been gone for almost 30 years. I admired her for the challenges she’d overcome in her youth and her tenacity as an immigrant to America. Though she never said, “I love you,” I knew she did. My fondest memories of her are of quiet moments. Sitting together on the porch swing with her hand in mine. Slow, observant walks around the block just to notice what had changed since yesterday. Watching her pat out tortillas for our lunch or helping her sort the good pinto beans from the bad (which is actually a pretty meditative experience).

 

I realize now my grandmother was a master of “living in the now.” And some part of me, growing up with stress and challenges of my own, must have craved that. I used to think Grandma didn’t teach me anything specific. She was a great seamstress, but never taught me to sew. She refused to teach me Spanish, though I asked her often. She never taught me how to cook, even. She left that to my mother. But now I realize she taught me something much more valuable. She taught me how to be still, how to notice, how to just be in the presence of someone you love.

 

So maybe it’s not what we do for others, it’s how we “be” with others. Maybe what shows our love the most is just being present. Funny, how it can take a lifetime to recognize the lessons that really matter.

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The Power of Hello

A friend related a story on social media the other day about meeting a wonderful couple at the train station and bonding with them during a two-hour waiting period. It was clear how much joy that encounter brought her. It reminded me of a similar experience I had last week on a plane ride home from New York City. A man about my age scooted past me to the window seat (I was in the middle) and did what most people do on airplanes nowadays, he smiled politely then started looking at his phone. Following the new, accepted protocol, I didn’t bother him.

 

But about 30 minutes into the flight, he pulled out a script and started making notes. I couldn’t help myself. I asked, “Did you write that play?” This simple question lead to a three-hour conversation about writing, theater, production, New York, reincarnation, angels, and all kinds of other interesting topics. I learned a lot, he learned a lot, and we promised to keep in touch.

 

I’ve got a million stories like that. So does the friend I talked about earlier. I’ve known her to invite someone to her holiday party whom she met in the grocery store line. I’ve had so many memorable conversations on airplanes, mostly back in the days when people didn’t just put in their ear buds and zone out. Some of those conversations even sparked story ideas.

 

Do you realize there are potential friends, colleagues, allies, supporters, advisors, and sources of inspiration all around you? They’re sitting next to you at the coffee shop or standing in front of you in line or waiting on you at the restaurant. At first glance, they may seem just like you or nothing like you. They might be friendly or standoffish. They might be boisterous or shy. They might say something that lifts you up or something that annoys the hell out of you. They don’t always fit the profile of the type of person you think you are drawn to. So, approach every encounter with curiosity rather than judgment.

 

Many people in the arts identify as introverts. They tell me it’s hard for them to network on behalf of their businesses, let alone start a casual conversation with a stranger. They tell me they want to be left alone on an airplane. I get that. I feel that way myself sometimes.

 

But if your gut instinct is to talk to that person sitting next to you, don’t shut it down. Maybe he or she was put in your path for a reason. Your intuition recognizes that, so trust it! Put yourself out there a bit. See where a conversation with a stranger can take you!

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Rising Above the Noise

The other day, I went for a walk. I was looking forward to listening to one of my favorite podcasts, Revisionist History with Malcolm Gladwell. The sun was shining, the weather was mild, and I was looking forward to getting away from my work and out into the fresh air.

 

Very soon, though, I realized my relaxing walk was going to come with frustrations. Thanks to the passing school buses, barking dogs, and leaf blowers, I had to keep rewinding my podcast to catch the parts drowned out by the outside noise. I finally veered from my usual walk and went deeper into the neighborhood to avoid the heavier traffic, and that helped. But that experience got me thinking.

 

There’s so much talk today about how to make our messages heard “above the noise,” and that’s the main thing I’ve been obsessing about lately when it comes to promoting my new book. People are bombarded by the constant chatter of the internet and social media, the round-the-clock opinions voiced on TV and radio, the barrage of ads promising that certain products will make us feel younger, smarter, prettier, happier, etc. With all that, how is anyone going to learn about my little book?

 

On the walk, though, I was determined to hear my podcast. Why? Because I love Malcolm Gladwell and the way he thinks. I’m his kind of listener. I’m his audience. So, despite the challenges and frustrations, I stuck with him because his work matters to me.

 

And I realized that’s what we need to keep in mind. If we try to rise above “the noise,” we are going to struggle. There’s just too much of it out there. But even in a loud room, you can always hear that friend who is whispering in your ear, right? Why? Because what he or she is saying matters.

 

So, for those of us who have a message or product or service we believe in, we may sometimes need to get off the high-traffic roads and wander around in quieter spaces if we want to hear and be heard. And when we do need to make our way in the loud spaces, rather than adding to the shouting, maybe we should try a heartfelt whisper. It’s bound to be heard by the people who care the most.

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In All Honesty

A friend commented on one of my recent blog posts. She said, “I just love how honest you are in your blog.” I took that as a compliment, after all, that’s how she intended it. But her comment caused me pause.

See, when I write these posts, I don’t set out to be anything in particular. The words, “Be honest,” never cross my mind. But in a certain way I comprehend that when I write these entries, I’m trying to understand something that’s going on within me. And how can we understand ourselves if we’re not honest?

That said, I wonder if I’m as honest as I could be. I think I hold myself back sometimes. For example, there are admissions I maybe don’t make for fear you might judge me. There have been observations I’ve failed to voice for fear you won’t agree. There are words or phrases I start to write and then delete for fear they might offend.

And it’s not just me I worry about. There have been many times I’ve wanted to be deeply honest about what I’m experiencing but I stop myself because I’m afraid I might hurt or embarrass someone I love. My mother once told me very clearly, I was not allowed to write about her because her story belonged to her and it was private. “But Mom,” I said, “how am I supposed to write my story if I’m not free to mention one of the most important influencers in my life?”

It could also be that sometimes I think I’m being honest with myself (and with you), but I’m not totally. I’m putting down on paper what I hope is true, or one day will be true, but I’m not quite there yet.

When I was a kid, I put a lot of pressure on myself to be honest, and I beat myself up when I didn’t tell the truth. I think I was confusing truth with honesty. Telling the truth calls for factual accuracy. Did you break this vase or didn’t you? Honesty, I think, goes a little deeper. “Yes, but I tried to hide it because I was afraid you’d think I was bad.”

Honesty, I think, is about how the truth feels. Honesty requires trust. I’m certainly trying to be honest in this blog, because I trust that you, too, struggle with the same things I do.

So, today, what feels true is that I’m a work in progress, and my work is progressing. And while I’m traveling this life journey and making my art, I’ll try to be honest with myself and with you. We’re all in this together. Maybe it’s time we start trusting each other again.

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The Best Guidance is Trusting What Feels Right

They say we can get guidance from our dreams. That deep within us lie the answers we seek, and sometimes they manifest in our dreams. Sometimes I wake feeling energized or pleased by a dream. Other times I wake feeling unsettled. Interestingly, when I wake up feeling energized or pleased, I don’t spend a lot of time wondering why. I happily take that positive energy into my day. I’m content with feeling positive.

On the other hand, when I wake up feeling unsettled, I go straight into analyzing mode. “I think the dream might have been trying to tell me this. Or maybe it was telling me that. Which is it?” I might search the internet for dream interpretation sites and then poke around until I find the one that gives me the answer I want to believe.

The same can be said for messages I receive while meditating or solid advice offered by a friend. When it feels good, I’m sure it’s meant to be. I don’t question it. I jump right in. When it feels unsettling, though, I start to think things through. “Could that message be right? Should I follow that advice, even though it doesn’t feel right?”

I’m not sure how successful I really am, but I know that when I feel successful is when I avoid projects, programs, or people who make me feel unsettled. And by unsettled, I don’t mean challenged, I mean joyless. When I feel good about what I’m doing, when it feels “right,” I typically fare better. I don’t procrastinate, I don’t make excuses, I don’t make compromises, I just move forward. That’s not to say those things always work out, but I’m almost never sorry I tried. That’s the interesting part. As long as it felt right, whether it succeeded or failed, whether I completed it or not, I typically retain some pride in and affection for the effort. That is rarely the case when I undertake something just because I think I should or because someone advised me to do so.

I used to think it was naïve or starry-eyed to trust my gut over the advice of experts (even those who interpret dreams or signs or offer tried-and-true advice). But I’ve come to realize what we know goes far deeper than what we or anyone else thinks. If it feels right, it is right. That’s not to say their advice will never work. Maybe in time, it will feel right, and then we can do it.

I’m still paying attention to my dreams, but rather than trying to figure out exactly what they mean, I’m feeling into them. If the dream made me feel unsettled, can I acknowledge that my inner being is feeling unsettled. Can I stay open to where that feeling manifests in my day? Can I trust that whether I fully grasp the mindful interpretation of the dream, what really matters is the feeling it invoked, because that’s my intuition telling me something does or does not feel right?

At least that is what this non-expert’s gut is telling her.

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My Odd Addiction

Other than chocolate, I’ve long held I have no real addictions. This week, I realized that was no longer true. I think I’m addicted to e-mail, and for a reason that surprised me. See, I’ve always thought I insistently check e-mail out of a sense of obligation; I want to make sure I read or respond to every communication in a timely manner. And I thought it had to do with my deep fear of dropping a ball, which I assumed was why I read and reread e-mails. It’s also true that business these days is 24/7, and one has to stay on top of e-mail or it gets out of control. So, I thought I was being diligent in keeping my inbox from overflowing.

But lately I realized there may be another reason I keep my inbox open and visible all day long, why I glance at my monitor every time I walk past my computer, and check and recheck the messages I’ve received. I’m waiting for, hoping for, longing for that one big e-mail that is going to change everything.

That e-mail requesting an extra-large order of my books or the one inviting me to keynote at an event or the one asking me to appear on a national TV show. At the very least, I’m hoping the answers to the questions I’ve been grappling with as I launch a new book and grow a new business will present themselves in an offer or a suggestion that arrives via e-mail. Or that, like today, someone will say just the right thing to give me the boost of confidence I need. I’m looking outside myself for the answers and expecting them to land in my inbox.

Every day, I do get e-mails that lift my spirits and advance my business, but I also get e-mails I have no idea how to answer. So, I skip those, and they clutter up my inbox for days. As often as e-mail provides assistance, it raises questions or concerns.

Well-intentioned friends have offered advice. “Check your e-mail only a couple of times a day,” they suggest. Or “Read an e-mail only once and deal with it immediately, rather than saving it for later.” Or “Hit your delete button more often on all those industry newsletters.” But what if the solution to my problems lies in those newsletters?

Where are you looking for answers or validation or belonging? In your inbox, on your social media platforms, in the podcasts you listen to or the online learning platforms that promise the answers?  What are you really hoping to find there?

I’m working to remember that e-mail is simply a tool. And whether it delivers good news or bad, it’s just a reflection that my work continues, my purpose is unfolding, and my journey is underway. Nothing that comes or does not come through virtual mail is going to make or break me. The answers may sometimes seem to arrive in e-mail, but they’re just as likely to arrive on a walk around the neighborhood or over a drink with friends or in a moment of quiet meditation. The real work doesn’t lie in hitting “send” or “delete,” it lies in being open to refresh and receive.

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