Week 2, Day 3 — Confessions of a Crazymaker

Okay, I admit it.  I let myself become a crazymaker yesterday.

Lack of sleep, weeks of busyness, pent-up stress; they're only partly to blame.  I have strong coping mechanisms given I deal with both insomnia and stress to extremes on a daily basis, yet somehow I managed to tip myself over my tolerance threshold.  The real issue yesterday was lack of mindfulness.  I failed to recognise early enough that I was run down and take appropriate steps to protect myself; I didn't have the luxury of being able to wrap myself up in a duvet and hide away for the day.  I had to just get on with things.

But I didn't just get on with it.  I put my rubbish feelings out into the world believing it would set a boundary and give me space to lick my wounds until I felt better.  That was an act of crazy-making!  I failed to acknowledge that people around me were having the same kind of day I was (maybe it was the awful burst of autumn weather we were hit with in Scotland?) and instead may have left people who look to me for support feeling worse than I did.  I dragged several others into my whirlpool of craziness in the process.

So today is about mindfulness; being mindful of myself and mindful of others.  It's about bringing my emotions back in-house, and not transferring them.

I got 4½ hours sleep last night — not perfect, but I'm a bit more refreshed than yesterday at least.  I ate a good meal with my best friend before our concert rehearsal last night, somehow managed to do a quick once-through edit of the script I'm working on, and drafted a short proposal for a project I'd like to be involved with later in the year.  The day was more productive than I expected it to be, and all achieved while running on low!

Now that I've identified and expelled my own crazy-making, I'll be back on track tomorrow to deal with the real task at hand:  working out where my energy is being sapped, and who is doing the sapping.  Crazymakers beware!

K

Week 2, Day 2 — Dip

I'm having a bit of a dip today.  The warning signs were there at the weekend after I felt so exhausted, and I can't help but think I've been carrying some low-lying bug or a cold of some sort that hasn't fully revealed itself.  Last night I hardly slept, insomniating for hours on end, drifting in and out of sleep for barely under an hour and a half in total before forcing myself into the shower and out to work.  Morning pages skipped, morning walk skipped, breakfast skipped — I haven't even had coffee yet.  My whole routine is out the window.  As I commuted to work I felt miserable, a failure, like I've let myself down.  Two of my blurts kept playing on my mind:  "You never finish things" and "I knew you wouldn't make it".  My energy is so low that I can't work out how to claw back some productivity and be creative on a day like this.

Deep breaths.  Relax.  Positive affirmations.

I resign myself to the fact that big to-do list jobs need to be put off today; there's no point trying to tackle them and risk doing them badly.  I'll challenge the smaller things on my list and build myself up by achieving wee goals instead.

If the rain stays off I'll go a walk at lunchtime to clear my head.  Fresh air and light will refresh me; maybe I'll find something tasty and reinvigorating for lunch.

K

Week 2, Day 1 — My Favourite Things

I read Chapter 2 of The Artist's Way before going to bed last night and spent most of it cringing.  Crazymakers are back in my life!

No, crazymakers aren't like vampires who create zombies.  Crazymakers are people who drain you, people who create drama, people who are expert blamers and have no respect for schedules or order.  The reason I cringe is because I recognise I went through a protracted period of being a crazymaker myself.  Now that's not such a shameful thing:  Julia Cameron recognises that everyone is a crazymaker at some point.  I think what makes me cringe is the fact that I went through my particular period at a time when I was retraining as a life coach and counselling skills practitioner and should have known better!!

I decided when I got up this morning not to get drawn on this task straight away.  It's one I want to think about properly and come back to, as I acknowledge there are several areas of my life that would benefit from being clutter busted right now to create space and order.  Instead, I decided to indulge in the task that asks you to make a list of twenty things you enjoy doing.

So (to borrow a lyric), these are a few of My Favourite Things:

1. Enjoying good coffee
2. Writing letters
3. Writing stories
4. Listening to acoustic music
5. Watching live theatre
6. Performing live theatre
7. Taking photographs and capturing memories
8. Freshly baked bread with butter and herbs
9. Getting lost in an absorbing book
10. Reading to people
11. Singing at the top of my lungs
12. Letting chocolate melt in my mouth
13. Ice-cream!
14. Baking cookies
15. Walking in the park or city (depending on the weather and my mood)
16. Trips to the seaside
17. Going to the movies
18. Exploring places I haven't been before
19. Walking barefoot
20. Learning new things 

Those are the first things that came to me; I'm sure I've missed something obvious!  I then had to identify when I last let myself do these things.  I've done quite a few of them recently, and some of them I do regularly, so that's probably a good thing.  One I haven't done in over two years is go to the seaside, and that's something I miss a lot.  I like walking on the beach and feeling refreshed by the sea air, then having a treat such as a fish supper or an ice-cream to finish the day off.  It's not as easy to do now that I don't have a car, although not impossible if I put my planning head on and take the train down the coast.  I sense a future Artist's Date in the making...

I've picked my goals for this week and know which I'm going to try and squeeze into any windows of opportunity that arise.  Wish me luck!

K

Week 1, Day 6 — My First Date

I’ve just been on a date.  </blush>

Now, don’t get too excited if you know me (or if it’s you reading, Mum) ­— I don’t mean the that kind of date, although to be fair one of those has been a long time coming.  Today was my first Artist’s Date.  A properly blocked off period of time in my diary where I took myself out and treated myself, spent some quality time on my own.  I did something we often forget to do these days in our busy lives:  I switched off my phone and shut out the rest of the world for a whole three hours.

I hadn’t planned anything in advance.  I should have, but was convinced I would cancel on myself so hadn’t bothered.  I publicly promise I won’t let that happen again.  As a result, I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going to go or what I was going to do when I left home, but after spending all day yesterday cooped up in the flat I was ready to do something.  I could easily have been talked into meeting friends, but faithfully stuck to the window of time I’d allocated and spent it on my own.  And I kind of enjoyed it.  I caught the bus to town, listened to a new album on the way, walked among the late afternoon shoppers and then headed to the cinema to see if anything took my fancy; a few things did, but rather than think it out I bravely ventured straight into the first thing that was starting.  I ate popcorn.  I drank fizzy juice.  The movie was a teen comedy that part of me found hilarious and part of me loathed.  It didn’t matter.  I just let myself enjoy the simple pleasure of being on my own for a while.

When the movie finished, I took another walk through the city which still had a fair bit of bustle for early evening on a Sunday, and soon found myself enjoying a tasty smoked chicken salad for dinner with a refreshing iced water on the side, followed by an affogato (espresso with ice-cream to the uninitiated) for dessert.  It was a decadent treat.

Now this part of The Artist’s Way is one I never really got into the first time I attempted the programme.  I am persistently busy, so rarely have time to catch up with simple home chores or get the chance to see friends, never mind force myself to go out and spend time doing something just for the sake of it.  I do go to the cinema or the theatre on my own if I get the chance, but usually on a whim or if I happen to find myself between jobs, rehearsals or events rather than something planned in advance.  Today was a bit of an unusual experience, in that regard.  I felt like I was meant to be with someone, or be somewhere else.  I felt guilt creeping in for the second time this week and had to reassure myself that whilst I could have been tackling my to-do list, this me time is a compulsory and necessary part of the programme.

Just as I finished eating, I checked my watch and realised I only had 20 seconds to go until my three-hour window closed.  I made it.   I enjoyed it.  When it finished (and not one second before), I fired up my MacBook and have been writing this blog entry since; offline, I might add, I haven’t checked Twitter or Facebook or emails — I’m still disconnected from the world right now and feel reluctant to plug back in.  I haven’t switched my phone back on either.  So when you read this it will be a few hours later when I’m home and back online.

What was the point of all this?  The interesting thing is I’ve re-read the section on Artist’s Dates around six times over the past eight years.  I like to think I’m a smart guy, but I’ve never 100% got it.  Obviously it’s about forced down time, forced me time.  Part of me feels a little less guilty about the fact I fill my waking hours with ‘stuff to do’ if I’m allowed to take a compulsory break from it all — maybe that’s the point?  Maybe Julia Cameron recognises that artists fill their lives to the brim with stuff, leaving little room to just enjoy themselves without commitment to others or their art.  After all, time spent with others can be quite draining at times rather than leisurely.

So the Artist’s Date must be about me, and me alone.  I like that idea.  I like the idea that I have permission to pause my hectic life one a week to just enjoy myself.  Can I keep it up every week once I start to get snowed under with stuff and things to-do?  Well, I’m going to have to.  The dates are in my diary now for the next 11 weeks; and when they come close to running out, I’ll be scheduling them in for the next 3 months.

This is the end of Week 1 for me; I started a day behind Debbie, so had to work the tasks around a 6-day week.  We have our first check in tonight by email which will give us a chance to talk a bit more personally about how our week has gone (we’ve both been keeping blogs so we already have a rough idea of how we’ve been progressing).  Week 1 has been about recovery.  It encouraged me to re-dredge thoughts and emotions that I had in many respects worked through already, so I’m conscious of the fact that I’ve perhaps covered some of the ground superficially this week; I need to keep working on those affirmations, but for now, I’m happy with how Week 1 has ended.

Bring on Week 2…

(Someone please remind me I said that with gusto when my alarm goes off at 5:30am tomorrow.)

K

Week 1, Day 5 — Routines and Resting

It's Saturday.  It's the day I expected to be most creative and productive.  But here I am, 6pm, still on the sofa with no motivation to do anything.

I haven't mentioned my long-term insomnia yet in this blog, though if you're reading and know me in person you're probably already aware of it.  I've been getting 4-5 hours sleep a night recently, which is good for me.  That is being upset now I'm rising 45 minutes earlier to work on my morning pages and affirmations as part of my new routine.  So far, I'm finding it exhausting.  I spent most of yesterday like a zombie:  work dragged by in a grumpy haze, then I was singing in concert at night, which went really well but was an effort as I felt so sleepy.  Supper and drinks was laid on for us afterwards, and it was after midnight before I got home.  It was a great evening, but I was so tired I found myself almost nodding off in company.  How rude!

Today I was due to meet a fellow writer to talk projects (cancelled due to a last minute family commitment), followed by a script editing session, some marketing and production work for the play, time was set aside to write a short story submission, I planned a leisurely lunch and coffee after a walk round town, and have tickets for the theatre tonight to round the day off.  It just hasn't happened.  When I finally got to bed in the early hours I crashed out and slept till till after 2pm today.  My morning pages were late-afternoon pages, but at least they're done.  I feel a bit better having caught up on sleep, but my plans for the day are right out the window and — despite the fact I've not actually let anyone down or caused any commotions — I feel guilty about not getting things done.

My creative, productive day hasn't happened.  My Artist's Date isn't happening.  I've resigned myself to an at-home day instead, taking some time out.  Perhaps it's not a bad thing to rest and recuperate then pick things up tomorrow.

K

Week 1, Day 4 — My Secret Lives

The latest task has been to visualise myself living one of five secret lives:  living and doing the things I've always dreamed of doing.  Some of these might not surprise you if you know me!

My first secret life... is not so secret.  I love to sing and entertain.  Singing fills me with joy and has the power to leave me feeling euphoric.  I would love to have been a crooner in a 1930’s jazz club with my own Big Band, making occasional appearances in Hollywood movies — or a leading light in a Broadway musical of the 60’s or 70’s.

My second secret life... is the one where I'm a published author who enjoys tapping away at my keyboard creating characters, worlds and events; I labour away at my latest novel satisfied that it will storm the bestseller charts if I hit the nail on the head.  I write from my high-rise apartment in New York overlooking the city vista, or from a country retreat in the Scottish Highlands, or at a desk by a window in a hotel in Paris or Rome, or in Australia close by a beach that I walk along each day after writing, enjoying the fresh air and the beautiful sunset.

In my third secret life... I own an old bookshop stacked with shelves that overflow with hardbacks, paperbacks, journals and magazines.  It has beaten leather chairs and regular customers who come to read, recite and relax in a world devoted to words.  I serve artisan coffee and high teas, homemade food, bakery and treats to entice people in.  In the winter there is eggnog and gingerbread, a roaring fire and a warm welcoming place for people to meet.

My fourth secret life... is the one where I am a journalist, a roving reporter, part of a Pulitzer Prize winning news team.  I investigate crime and corruption, helping expose injustice to make the world a better place.  I am the real-life Clark Kent!

In my fifth secret life... I am an old man.  Yes, believe it or not, I dream of the days when I have retired, reached an easy pace and look back fondly on my years with content.  The fact I am old does not phase me, as I have led a full and fulfilling life of pursued and achieved goals and ambitions, I am still regularly invited to work and share in the things that made my career so successful, and I do — for fun — because I can, rather than because I need to.  I enjoy simple pleasures such as walking in the park, saying hello to strangers and sharing our life stories, reading books on long bus trips to places I’ve never been before, and I sleep happy at night knowing each day is a blessing.

Now, the next part of this task is to actually go out and do one of these things, to try to live part of these lives that I can play with and experimentally live for a day.  Tonight I’m singing at a charity concert, so I will visualise myself on Broadway while I perform – and perhaps even steal an extra bow!  I will inevitably take a  bus journey this weekend (perhaps not a long one, though) and start one of the books on my reading list, then find a wee bookshop to hide away in and ruffle through the old books for an hour or two.  I’ve still to have my Artist’s Date this week (which I’ll talk about soon), so may even treat myself to high tea.

What do you dream of doing?  Can you do something this weekend that helps you live part of that secret life?

K

Week 1, Day 3 — Blurts & Monsters in the Hall

I gave over a chunk of yesterday to exploring my blurts and filling my 'monster hall of fame'.  If you haven't come across the term blurts in this context before, it refers to the little voice that likes to silence your positivity or optimism just when things start going well and making progress.  It might hit out at a compliment you've received from a friend by blurting 'what do they know?', or when you settle down to write or paint or learn a monologue, it may blurt 'you'll never be good enough, what's the point, you'll never make it'.  It is your inner self-critic, your own worst enemy.  These blurts have a past.  They can usually be traced back to person who first said it or implied it to you, and will be a direct reflection of that person's negativity — something that you have taken on board and still carry around with you.  These people are your monsters.  They are the doubters who didn't believe in you, were envious of your ambition or were afraid you'd get hurt if you failed.  The are the people who unwittingly (or perhaps quite deliberately) sabotaged your dreams of being an artist.

Yesterday's task required me to focus on three of my blurts and to time travel back to discover the monsters who helped create them.  I started to feel quite anxious as I listed not three, but eight in total.  Even I have to admit that is excessive.  To think that I've gone through my training as a counselling skills practitioner, a personal development trainer and a life coach and still carry baggage belonging to eight other people seems ridiculous.  But, as I started to review the list and look at some of them in more detail, I began to understand why.  When I've worked through my negative self-beliefs and perceptions in the past, I've done so with a focus on my career, or my relationship, or my health — I've never turned the spotlight on myself as an artist and questioned why I still 'haven't made it'.  And now, on paper, I have a list of the reasons why.  My blurts, and the monsters who installed them.

A few of them are quite personal and will take time for me to work through by seeking positive affirmations to turn them around.  One in particular stood out.  Just over ten years ago, when I first moved to Glasgow with ambitions of pursuing acting as a career, I joined an amateur theatre company and soon made friends with a group of the long-standing members and some of the production team.  At that time the roost was ruled by a guy who played the leading role in practically every production the company staged, and he did not take kindly to 'young pretenders' turning up on the scene.  He seemed to dislike me, engaging in underhand behaviour during rehearsals that were nothing short of an attempt to force me out.

I stuck it out until the end of the run.  At the after-show party, he was making quite a spectacle of himself when he drunkenly started to proclaim "I am a story teller and my story must be told".  No one had a clue what was going on or who he was aiming it at.  But then he directed his venom quite firmly at me:  "Aye, you... you like telling stories, don't you?  You like exaggerating to make folk like you.  You like being the centre of attention".  It was aggressive.  It was a personal attack.  It was far from the truth, but it hurt, and I felt threatened.  I didn't know how to respond, how to defend myself.  I was young, I was naïve, and I let him win.  I left the party, and I never went back.  I didn't tell my friends or the director the real reason I left.  I had been toying with the idea of visiting Australia by then anyway, so rather than go back for the next production, I simply used it as a convenient excuse to leave and instead brought forward my gap year.

The part of the incident that most sticks with me is the maliciousness of his words:  "I am a story teller and my story must be told" in that camp yet venomous tone.  For years when I prepared for auditions, my inner self-critic would first of all say "you're going to make a fool of yourself" (a blurt from quite a difference monster), before falling back on a vision of my first monster's sneering face as he humiliated me in front of the crowd.  This took place over a decade ago, but has shamed me ever since.

Working on the task yesterday, I finally found a way to turn this blurt on its head.  It was obvious:  I AM a story teller.  Quite a different meaning from the intended slur, but throw a new emphasis on it and it is in fact a compliment!  He was right:  my story MUST be told!  He was doing me a favour.  I didn't want to be an amateur theatre performer:  I was a young actor and writer in development, looking for experience.  I had joined the company in good faith, in an open, honest and genuine fashion that clearly unsettled him.  It was nothing to do with talent (he was a more confident performer than I was at that stage).  It was entirely to do with the bubble of self-importance he had created for himself; a superficial world built on bitchiness, backstabbing and drama, where he was top of the tree and anyone who dared encroach was a threat to his dominance.  His weapon of defence was belittlement, and he was unsparing in his attack.

A huge chunk of my self-belief dissipated dissipated that night.  I felt stupid.  I felt small.  I gave up on any thoughts of applying to drama school now that I had seen what actors were really like — I didn't want to be around people like that.  I cut myself off from a pool of friends by convinced myself that they'd believe his vitriol, the King of Queens.

I reclaim belief in myself today.  I can act, I can write, and I am not ashamed of my desire to share it with people.  I consign you, King of Queens, to the Monster Hall of Fame.  My new positive affirmation is that same old blurt with its new emphasis:

I am a story teller, and my story must be told.

K