Nancy Knows Best
Yesterday I was interviewed by a journalism student at my alma mater. She was writing a paper and talking to various alumni in the journalism field. There’s nothing quite like reviewing your entire professional career in half an hour to give you some perspective.
In short, I went from sports writer at a newspaper to public relations director at a national youth sports league to sports writer/columnist at another newspaper by the time I was 30. After 10 years at the latter, I moved into web producing (read: editing) for a major network sports site in New York, then to a professional sports league in the same capacity, then to television producing at an exciting startup network. Whew.
So here’s what struck me while I was answering her questions. I have not always made popular decisions. In fact, people (some of whom I respect and love) thought I was crazy several times along the way. For example, as the P.R. director of a youth baseball league, I had a corporate American Express card, plenty of travel and a nice office. I left that to become an agate clerk at a newspaper. For those not familiar with sports journalism jargon, that means I did monkey work — coding statistics like horse racing results and boxscores. It also meant working nights in a non-glamorous atmosphere.
But the pay was a bit better, I had made up my mind to earn a beat of my own within a year (it was nine months, actually) and public relations involved writing fluff that didn’t come naturally to me. In the long run, I wound up thriving as a sports writer/columnist, loving the challenges of writing on deadline and meeting fascinating people from all walks of life. I think I can safely say that decision kicked butt.
When I made the jump to web producing, there were more jeers. It wasn’t a sure thing and some people are very into the sure, safe thing. I can’t live like that, at least not happily. So I made the move and loved working with tight deadlines in a different medium. What a rush. The hours were a little nutty, but that was part of the appeal for me.
When that operation moved to Los Angeles, I opted to stay in New York and landed a job at a professional sports league. It was a step up in pay and title and I had a gorgeous office complete with chrome and glass in Rockefeller Center. I loved the people but hated the staid corporate atmosphere. I lasted six months. The naysayers had a blast with that one.
But I persisted in my philosophy of “Nancy Knows Best” and took to the startup network immediately. I was given an opportunity to learn television producing and it was a priceless experience despite a layoff that decimated my 30-person department two and a half years ago.
The reason this speaks to me so much right now is that I have made some recent decisions that have others thinking I’ve lost my mind (and admittedly I’ve questioned my sanity at times as well). Mine is a freelance life, writing and life coaching. Some months it’s lucrative, others it’s very slow. And, to be fair, I’m a stubborn soul. I feel my life is being guided by the universe and my challenge is to be open to all of it and stay focused on the journey. When I try something repeatedly and doors keep slamming shut, I take that as a sign that I’m forcing a direction that isn’t supposed to be.
So thank you, journalism student. This has been a welcome reminder in a time of extreme ebb and flow. I am on the right path. I can feel it in my gut.
New Thought
I attend a New Thought church. There. I’ve said it.
For some reason I had a notion in my head that this was something I shouldn’t reveal to the world at large. It’s no one’s business, I reasoned. And on some level I still feel that way. But on another level, I think it’s important not to hide it either. If you are aligned with something that lifts you up, enriches your spiritual life and inspires you every day, why not share it? It seems a pity not to.
The message at this week’s service was about giving. Not the kind where you elbow people in Bloomingdale’s for just the right sweater for someone on your list, but the kind where you give to yourself. What that includes is giving to organizations and causes that speak to you, be it a church, a community center, a shelter or a charity. It means giving of yourself through your personal gifts and time. Yes, that kind of giving.
I found this subject particularly synchronous this week. I had been thinking about a recent conversation with a dear friend who is a born again Christian. While I strongly disagree with her religious beliefs, I love that at her core she lives her life passionately in them. And part of the minister’s message this week was about how much we can learn from Evangelicals — how they walk their talk by practicing their religion every day, how they give to causes aligned with their beliefs and mobilize to effect change. What an insightful observation.
I feel emotionally and spiritually at peace in church and in the world. There. I’ve said that, too.
Paradise in a pen
I don’t know how I got on a mailing list for a Paradise Pen catalog, but I received one in my mailbox today. It’s actually called a “giving manual” and it has these sweet little writing stories woven through the pages of merchandise. And the pens! One for every personality, it seems. “Pens can inspire grace,” one page touts.
This is a writer thing with me, just like feathers and journals and stationery. I find it synchronous that this lovely tribute to writing tools came to me now, another sign from the universe saying, “Yes, keep writing!” Just like the feather in my path a few weeks ago. Funny how the universe conspires to help us when we make our intentions known.
On top of the two-page spread for the Cartier Trinity Black Fountain Pen is this heading: “Writing is the mirror of the soul.” Yes. Writing virtually strips you naked. That’s the challenge, at least if it’s going to be good.
Go figure. I suddenly have a hankering for my favorite sleek racy red pen …
Warts and all
Today a friend shared over lunch what it was like to lose her father earlier this year. I listened with rapt attention. I have another good friend who recently lost his father. It’s disconcerting.
I have committed myself to trying extra hard to accept my father, warts and all. I will communicate with him to the best of my ability and reconcile myself to the fact that he doesn’t need to understand me or my choices. We can just be.
That’s all.
Black Friday
I’m going to be in a shopping mall at 7:30 a.m. tomorrow. Many people I know think I’ve lost my mind. After all, I do very little holiday shopping and, being self-employed, don’t need to do it at the height of retail madness.
However, I’m going with my sister and she is over-the-top excited about it and it’s become something of a ritual on Black Friday. We’ll get some coffee en route, hit the stores, unload some packages, get more coffee, hit more stores and then plop down for some lunch at Ruby Tuesday’s. I’ll also be equipped with some dorky coupons that allow me free lotion at Bath and Body Works if I purchase something and for some reason that rocks my world. Last year I bought an ornament for my Christmas tree and got the vanilla lotion to boot. Yee-ha.
In the process, the whole experience puts me in the holiday mood and allows me to check out all the latest ornaments and decorations. I can already hear the jingle bells …
Simple thanks
So here I sit in Leisure Village watching The Golden Girls. No, I’m not looking into a crystal ball. I’m visiting my parents for Thanksgiving. Tomorrow we will travel to my aunt’s house, over 20 of us. In the morning, I’ll be assembling three very plentiful antipastos because, heaven forbid, we can’t have an All-American Thanksgiving. There must be at least one Italian course. Pilgrims be damned.
There is something comforting about all of this. Families can be tricky, let’s face it. And mine is no different. But seeing some of my cousins, catching up, laughing, planning some Christmas visits, it’s all very traditional and somehow soothing. The turkey and stuffing add to the appeal, I must say.
So this is where I talk about being thankful. I have a friend who says we should be thankful all year, not just this week and he’s right. However, I’m still going to use this holiday to pause and reflect for a moment. I am so, so thankful to have found a spiritual path that has become a way of life for me more and more every day. Every other thing for which I am thankful comes back to that — health, creative gifts, abundance, love.
It’s that simple.
The writing rush
The computer is coming with me to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving. This is how I know I’ve become attached to my book idea. I’m thinking in terms like this: two hours on the train each way means four hours of writing. Even if I don’t write a word in between, that alone is a good chunk of time.
So I’m really off and running. Committed like never before. Excited to be feeling so passionate about a writing project. I have a phenomenal support system — a testament to my good taste in friends.
And my ego … well, that’s kicking in, too. For me that’s always been a part of the process. When I was a sports writer and columnist for a newspaper, every so often I’d write a piece I felt so keyed up about that I had to get the paper first thing in the morning and see it in print. Even after hundreds of bylines, sometimes there was nothing like that one article I was proud of from start to finish and seeing it in print made it real. There is no other rush quite like it.
Isn’t this how we know we’re gifted in a particular area? The rush? The juice?
Oh yeah.
My story
The assignment I had given my writing class for tonight was to create a collage. I asked that they spend 20 minutes going through magazines and collecting images or words that appealed to them, then another 20 affixing those images to cardboard or construction paper. The exercise is straight from The Artist’s Way and it always goes over well with students. It’s a wonderful way to get in touch with what matters to you and it helps to get the creative juices flowing.
Rather than create a new one this time around, I took my teacher’s prerogative and brought in the collage I had created for my class last spring. When we started looking at it, I noticed a tiny block near the top with the following words: My story belongs to everyone, but only I can tell it. Part of me says I was taking the easy way out by not making a new collage. But then the other part kicks in, the one that says I was supposed to reconnect with those words right now, this day, this week.
The success of my book hinges on me being forthcoming about my own triumphs and hardships, attributes and foibles. It means telling my story completely and frankly as only I can tell it.
Powerful words. Empowering words. My story. My way.
On the brink
There comes a point when we don’t need another book, another workshop, another living soul to tell us what we need to do. We already know. We’re just busting through the last layer of fear and resistance.
I can tell I am there. I know what I have to do. One foot in front of the other. Baby steps, just like I teach my clients. Just like Gina, my 15-month-old niece. She stands and feels brave and accomplished. But then what? She looks at the floor. She’s learned how to safely land on her butt. Now it’s just a matter of looking straight ahead and moving one foot out in front. Then the next. It’s that basic. That’s why the baby steps metaphor is so good.
My nephew, Stephen, is almost three. When he started talking it was like the language had just been sitting there waiting to burst through the surface. Now he’s not only speaking, but shouting with glee. He can’t express enough. He’s exuberant in his speech. It’s a beautiful thing to watch.
That’s how our breakthroughs happen. At some point we have to be on the brink. And let’s just say it, sometimes the brink is a hard place to be. It’s that last, point-of-no-return, I’m-about-to-leap place. From there, it’s jump or turn back. Is that really a choice?
Not when your destiny is waiting.
Insight and in-sight
Last night I had a two-hour telephone conversation with a friend I hadn’t talked to in a long time. It was wonderful to connect and I was thrilled to hear she is finding lessons in a stream of losses she has experienced. That is what I strive to do, to be. It reminded me of the importance of right association in our lives, the feeling of sharing with like-minded others.
It was this friend who introduced me to The Artist’s Way; last night we picked up where we left off without skipping a beat. I don’t think those two facts are unrelated. When I told her of my triumphs and my hardships of late, she was insightful about both. When I mentioned the annoying and ugly sty on my eye, she marveled at how literal the universe can be — what are you not seeing, Nancy? Knock me over with a feather, why don’t you.
That brings me to this morning. The cold is lingering. The sty is still there. I just finished meditating about everything. When all else was quiet, one persistent voice kept saying the same thing — Write your damn book. Not in your leisurely, la-la pace. Like you mean it. Like it means something to you. Like you have something to say. Like you can’t wait to spit it all out. What are you waiting for???????
Duh.
