Monthly Archives: August 2012

Storycatcher

Photo of Andrea Scher (me!) by the talented Jen Downer in Portland, OR

Your courage stories

Wow. Your courage stories have been trickling in each day and I am feeling like the luckiest kind of storycatcher. I had no idea how much I needed to hear your stories of courage. Or how much they would move me. Or how they are just the right medicine for my tender heart.

I have been moved to (many) tears reading your work + your stories have transformed me in the best ways. I am SO grateful. They will be a powerful part of the upcoming courage class.

If you still have a story, you are welcome to send it over.

Turns out, I might never tire of hearing your brave words.

P.S. I am working my ASS OFF over here cooking up the Treasure Hunt class, the courage class and a brand new web site. SO excited.

 

Psst! Sneak preview of the Treasure Hunt.

Maternity session, shot with Canon Xsi

Day #3:
A tattoo

I saw a woman walking toward me on the street recently. She looked decidedly tough — tattoos up and down her arms, hair in a buzz cut, walking a big dog. But one of her tattoos made me pause and tears immediately came to my eyes. It was big (sprawling across her entire chest) and said three words:

I am enough.

I stopped and looked over my shoulder as she passed, debating about whether I should stop and take her photo. Would that be weird? Is it okay to ask the story behind the tattoo? Surely there is a good story.

I chickened out, intimidated by her look. But I have decided since, that if you tattoo the words “I am enough” across your chest, you better be prepared for curious humans to ask you about it. And the next time I see her, I will.

Find a tattoo today. And be extra brave if it’s a stranger.

Above is a sneak peek into the Treasure Hunt course! 30 Days of creative photo prompts to fill your inbox with inspiration, photo tips and bursts of joy. Just $49.

Class begins the day you register. Today!

Calling for courage stories*

Nico + Ben, the album cover, shot with iphone 4S

the family band begins, shot with iphone 4S

Cultivating Courage

Hey guys! I am cooking up a new offering that you are (fingers crossed) going to love! I will do a proper unveiling soon, but I will give you a hint and say that it is all about cultivating the superpower of courage.

More and more, I am realizing that practicing courage (in small ways every day) takes me farther than any other practice I know. Strengthening this one muscle is so powerful.

I need your help

  • Do you have a story about a time when you had to call on your courage?
  • What happened? How did you transform?
  • Was there any magic on the other side?

These stories can be short and sweet. (And no heroics necessary. We’re talkin ordinary, everyday courage)

Details:
400 or 500 words max.
DUE: AUGUST 27th
Email your story to me here: [email protected]

A collection of these stories will be published in the upcoming courage class.

*Everyone who sends me a story will get a coupon for the upcoming course. Can’t wait to read your stories!

 

Creative Superheroes Interview: Laurie Wagner

Hey Superhero readers,

I am beyond delighted, excited, ecstatic to share today’s interview with you. It is with a dear friend, a writing mentor + teacher and someone who I deeply admire. Not just for her smarts, her depth and her artistry, but for her ability to tell the truth in the most beautiful and heart-opening way.

I met Laurie Wagner at a party over 10 years ago. We immediately gravitated toward each other, giggled over red wine and told stories deep into the night. My heart recognized a kindred in her. Shortly after, I began writing with her at her dining room table in one of her Wild Writing courses — a magical table filled with women pouring out their hearts in words, learning to be brave and vulnerable, guided by the enchanting Laurie who sets the bar high and makes it look easy.

All these years later, I am still taking that Wild Writing course (now at Teahouse) and she launched an online version called Telling True Stories this year. (Lucky you!)

There are a small handful of writers that I owe everything to. Laurie teaches me (as a writer and friend) that we can share the real stuff of our hearts, that there are others to receive it and be moved by it. She helped me find my voice, go to the edges of my courage and heal my heart through the transformative practice of writing.

Get ready to fall in love.

What is your superpower?

What I value most in a person is honesty and authenticity, and so I aim for that as best I can. But it’s more than just a set of values, the truth is, I simply can’t tolerate the lie or the half-truth inside of me. If I’ve kept something from you, eventually it will come out. I must purge it or I can’t sleep. And this propensity to tell the truth reveals itself all over my life – in writing classes, at dinner parties, in relationships, good god – sometimes in professional meetings with strangers. That doesn’t always go so well.

I can’t help myself. I tell the awkward truth, I point to the elephant in the room, I confess.

And when I do this, when I take the first risk and sacrifice myself like that, what often ends up happening is that it changes the air in the room and people start telling the truth and taking risks around me. This going first business seems to have the effect of making it safe for people because it shows them how big the territory of our connection is, and it turns whatever space I’m in – a classroom – a dinner party – into a much more interesting and soulful experience because we all wade into deeper waters.

I tell the truth to save my own life – but it’s also an invitation for other people to join me there – and I think that’s where a lot of people want to be. And so because of this superpower, if you will, my connections and experiences with people – friends and family and students – are full of vitality, authenticity and richness.

What are your obsessions? And how do they make their way into your creative work?

I adore rusty metal – old buildings – walls – scraps from a work site – abandoned equipment.  I love the way metal oxidizes and the patina changes over time. You get these amazing colors; oranges and greens, pinks and grays. I use metal in my altered books, and some day when my life opens up a little more I’m going to weld and make things. Rusty metal is some kind of doorway for me – every time I pass a gorgeous, old metal building I always promise myself, soon, soon.

Ripped Paper. I do a lot of collage and most all of it starts with ripping paper up – something that I find deeply freeing. Just the sound of it – rrrrrriiiip! There’s an intrinsic relief in that – I think because it immediately takes me out of my perfectionist tendencies to create things “just so.” You can’t control how the paper is going to rip, and so you work from what you get, which inspires an intuitive, off the grid kind of art-making. There’s no road map – just rip and paste, rip and paste, and kind of quickly too. It isn’t so different from the messy speed of wild writing. Both teach me to go with gut instinct, let go of perfection and take risks.

Racquetball, clearly– even if I’m not playing it, I’m thinking about it. Sometimes when I’m laying in bed I can see the ball coming at me and I imagine how to shift my body to receive it – over and over. Playing a sport is a perfect metaphor for everything because who you are on the court is who you are in your life. Do you frustrate easily? Can you tolerate missing the ball over and over? What are the thoughts in your head when you’re ahead? When you’re behind? When I’m on the court I’m thinking about the game, but I’m also making the connection between how it applies to the rest of my life. It’s one of my biggest teachers.

I make a lot of lists. I just feel more located, like I can find myself when I’ve written things down – plus – my memory is shot and has been drifting away ever since I had kids 17-years ago. But list making isn’t just about getting things done – it turns out that you can write really beautiful stories from an itemized list. I wrote a story about my childhood using street names from my neighborhood. I’ve written stories by using the names of old boyfriends.  Each name is like a wrung on a ladder and a way to explore some aspect of who I have become as a woman through knowing them.

What are the top 5 things you’ve learned so far as a creative entrepreneur?

1. I’m a double Taurus – practical, grounded, flat-footed and I love a sense of security, so I’m big on keeping a day job. Your new offering – your class, your coaching practice, your gorgeous line of purses may be the cat’s pajamas – but putting all your eggs in that basket is stressful because those new adventures take time to grow legs. Having something you can rely on until you’re ready to fly helps you feel more held, less panicked. I always worked in bookstores, even when I was publishing articles and working on creative projects on the side.

2. Trust what you love. Today I have a brand – but it didn’t come from a master plan, it came from consistently moving toward things that I resonated with. One of the most fun things I do is the Traveling Writers Series, where internationally known writers come to my house to teach. People ask me how I got so and so to come all the way to California to teach to a small group of writers in my living room, but it wasn’t part of a business plan, it came from a pure desire to work with writers who I admired and wanted to study with. I didn’t have the time or money to go to them, so I invited them to come to me. I didn’t think, “Who would people want to study with?” I thought, “Who am I dying to study with?”  Over time, by consistently trusting what I love I have assembled a world around me that others can participate in, but which deeply sustains me – not just financially, but soulfully.

3. Be Patient. I’d been teaching writing for at least 10 years before I truly understood what I was actually teaching. Yes I was teaching people to write, but I was actually teaching them how to live, how to get curious, how to examine the story they were telling  to see what else was there. So I’d say, focus on deepening your relationship with what you’re doing. Stick with it, learn more about who you are in your work and why it’s meaningful to you. Whatever you end up offering is going to come from a much deeper place and have more organic integrity.

4. Move away from the market and the pack. I find that if I’m too interested in what other people are doing I start to compare myself, and I wonder if I should be doing what they’re doing. It’s distracting. A bunch of years ago I had a productive life in the market. I’d published some books and a lot of essays, but I got to a place where my creativity was totally fused with the market. “What did people want to read about?”  “What would sell?”  It got in my way creatively. So I stepped away and took 10 years off of trying to sell anything so I could focus instead on what wanted to come out of me – who was I as a creative person on my own, without the influence of wanting to sell things. That’s where that day job came in handy. I worked in bookstores, I taught writing. But most importantly, I spent all those years getting to know my own language better – the one that wasn’t meant for an audience, but the one that was the most authentically me.

5. Identify your teachers. Surround yourself with people you admire. I made a list of my writing heroes and then systematically brought them to my house at 27 Powers to teach. Being in the midst of people I respect, watching them teach, listening to them respond to students has helped me to make a place for myself as a teacher and validate my own instincts. I have grown so much in the last few years, becoming a better teacher and writer in the process.

Tell us about a time when you had to practice courage.

Every time I send out a newsletter it takes a little courage.

Like a lot of people, I need folks to play with me – sign up for classes, come to workshops. So to have to consistently sell yourself takes something.  I try to take good care of myself so the demons don’t rush in with their snickering, “who the hell do you think you are?!” Seriously, I eat well, I work out, I keep my relationships with people clean. All those things keep me feeling proud of myself so that when the voices come I feel like I’m standing on solid ground with myself, and I won’t be as susceptible to their cruelty. That allows me to have the courage to keep going.

I believe that vulnerability is a superpower. Tell us a story about how embracing your vulnerability.  What were the gifts on the other side?

A week before I launched my new e-course, Telling True Stories, I still didn’t understand how to run the classroom, which buttons to press or how the site actually worked. All these people had signed up and paid me and I knew they were going to have questions about how to navigate the site. I could talk to them for days about writing, but the mechanics of the classroom were still new to me. I could hardly breath thinking about not knowing how to answer their questions. I would be such a disappointment! They’d want their money back.

Rachel Cole, my coach, talked me down, reminding me that showing up with flaws was a GREAT thing to do, right off the bat, because it would reveal to my students that I was just a regular gal, imperfect but well intentioned – JUST LIKE THEM! Who knew that you could actually USE your flaws to draw people in?  So I took a deep breath – and yes – there were problems on the site and people were frustrated, but I was able to calmly communicate with them and let them know that I had their back. And the students got it, they empathized with what I was dealing with, and they wrote me, thanking me, cheering me on. I showed up with good intentions AND site problems and they were with me all the way. It turned out that having problems was not a problem.

What are a few things people wouldn’t know by looking at you?

That I’m seriously addicted to Friday Night Lights
That although I have many friends, I spend a great deal of time alone.
That I have a visceral memory of sitting high on a hillside looking down onto the Medieval town I lived in centuries ago.
That I sometimes buy a pack of cigarettes and smoke them.
And I chew a lot of gum.
That something’s going on with my sexual mojo – at 52 my sex drive is a tiny blip on the radar.
That I have perfected the art of pulling hairs off of my chin with my fingertips.
That when my dad was dying I waited and waited for him to tell me he loved me.
That I encourage people to cherish their messy, beautiful selves, but of course I battle my own perfectionism
That I’m very competitive – in racquetball when I win I scream.

What did you believe as a kid that you no longer believe?

I remember thinking that if you loved someone that you would love them forever.

I didn’t understand how people who were married for 25 years could divorce. I thought love was made of metal – impenetrable – forever. My teenage daughters still think this way. They can only imagine one Prince Charming. I remember when I broke up with my first love at 25 – I still loved him AND I realized that I couldn’t be with him if I wanted to have a more full life. It was the first time I realized that life is complex – you can feel two almost opposite things at once and they can both be true.

In my 21-year marriage there have been endless moments of complexity where I was certain we were over, then later the tides would change and I could feel our togetherness again. It’s almost easier to live in a black and white world where you can paint by numbers and follow the rules. But when you embrace complexity it asks you to sit with feelings that don’t always feel good. I was taught, as were many people, that feeling bad meant that you ought to get the hell out of where you were – but that’s not always so. Feeling bad takes you into a darker, deeper place where you probably have some bidness with yourself.

What is your current mantra? Tell us about the last time you used it.

“I love this game.”

I made this up when I was playing competitive racquetball. The thing was, I really wanted to win – everyone did. Racquetball players are very Type A – very intense, totally competitive. We hit that ball hard. But I found that if I led with all that aggression and open desire to kill my opponent, it was too emotional for me. One time I even kicked my racquet in front of a crowd. So I needed to find a place to be in the game that wasn’t the emotional extreme of either “YAY I’m ahead! Or “Shit! I’m losing!”  And I found that the mantra “I love this game” took me into right relationship with the game – the place that allowed me to keep a good spirit going no matter if I won or lost. Because I did love the game and winning or losing wouldn’t change my love.  I was grateful to be able to compete and play. So every time I served the ball I’d mutter to myself, “I love this game,” and the funny thing was, I started winning a lot more. It calmed me down.

I try and implement this mantra into my life when I remember to. Someone once told me, “It’s an appreciation game.” They were talking about everything – all of it – every second.  This is sometimes hard to remember, but it’s a good practice. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I love this game. Thank you.

 

Laurie Wagner is a published writer, (Living Happily Ever After: Couples Talk about Lasting Love, & Expectations: Women Talk about Becoming a Mother), who has been leading Wild Writing workshops and teaching Creative Writing through 27 Powers.org & Writers.com for the last 15 years. Her new baby, Telling True Stories, a 5-week eCourse, will run again on September 10th.  Laurie’s teaching is based on the belief that when we put the truth into words, life swings into focus. and before too long, telling the truth becomes an unstoppable impulse – an internal river of confidence, clarity and freedom. Find out more about 27 Powers and Laurie’s classes here www.27powers.org

 

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Chris Guillebeau – The $100 Startup

Imagine a life where all your time is spent on things you want to do.

 Imagine handing a letter to your boss that says: “Dear Boss, I’m writing to let you know that your services are no longer required. Thanks for everything, but I’ll be doing things my own way now.”

In The $100 Startup, Chris Guillebeau shows you how to lead a life of adventure, meaning and purpose – and earn a good living too. Here, finally distilled into one easy-to-use guide, are the most valuable lessons from those who’ve learned how to turn what they do into a gateway to self-fulfillment.

You don’t need an MBA, a business plan or even employees! It’s all about finding the intersection between what you love to do and what other people will pay for.

The $100 Startup is packed with 300 pages of action to get you on your way. Or come meet Chris and a fun group of independent-minded people in a city near you on The $100 Startup Tour. There may even be cupcakes…

We think we move through the world unseen.

The adorable Nico, looking oddly like Einstein

Here’s the scene.

Ben, Nico and I are leaving the park and going to stroll home. As usual, Nico does NOT want to sit in the stroller. I say to him calmly, “Okay Nico. If I let you walk, you have to stay with mama and B on the sidewalk.”

“Yeah!” he shouts enthusiastically. And off we go.

Walking down the street with Nico is, shall we say, trying. Stressful at best, infuriating at worst. I distract him into the stroller as often as I can because it is SO much easier to get home, but he won’t have it this day. I decide to stay open, to be one of those mamas that says yes! that doesn’t shove her baby in a stroller, but lets them go free. Free range baby! And then I take a deep breath.

Calm and assertive

I have a mantra for these moments- when Nico won’t hold my hand while crossing the street, when he darts off the sidewalk and I have to sprint after him, when he runs full bore in the opposite direction we are headed. When he hurls his entire body onto the cement in protest when I try to corral him to go our way.

I chant to myself, Calm and assertive. Calm and assertive. I’m not sure why, but this helps me stay grounded and not lose my cool, even though I can feel that rage building inside of me, that part of me that wants to yell and scream and bend him to my will. That part of me that feels out of control, that’s afraid I can’t keep him safe.

Except this day the mantra is not working. And I am tired and they are tired and I am terrified Nico is going to get hurt. So I grab him and scold him, “That’s a no-no! You have to stay with mama and B!” And he is screaming, trying to wriggle out of my grasp and bucks his head back toward mine. Hard. He clocks me under the chin and I bite down on my tongue so hard I feel dizzy with pain and blood.

Without a word, I set him down. Then I close my eyes, put my head in my hands, and quietly sob.

I cry for the pain first, but that just opens the floodgates. I am crying for all of it now. For the exhaustion, for the stress going on in our family, for my flaws as a parent, for the way I am trying to hold it together each day. I hear Ben say politely, “Mama? Is there anything I can do?” But I can’t even answer. I feel far away.

Then I hear a little girl’s voice. “Are you okay?”

Two little girls’ faces are peering out from the fence just a few feet away. Apparently, only inches away from the stroller on the other side of the fence (overgrown with vines) are two little girls having afternoon tea. The mom comes out as well and ushers me inside. “You have two kids?” she asks. “I totally get it,” and waves us in. “Would you like some cookies?” I nod yes and suddenly register where we have landed.

In front of me is a gorgeous magical garden and two 8 year old girls in nightgowns and bonnets seated at a tiny white table having tea. The table is underneath an asian pear tree, dripping with fruit. Straight out of a fairy tale people! Within seconds, Ben and Nico are double-fisting chocolate covered graham crackers and two adorable girls are fawning over them.

And then the clincher.

“Do you guys want to see the newborn kittens?”
Seriously. They said this. I’m not even joking.

We visited the kittens in the back of the closet, swung from the pear tree and bribed Nico back into the stroller with the help of the cookies. I thanked them and told the girls that they made my day. They were so genuinely excited, they hugged me.

I relayed this story to Matt when I got home and cried even harder in telling it. They were so sweet… I sobbed. And he gave me that look, like he was nodding in affirmation, but also wondering if maybe I was on my period or something.

We think we move through the world unseen

But this is what moved me: We think we move through the world unseen. But sometimes (just inches away even) is someone who can hold the hard stuff with you. Our vulnerability creates a space for connection. A tender place where others are allowed to step in and offer what they naturally want to give — their comfort, their kindness, their presence.

I was moved that other moms know the look. That beaten down, exhausted, I-can’t-handle-this-anymore look, and being seen with compassion in these spaces can feel healing and connecting.

Kindness can transform the hardest of moments.

Our most powerful gift

I was walking down the street a few years ago and saw a woman crying in the distance. I imagined walking up to her, offering to simply sit with her or listen if she wanted to talk. I felt like I could help, but I talked myself out of it, told myself it was intrusive and that I should give her space. She was a stranger after all.

I’ve always regretted it.

Like those little girls, I think we naturally move toward others in their vulnerability. Offering our presence is the one thing we always have to give, and the most powerful gift we can offer.

I was trained at a young age to give people their space, to not pry, not to ask questions, to not get into anyone else’s business. If I had a problem myself, it was not to be dumped on anyone else. But I can see now that this advice was from people who were terrified of their own vulnerability.

The truth is this

We need each other. And we need our friends (family, neighbors, anybody) to know the real truth about how we are doing. We need to remember that we all struggle, and if it ever looks perfect from the outside? well, it is far from that. We need strangers to comfort us too, to remind us that help can come from anywhere, even from the most unexpected places. We need to remember that (mostly) the world is safe and good and sometimes even a little bit magic.

Are you asking the right questions?

Self-portrait, on a hike the other day

During those years of infertility (and the inevitable depression embedded in that experience) I had a few big aha moments. Mostly I was just miserable, but I had some breakthroughs along the way. Little nuggets of insight that felt healing, that kept me going during the worst of that time and that I still refer to today.

One was this: Are you asking the right questions?

After a few years of trying to conceive the “natural” way, I hit a wall. I had tried every alternative therapy under the sun (I live in the bay area, so believe me there are endless options) I tried acupuncture. I tried yoga. I tried talk therapy. I went to psychics, shamans and astrologers. I avoided hot tubs and wouldn’t let Matt near one either. I took my temperature every morning. I drank Robitussin. I tried to heal all my childhood wounds. (ha!) I faithfully drank bitter herbs — little dried bundles of sticks and roots I would take home from the acupuncturists office that I would boil into a witchy brew. I also did all the medical tests, but the doctors couldn’t figure it out. They called it: Unexplained infertility. (Very technical term)

And then I had a session with my life coach. And she said, “Okay. So there’s a lot of self-pity here. What about the anger? Where’s that? Aren’t you pissed off and frustrated? Where’s the ‘why-the-fuck-hasn’t-it-happened-by-now?’ Aren’t you mad at God or your body or somebody?!”

And that’s when I got it. As I stepped into the anger (okay, rage) I felt my strength, my fierceness, my aliveness in addition to my longing. I also saw how little power there was in the self-pity. The victim place is just that- totally helpless and impotent. And I had been there a long time. As we explored the anger, I found my feet firmly planted on the ground. I practiced role playing with her. We pretended people were asking me how it was going, and instead of my usual “It’s so hard…” and crying almost immediately, I practiced saying, “It fucking sucks!!! We’re fucking frustrated!!!”

And that felt better.

I got off the phone and threw all of my herbs away. I fired up the espresso pot and called off all of my appointments with various healers. I said Fuck it!!!!! Fuck being good and trying to deserve this baby! I don’t care where the help comes from, I just want help.

What’s wrong with me?

And it was at that moment that I realized I had been carrying a painful question with me for years: 

What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me that this isn’t working?

Maybe I’m too depressed.
Maybe I’m not relaxed enough.
Maybe I don’t deserve this baby.
Maybe I’m too effed up.

I remember ordering a pair of pink, knee-high boots on the internet. When they arrived, I tried them on and immediately began to cry. I cried because they weren’t me at all. Cried because I could see that the reason I ordered them was that I thought I wasn’t feminine enough, womanly enough, motherly enough… and maybe these boots would help. I drove myself crazy with this. I figured if I knew what was wrong, I could fix it. In fact, I hoped something would come back positive on the tests, just so I could point to my fallopian tubes or some character flaw and say aha! it’s you! And then fix it. Fix me.

But then, in the wake of finally feeling all of the frustration and anger, a new question arrived. It was just as fierce, but a lot more loving: How can I help myself? Where can I get support? Suddenly, I didn’t care where the help came from. I just wanted help.  There was a journey on the other side of this doorway, but this was the first step.

What question are you carrying?

I am remembering this now, because I think I have found myself in that place again. Different circumstances but still asking the age old question- What’s wrong with me?

And well, this question can take you down a painful road.

I am looking for a different question to hold, one that will offer a new opening. What kind of support do you need? How can I help? These are better questions. What question are you carrying in your heart? And what is a more compassionate question?

 

Treasure Hunt: A brand new offering!

Treasure Hunt anyone?

Remember how much you loved treasure hunts as a kid? We’re bringing the joy of that time back. Further your creative practice with photography, get a spark of inspiration directly in your inbox each day and share the spoils of your hunts in an encouraging Flickr community for other treasure seekers.

The fun begins on September 1st. You can register here!

You will get:

  • A creative photo prompt each day in your inbox
  • Creative musings & photo tips by Andrea to inspire your work
  • A warm, encouraging community space on Flickr to share your work and support your fellow treasure seekers! (I will be popping in there each day to view your work and support your practice)

Benefits of treasure seeking:

  • Jumpstart your creativity or add a new spark to your existing practice
  • Come away with a collection of creative images illustrating your life right now
  • A gratitude practice using your camera as a tool + beauty as your lens
  • A whole month of drinking in everyday beauty
  • Inspiring photos taken with your camera phone.
  • Has your blog been collecting dust? Infuse it with new colorful content!