Big World

"The world is big and I want to have a good look at it before it gets dark." --John Muir

I love this quote by John Muir, reminding me to step back from my little troubles and take in the grand scheme of beauty around me. This weekend, the husband and I backpacked in Olympic National Park.

We were hemmed in by clouds, but for just an hour at dawn, the mist lifted and the mountains surprised us with their presence.

As you get ready to create something today, what refreshes your sense of beauty? 

Bubbles, Being, and a Sense of Wonder

Photo by Danica

I was in the middle of an intense conversation, anxious and on the verge of tears, when I decided to step outside. There, on the porch, I found a bottle of bubbles. I dipped the wand, waited for the soap to settle, and started blowing magical spheres into the breeze.

The bubbles lifted, wandered, and found a place to land. Each disappeared with a pop.

So did my sadness.



That's when I decided to use bubbles as a tool for being in the moment.

Bubbles remind me to play. They remind me that this blown sphere I live on is also fragile and temporary - and full of wonder.

I've found out cloudy, humid days are better than sunny ones for making bubbles.

I've found out if you bring bubbles on a walk, your friend will spend several minutes attempting the perfect bubble and smiling.

It's a tiny act of creating, akin to the other creating I do. Acts of creation call forth beauty and enjoyment and take me away from my mostly self-made problems.

The top image by Danica captures the pure joy of children in Kampala, Uganda blowing bubbles. 

What's your bubble story? Blow some bubbles. Describe them.  

What Goes into Writing Success? Don't Be Fooled

When I was a kid I was fascinated by the flecks in the ripples of the Natchez River. I thought they were gold, waiting for me to discover them. 

When I was a new writing teacher, I was fascinated by any student who could dazzle with her writing at first take. That writer could turn word cartwheels to the dizzy delight of all listeners.

This was the writer I'd target, inviting her to future classes and coaching sessions, itching to get my hands on all that talent.

Ah, but I've learned a few things.



Talent and pizzazz do not a writer make. They don't necessarily make a fabulous client, either.

Neither do they foretell hard work, integrity, or commitment - the real things that make a champion in the creative life.

After teaching writing classes for sixteen years and coaching for eight, I've finally caught on. An outward show of talent is no predictor of writing success.

Those confident ones often take their skills for granted. They rely on haphazard inspiration instead of daily writing. They don't know how to be honest with themselves about the self-sabotage that happens in the writing life.

It's those quieter ones, needing to be drawn out, doubting themselves but willing to work. It's those with the stifled voices who nevertheless are ready to be brave, who are sick and tired of coming up with excuses, who are ready to tackle their writing dreams in the mud and sweat of everyday playing fields.

It's the ones with commitment that become "real" writers.

That commitment shows up in unexpected people. There's the older gentleman who blushes when reading his hometown short stories. There's the business owner who's never written much at all, but knows she has a book in her. There's the scientist with gritty short stories of loggers and trailer parks.  There's the engineer whose playful side erupts into children's stories with ogres.

A coach or teacher is simply available - it's the writer and client who shows how ready he is. They show up week after week, and write chapter upon chapter. They listen and learn and care and don't brag. They may not be flashy. At first.

But the shine that emerges isn't that flinty stuff you find at the surface of a river. It really is: pure gold.

Are you being honest with yourself about your commitment? What will it take for you to get in there and do the work? 

Othello at Portland Center Stage: The Devil Made Me Do It

I have a confession to make. It seems a sacrilege. Please don’t hate me. 

Shakespeare pisses me off. 

He approaches things in a way that can rub me raw. And yet, I have to admit, this can bring out a new understanding, polishing a truth. 

   

Such is the case with Othello, playing at Portland Center Stage through May 11. The play offers a visceral journey through jealousy, a perspective both fresh and centuries old. There are stunning performances. And for me, there’s a burning itch to set the bard straight.

No, Shakespeare buddy. Life isn’t like this. 

    

Here’s the deal. Iago, the brilliant sociopath, masterfully crafts circumstances and conversations that will bring down the man he hates, his boss, his general, the virtuous Othello.

Iago will twist Othello’s guts in suspicion, make him a slave of rage and bring him to his knees in despair and utter ruin. He’ll use that new wife, Desdemona (Nikki Coble). He’ll brew up some hot, sticky jealousy and throw in the young captain who got the promotion, Cassio (Timothy Sekk - one of my favorites in this show).

So it begins. Our PCS Iago (Gavin Hoffman) has a wonderful physicality to him, sneaky and smug, lurking and strutting. We love hating him.

What bothers me is that no one human being can or should have so much power. That another person holds the keys to your trust, jealousy, fear, and love is unthinkable. That another human, with such wily watchfulness, knows everyone’s weakness and manipulates it perfectly to his own advantage – I don’t want to believe this is possible.

It’s not the evil that I doubt. It’s the abdication of the hero.

Yes, people can and do blame others for their actions and feelings. But can an outsider, even a brilliant Iago, steal away a pure and unwavering faith?

If you really love and believe in someone or something, tricks and nuances and games, no matter how subtle, won’t change that inner knowing, that intuition, that conviction about what’s real.

Making another person accountable for your descent into evil perpetuates the idea that we aren’t responsible for our thoughts, emotions, and actions.

In other words: “the Devil made me do it.”

Iago has everything but the forked tail.

Sure, he plants the clue of the handkerchief. He orchestrates the eavesdropping sessions. But he can’t change the heart.

When we see the human psyche as simply a computer to be reprogrammed by a whip-smart sociopath - well, in my book, we discount the power of the human spirit.

That said, the PCS performance made me think twice about all this. Daver Morrison’s Othello undergoes a transformation that seems so lifelike. Iago works at him one thought at a time, and it’s moving to see Othello grappling.

My friend commented that Morrison brought a sweet tenderness and humanity to the role.  We feel the tears as he begins to swallow the lies about the woman he loves. Othello touches his throat. “It stops me here . . .” Heartbreaking.

 

It’s also engaging to catch the Othello origins of common phrases: jealousy’s “green-eyed monster,” and “crocodile tears.”

As I was thinking about the play - and Shakespeare was unavailable for comment -  I had an “aha” moment.

Maybe Iago isn’t that other person. Maybe Iago represents the part of ourselves willing to be deceived, clinging to worries and obsessions.  

In love, we are our most vulnerable. Deep inside, we ask ourselves, Do I deserve to be happy? Do I deserve to be loved?

The wily villain may be that first jealous thought, that quavering shadow that falls over our happiness. The evil being is someone we hire as our right-hand man. We entertain the thoughts and keep them with us day after day.

This is how destruction comes about.

No horns or tail required. 

Photos: Patrick Weishampel