Month: May 2013

Work, Writing

My so-called writing life

Jen

The other day, I asked out loud on Facebook whether my friends thought that writers were born or made.

Most answered some version of “born, but….”

As in: Writers are born with the creative spark that’s a prerequisite to creative talent, but it’s a spark that requires not only nurturing, but also education, practice, and perfection in order to mature into talent, and then success.

Mostly, I’d agree.

I think about my own journey as a writer, and sometimes, admittedly, I even hiccup a little calling myself a writer at all.

When I think of myself as a writer, I still think of myself as the girl who wrote love poems in a small, tear-stained spiral bound notebook that I hid in the back of a drawer.

When I think of myself as a writer, I still think of the jittery young woman who spilled coffee on her pants on her way to her very first feature story interview for a newspaper article.

When I think of myself as a writer, I still think about blogging as playing for a minor league team, and published literary novels as the World Series.

I still think of myself as a novice, and sometimes as a would be somebody if only I had the time.

Then there are moments, hours, days even, when I catch a scent of my destiny and it smells like poetry and Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations and an antique oak writing desk facing a picture window.

The leaves casually drop from the trees as if there’s still time…

As if there’s only time.

…and words to discover.

Words slowly strung together like colored beads on a braided rope.

Mindfulness

Mindfulness is knowing that today sucks …emphasis on today

Jen

Some days just suck.

How do you find mindfulness in the sucky days?

Some days just suck.
Some days just suck.

1. Be aware that today sucks.

2. Emphasize the today instead of the sucks.

3. For fun: Walk around and say “today fucking sucks” out loud. This especially works if you never ever use the word fuck in your daily vocabulary. It works exceptionally well for individuals who never read anything that has the word “fuck” in it because they think it weakens or degrades the message.

There is nothing that brings you back to the present like walking around your house in sweatpants and a ponytail shouting “Today fucking sucks.” It often works quicker than choosing to let go or sitting in meditative prayer.

And frankly, we imperfect human beings sometimes need to acknowledge the fucking sucky in the world, the sucky in today, the sucky in ourselves, the sucky in other people, and in our relationships.

When we also acknowledge its immediacy, however, we mindfully frame the suckiness.

As in: Today sucks. This moment fucking sucks.

Ahhh…

Try it with a friend: It might make your day a little less sucky.

(And if that doesn’t work, play this Pink song at the the maximum volume and scream along like a 12 year old at a bat mitzvah.)

Letting Go, Mindfulness

The long road to letting go

Jen
http://instagram.com/p/Y9s23Ll6rV/
My kids running in the fields behind Kibbutz Hannaton, Lower Galilee, Israel

I have a bad temper. And I hold on to anger.

I don’t know if I was born sullen and stubborn or if I cultivated these attractive personality traits over time.

Regardless, what I’ve fortunately learned in recent years is that “letting go” is the gateway to peace and ease — the path away from sullen and stubborn.

In the few years before I moved to Israel, I studied with teachers experienced in the mind/body connection, many of whom introduced me to the concepts of mindfulness I often write about. Through their teaching, I understood this practice could alleviate everything from aggravation to anxiety to physical pain.

As a writer, I’m really good at listening to other people’s stories and sharing them with others. Which I did a lot with mindfulness, but looking back, I was not so good at practicing it in real life.

Living in Israel, though — mostly because of the language and cultural differences — has been a daily practice in the art of letting go.

Letting go of my ego.

Letting go of my sense of control.

Letting go of my assumptions .. .about myself, my neighbors, the region, the world.

Letting go of stereotypes.

Letting go of the tight hold over my children.

Letting go of certain dreams and expectations.

I’m nowhere near a master of the art of letting go.

Maybe an experienced student. Possibly, good enough to be a T.A.

Still a long way from Zen bliss.

But with this particular type of study, thankfully, the culmination of my efforts is not in a certificate or a degree, right?

The win is in the practice itself.

I win every single time I let go.

Again and again and again.

Which means I also have the space in which to mess up, without worrying about failure. Because, think about it, failure (hanging on to something ugly like jealousy, resentment, or righteous indignation — all favorites of the stubborn and sullen) just sets me up for an immediate opportunity to win once again.

By letting go.

And with that philosophical turn, I need a nap.

Thank you for listening. This T.A. is outta here.

Culture

Israelis don’t like rootbeer

Jen

Do you ever notice how easy and acceptable it is to stereotype your own?

And how easy and acceptable is it to find yourself up in arms when “outsiders” stereotype us?

Of course, this is human nature and true of most ethnic, religious and gender groups.

It’s the classic rule: I can talk smack about my momma, but don’t you even think about it.

I stereotype Israelis. Especially since I moved here 2 1/2 years ago.

But what’s funny is the type of stereotyping I find myself responsible for is not your classic Israel bashing.

They’re so rude/impatient/loud/demanding. They’re always up-your-butt in lines. They all carry uzis.

Those aren’t stereotypes. They’re truths! Israelis will be the first to admit (loudly, and rudely) that lines are for friarim. Pushing your way to the front is why God gave us two hands. The third one is for our uzi.

I stereotype Israelis from a place of love, like one does when making fun of one’s brother…or oneself. But I also stereotype Israelis as a study, from a place of still feeling like an “inside outter.” Like someone who thinks she is supposed to fit in, but doesn’t quite yet. And perhaps never will.

This was very obvious to me while traveling last week in the U.S. with 8 Israeli born colleagues. Though working insanely hard, we had a great time. My colleagues, experienced travelers, still counted on me to lead them, inform them, and give them a bit of a navigation in a foreign country. So for me, the trip was an opportunity to finally feel like a grown up again — like someone who knows her way around. Someone who can order for herself in a restaurant; find her way around airport security.

An insider.

Traveling in America with a group of Israelis, however, also made me feel very American. So much so, I began to question my own identity. Who am I when I am in America? Am I American or Israeli? Or some strange hybrid better suited for a third independent country? (Uganda? Atlantis?)

I loved the cafes we lunched in; while they frowned at menus filled with burgers and sandwiches.

I sipped rootbeer satisfied, while they longed for tea with nana.

rootbeer

I spoke quietly and respectfully to our waiters. They demanded extra salad dressing in Hebrew.

They laughed at me. At my American-ness. And I at them. At their complete and utter Israeli-ness.

And then we laughed at ourselves

Since I moved to Israel 2 1/2 years ago, I constantly wonder where I fit in.

But then I remind myself that this is a question I’ve been asking for as long as I’ve been asking questions.

And for as long as I’ve been asking questions, I’ve been carefully observing myself and others.

Comparing myself to them. Comparing their behavior to mine.

Searching for the differences and the similarities.

Seeking harmonies. Identifying irritations.

This is what we do.

We humans.

With ease, we assign the harmonies to people who look and act like us, and the irritations to people who look and act different from us.

Until something happens to shatter the reliability of our stereotypes.

For me, this happened when I made Aliyah.

As I live among Israelis; and more so, as I become an Israeli, I’m busting my own stereotypes, and creating new ones.

But always defending Israel like she was my momma.

I can talk smack about her, but don’t you even think about it.