Recommended Listening: The Happiness Lab

The Happiness Lab: Treating the Pain of a Broken Heart

As creatives many of us have the desire to share our creations with other people, which carries with it the very real possibility of rejection. There is no guarantee that even your closest friend or family member is going to like or appreciate what you created.

As a wife and mother I have experienced that many times – I think my kids turned up their noses at a meal at least once a week – and as a writer I have faced rejection in many forms over the years. Agents and editors, workshops, friends and family; at one time or another I have heard “No” from all of them.

Well, the kids might not have turned their noses up at pecan tarts, but even these wouldn't get universal approval.

Sometimes that rejection is cold and impersonal (The standard editorial “Not right for us at this time”), others it is scathing and extremely personal (Workshop members who seem to take an unholy delight in destroying others, which is another topic entirely).

I won't say I have a lot of rejected manuscripts, but sometimes the filing does get a little out of hand!

But why does rejection hurt so much? Why does it leave us withdrawing and licking our wounds, or lashing out at those around us?

And what can we do about it?

This podcast explores the pain of rejection and how we can deal with it. It offers some interesting insights into the actual biology of “social pain” and some practical tactics for dealing with it.

There isn’t much we can do to avoid rejection short of never sharing our work with another person – and even then we will still suffer rejections of other sorts – but we can find ways to cope with the inevitable.

And who knows? Your friends and family may just recognize your brilliance!

Enjoy Your Second Childhood

All your life you've have been told to grow up, act your age, show some maturity - all code words for Behave Like a Responsible Adult. Often that also meant "Don't waste time on silly things; you have Important Grown-Up Things to do."

Well, guess what? You've done all the Important Grown-Up Things, and maybe, just maybe, it's time to (as a writer friend of mine says) "Release your inner two-year-old."

Now I will admit there are limits to what we can indulge. For instance, my sister's two-year-old self had a strong aversion to clothing. Even in the winter in Oregon, when there was snow on the ground. She might not have been old enough to dress herself, but reversing that process was her superpower. The neighbors, however, didn't see it that way. I think they'd still feel the same way today.

This isn't the place to throw off your clothes and run wild. Even though my sister seemed to think so when she was two!

So what do I mean when I quote my friend? I mean stop putting limits on how you view the world. Take my granddaughter. Several years ago, when she barely out of the high chair, we went to dinner with her and her parents. Keeping a restless toddler from creating disruption was a challenge, and cell phones were too new and expensive to let a little one play with them, but that didn't stop her. She picked up a ketchup bottle from the table, held it to her ear, and "called" someone. My son thought quickly, grabbed another ketchup bottle and answered the call. To this day I treasure that picture. Sure, she didn't have a real phone, and none of the rest of us saw that bottle as a potential phone, but she didn't limit herself; she didn't resist her creativity.

You know that thing about what happens in Vegas? Well, when it involves a conversation at the dinner table in a public restaurant between Dad and his four-year-old via the ketchup phone, that rule does not apply.

Growing up is a series of lessons in stifling yourself (shades of Archie Bunker). You learn to bite your tongue, to keep your inner thoughts buried, to dress appropriately (ever see a 2-year-old in an outfit they put together themselves?), not run in the house.

You become socialized, which is a good thing, but that socialization can come at the expense of burying that wildly creative two-year-old. It is a necessary skill in order to live in our society, but as creatives we need to allow that crazy, inventive, no-limits child to come out and play.

What better time than in retirement, when you have more freedom, less need to fit in, and the luxury of time to spend on your own doing what you love? Without the constraint of a day job, without the constant need to fit into the pattern of a Grown-Up, you can indulge that inner two-year-old.

Here's an experiment for you. The next time you're out in public, take the time to watch the people around you. Honestly, for many creative people this is a normal activity. Other people are an endless source of inspiration; I am constantly writing stories in my head about the people I see around me, and I am sure other creative people are keen observers of the world around them.

But this time look for something specific. Look for a small child who is learning their world. Look for the wonder and imagination and sheer unbridled joy they take in their surroundings. Yes, they're loud, they're messy, and quite possibly they are undisciplined. They feel free to express themselves without limits, which is something we need to relearn.

That joy, that limitless expression is what we all need to cultivate our creativity. It's something that every creative person needs every day, but often we have to hide that part of us. We have to tuck it away in a corner, make it behave properly, so that we can continue to do our jobs and interact with a society that demands a certain level of decorum.

This is not to say that we can indulge in tantrums in public, that we can interfere with other people's lives and livelihoods, or become rude and selfish and entitled in all our interactions. We still need to be considerate to those around us. You know, that whole Golden Rule thing.

Still, embrace that inner two-year-old. Let it show you the world in a new light, a light you hid under a pile of musts, and shoulds, and ought tos.

Give yourself permission to indulge your creativity, your curiosity, your newfound freedom to explore the world with the open inquisitiveness of a small child. Give yourself the gift of a second childhood, one that you can use to feed your creative spark.

As much as possible throw off the limitations that have been placed on you all your life.

Just remember to keep your clothes on.

Providing Aid and Comfort

In previous columns I have talked about how your relationships are impacted by your creativity, and vice versa. It’s something we will all have to cope with in our lives – unless you’re an orphan living in isolation on a deserted island without a phone or Internet.

As I was casting about for a topic for this Fifth Sunday randomness I came across a photo that sums up, for me, a great deal of what a supportive and understanding partner looks like.

Let me tell you the story.

Nearly forty years ago I met a group of people online; on a local bulletin board system in Seattle, in the early days of online communication.

In those days only some pretty hardcore computer geeks were online and each bulletin board system (BBS) was the brainchild of a gifted and dedicated programmer – some amateur, some professional – who created a program that allowed one user at a time to call up and post messages.

It was a very small, but diverse, community. We had only one thing in common: access to a computer and modem.

Through that community I met, and eventually married, my husband Steve.

Ignore the goofy expression on my face! I must have been saying something silly. This is the two of us dressed up for the performance of Hamilton at the Smith Center in Las Vegas. When you meet us one of the first things you will notice is that he is quite tall, and I am quite not-tall. I have always said he didn’t type that tall and by the time I actually met him it was too late

When you meet us one of the first things you will notice is that he is quite tall, and I am quite not-tall. I have always said he didn’t type that tall and by the time I actually met him it was too late.

Steve was a writer, he encouraged me to join him in his creative pursuits, and has been incredibly supportive of my writing. He was the one who helped me recognize and resurrect my childhood dreams of stringing words together into stories (but that’s a story for another day).

I was hesitant at first; he was the writer, I was the support system. But he encouraged me and I took a few tentative steps toward letting my inner writer come out and play.

You never know when an idea, a bit of dialogue, a story, or the resolution to a plot problem is going to finally emerge from wherever your subconscious has been playing with it. But it’s sometimes at the most inconvenient time and place.

For me, that’s the shower.

This is not an ideal place to try and write!

It is definitely not the place to stop and write down the bit that has appeared, but if you don’t it will skitter away like a dry leaf in the wind, skipping just ahead of your outstretched hand until it escapes altogether and flies away.

Enter Supportive Partner. Summoned by your bellow from under the cascade, they arrive in the bathroom out of breath, their heart pounding with the adrenaline hit of your cries coming from a room full of hard surfaces and wet, slippery footings.

Supportive Partner is therefore Not Amused when it turns out the bellow comes not from any damage to your person, but is just a request: “Can you grab a pencil and write this down for me?”

A true Supportive Partner will get the pencil, make the necessary notes, and forego inflicting bodily harm upon you. But it doesn’t mean they won’t be tempted!

Years go by. Supportive Partner continues being supportive, though this could turn into the story of the boy who cried wolf. Fortunately your faithful correspondent did not have any damage to her person during the ensuing years from the hard surfaces or wet, slippery footings.

To be honest, Steve was pretty good-natured about it all. He would dutifully go fetch a pencil and paper and make notes, but we kept looking for a better solution, before I completely exhausted his patience.

Over the years we tried several things. I even bought a set of kid’s soap crayons, but they were not designed to actually do more than leave a brightly-colored streak on the tile – one that I would have to go back later and scrub off.

Then, at Christmas one year, Steve’s thinking outside the box found a wonderful gift. One that would support my creativity-fueled-by-hot-water.

He bought me a diver’s note board!

It really works! That is a plot complication that worked itself out while I was in the shower, and this time I didn't have to bellow for Supportive Partner to come help. Don't look too close if you don't want a spoiler for the current novel-in-progress.

It’s a plastic sheet with an attached pencil, and it writes in the water. You can clean it with a Magic Eraser (or similar cleaner) and it works like a charm.

It’s been a game-changer, and I have actually used it several times when a tricky plot tangle worked itself out while I was showering. I didn’t have to yell for Steve, and (Bonus!) he didn’t have to worry that this just might be the time I made an unfortunate contact with one of those hard surfaces.

The tool itself is wonderful, but the even better part is that my Supportive Partner took the time and patience to understand what the issue was for me and to find a solution.

For me this is what support looks like. Honoring, encouraging, and supporting my creative endeavors.

I hope you are fortunate enough to find the same in your life.

A Lesson From Sports

A Lesson From Sports (No, Really!)

I confess, I'm no longer much of a sports person. I was a big football fan in high school and college, and I loved baseball as a young adult. But those were a lifetime ago, and I never really got into basketball (except for the John Wooden years at UCLA).

So imagine my surprise when a few days ago I was listening to This American Life on Pandora, and found myself listening intently to a segment on basketball. (Dangerous discovery, you can stream complete episodes.)  The overall topic was about making bad choices, and several of the segments were fascinating, and held lessons that could be applied to writing, and to life. I highly recommend the entire episode, "Choosing Wrong.", but there was one segment that had me running over to stop and start over so I could make notes ("Swish Miss."  featuring Malcolm Gladwell. It's only 28 minutes, if you don't have time to listen to the entire episode).

The segment was about (in part) crowd behavior and a theory Gladwell references called the "threshold model of collective behavior." 

Let's be honest-how many of us had this sofa (or one like it) when it was considered the height of fashion? Our participation threshold was reached when we bought this, along with the yellow phone and the avocado carpet.

The basic premise is that there is a threshold - different for each person - of the number of people who have to participate in a given behavior before an individual will join in. Early adapters obviously have a very low threshold. Same for individuals with a high anger level when the behavior is destructive.

Gladwell went on to talk about basketball, and free throw style. And this was where my writer brain tuned in. The subject was Wilt Chamberlain and Rick Barry. Chamberlain wasn't great at free throws (he was great at everything else, just not free throws). Barry had an excellent record. He set several NBA records, and retired with a 90% free throw average. (For comparison, a quick search shows Chamberlain's percentage hovering around the 50% mark every year, and current superstar LeBron James hits in the 70% range.)

But Barry threw underhand; he looked like "a granny."  There's a You Tube video of Barry demonstrating his shot here. Chamberlain took Barry's advice and tried underhand throws. His scores improved. A lot. And then he went back to overhand throws and missing. A lot. In his autobiography Chamberlain admits point-blank, "I know I was wrong."  But he couldn't bring himself to continue using the underhand shot because it made him feel like "a sissy."

That was the underlying message. Gladwell describes Rick Barry this way:  "His drive to be a better shooter is stronger than his worry about what others think of him," and draws these two conclusions:

 1. He put mastery and perfection ahead of ALL social considerations.

2. It takes courage to be good. Social courage.

 This is really just another way of saying what my writing mentors (Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch) say about not letting other people in your writing office.

When you enter your creative space you can leave everyone else - and their judgements and opinions - at the door.

As soon as you start to worry about what someone else will think or say about what you are doing, you risk putting social considerations ahead of your drive to be your best; you give up that successful underhand free throw for a more socially-acceptable form, EVEN IF IT MEANS BEING LESS SUCCESSFUL.

 And, man, is that a lesson I have to keep re-learning.

It doesn't just apply to writing, of course. In all aspects of our lives we need to remember to be socially courageous. Speak up for what you believe in. Dare to write, or paint, or sing, or dance, or dress, or live, in a way that makes you successful - by whatever definition of success matters to you.

Courage. I wish courage for all of you, my friends.

You Are Beyond Compare

You Are Beyond Compare

Over several columns I have pointed out that in retirement your time and resources are your own, that you don't have limits. And while that is true, it also isn't. We all have limits, but they are different for each of us, and it will be one of the challenges we face to find what they are.

When I talked of being a polymath I stressed that we are free to try anything that might interest us. But what if I want to try being a goldsmith? The cost of the raw materials would, quite honestly, be a limitation that I don't see a way around. At hundreds of dollars per ounce I am not going to experiment with gold in any quantity.

I have to admit, though, that if I could produce this it just might be worth the cost.

I'm also not going to try and learn to pole vault since I don't really want to experiment with falling at my age.

But beyond the obvious, beyond the physically dangerous or financially out-of-reach, there is also the danger of trying to have it all. Trying to do absolutely everything.

Having it all is a pernicious idea that has been with us probably as long as we have been human, and certainly since civilization progressed beyond mere survival. I am sure there were people in the Renaissance who felt they were not as accomplished as they could be; who compared themselves to someone like DaVinci - the ultimate polymath - and found they didn't measure up.

(Pro tip, the folly of comparison is a deep, dark hole filled with self-doubt, isolation, and despair. There will always be someone who is more accomplished, more disciplined, more talented.)

The problem with comparisons is that we never know the whole story; we only see what the person allows us to see. I know people whose public persona is one of amazing competence and accomplishment, who look as though they really do "have it all." These are people who firmly believe in the old adage "Never let 'em see you sweat."

All you will ever see is the vapor trail, not the years of training behind it, or the amount of effort it took to get off the ground.

But I also know them well enough to know that they pick and choose between projects and enthusiasms, they have given up pastimes they enjoyed in order to excel at other things, they have made sacrifices for their accomplishments. I know they have spent days or weeks in a pit of despair when things weren't going right. The difference is that to an outside observer none of this is visible; all you will see from any distance is the overwhelming list of awards and successes.

With the distant lens of nearly 600 years, all we see of DaVinci are his accomplishments-the notebooks with scientific and engineering writings and drawings that were centuries ahead of their time, the breathtaking paintings that have survived. But there is also evidence which some scholars believe support the conclusion that he also suffered from ADHD, and at times considered himself a failure.

If he thought of himself as a failure, how can I possible compare?

This also ties in with the problem of being the smartest guy in the room. We have come to expect competence and more from ourselves, and now we are expecting the same thing as we face our new life in retirement.

We spent decades striving to "have it all" while we held a day job, and we are bringing that expectation into retirement.

Worse, we look around us at other retirees and feel that we aren't measuring up, we aren't achieving what we should be.

(Second pro tip, should is a word which does not belong in your vocabulary. We spent most of our lives doing what we "should" do. The only should in retirement is taking care of yourself: physically, financially, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, in the ways that really matter.)

A neighbor down the street summers at the beach, while you make do with an above-ground pool and a chaise lounge. Your friend from high school just had her first one-woman show at a gallery in your home town. Distant (or not-so-distant) relatives travel to exotic destinations, sending back pictures of deserted beaches or lush jungles. And you look at these accomplishments and wonder where you failed.

From the outside it looks like some people just kick off their shoes and relax on the white sand beach. But you don't know what choices they made to get there-and maybe you wouldn't make those same choices.

None of this is a failure. It is a choice. Your creativity is strong and deep, and you choose to nurture it, to feed your passion, to immerse yourself in the satisfaction that comes from creating.

Celebrate that choice. You are doing the thing that gives you satisfaction, that makes you happy. A lovingly-decorated cake for your loved one's birthday or a friend's anniversary is an accomplishment of both your creativity and your heart. The memoir you've been waiting to write is a gift to yourself, and to others; so many children and grandchildren only realize when it is too late that they wished they had heard more life stories from their elders.

One of the most cherished pieces I have is a china hutch that has almost no commercial or antique value. It was made by my great-great-grandfather as a wedding gift for his daughter and son-in-law. When my mother inherited it from her grandfather, it was derelict, having been used as a shop cabinet by my great-uncle. Mom rescued it, my dad carefully disassembled it and rebuilt it.

That rebuilding and refinishing likely destroyed any value it had as antique, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that four generations ago a man I never met invested his time and creativity to make that hutch, and decades later my dad invested his time and creativity to salvage it. Dad certainly could have done something else with the time he put into that restoration, but he chose to invest his creativity in making the hutch useful again as a gift for my mother, and now for me. That is a gift beyond compare.

You are unique. Your creativity is your own, a gift you can choose to indulge in whatever makes you happy.

That gift, and you, are beyond compare.

One Year Old!

In what I can only describe as a happy coincidence, I have two anniversaries this week! I didn't plan my launch date for this reason, but the first anniversary of this feed is on August 9th, and our 37th wedding anniversary was on August 4th. Double celebration!!

In case you missed it, the posts on this blog originate on my Patreon channel where they are posted two weeks before they appear here. But not everything that is posted on Patreon appears here. If you want to support this blog, read the posts two weeks earlier, and gain access to the exclusive content and the Discord channel, please consider subscribing to my Patreon feed. All of this for as little as $1 per month!

I’m sitting in my office, staring at the calendar, trying to let it sink in that I have put up at least one new post every week for an entire year.

I know other people who have done far more; who post daily, or have posted regularly for several years without missing a deadline, or built their readership to thousands of subscribers.

Those are all good goals to have. But meeting a goal starts with day one, reader number one. Goals are milestones you work and build toward.

Today is a milestone. A modest one, true, but a milestone.

When I started this channel I had already built an inventory of columns and ideas, hedging my bets against the week when I would have no idea what to talk about. But in the weeks leading up to the launch my goals started changing – even before I had a Patreon account or a new website.

When I got the idea to start this discussion I thought I should have an inventory to draw on.

Initially my plan was to post at least once a month, so I set a goal of writing a minimum of six columns before I launched. Six months should be adequate, shouldn’t it?

But as I learned more about engagement on social media it became clear that the once-a-month model just wasn’t enough to attract readers. If I wanted to build a relationship with my readers I needed to give them more.

Twice a month. That should be enough. All the advice said that at least twice a month kept readers coming back. Which meant I needed at least twelve columns to give me a six month cushion.

Well, yes. And no.

Because when I started writing that six months started to look like a very short time. What happened if I wanted to take a trip? (Okay, Covid killed that idea for more than a year but we are talking about very early 2020. The Before Time.) Or if I got sick and couldn’t create new content every month? Or what if a natural disaster struck and disrupted my schedule? (Yeah, remember the posts last September when we had to evacuate because of a wildfire?)

I quickly realized that six months could pass so quickly and I would be without columns to share with you. I could be forced to shut down this channel before it ever got a chance.

So I stretched my goal once again, going from the New Goal of twelve columns to the New New Goal of twenty-four. A full year of columns.

That felt rather ambitious, but I was determined to give this project the best chance I could. Even if it meant delaying the launch a few weeks to build up inventory. The fact that we were all in lockdown helped me to make that decision; people were so distracted by what was going on in the outside world – that place we couldn’t go – that no one was focused on how to survive staying inside.

Finally, at the end of July 2020, as we adjusted to staying home, wearing masks, isolating ourselves, and generally turning inward, it was time to launch.

The first column, Welcome To My World, went live on August 8, and I wondered of anyone would read it. To my surprise and delight, several of you showed up that very first week and have stayed with me through this entire first year.

By that time I had enough inventory to carry us through this year, and in the past twelve months I have added columns as topics have presented themselves. I am relieved that I still have some columns in inventory.

I have also added other kinds of posts.

Recommendations: I try to find at least one thing to recommend every month: a book, movie, podcast, vlog, something interesting or inspiring that relates to the topic of creativity.

Fun Extras: Yeah, that’s the description I gave them in my head, and I haven’t come up with something better. (There has got to be something better! You’re all creative people, help me out here!) These are mostly personal posts about things that are going on in my life that may or may not relate directly to creativity but are still important to me. I post them on the 4th Sunday, hoping to end the month with a smile.

Quote of the Day: If I see something that makes me think I try to verify the source and then share it with you. These are exclusive to the Patreon channel, and are in addition to the regular weekly posts. I would love to hear from you if you find one of these quotes, because I am sure I miss a lot of them!

This Week in Making: I watch a lot of streaming content since we cut the cord on cable (and there’s a mountain range that keeps us from getting over-the-air television broadcasts). Often it is other creative types sharing something they have made, and sometimes they are just too cool not to share.

Fiction Bonus: I enjoy sharing things I have created with you, and have occasionally posted short stories I have written. I would love to do more, but I hesitate to focus too much on the writing. I would love to hear from you if you want to see more fiction in the future.

I also learned what happened if I wanted to take a trip. Earlier this year I finally got to take the road trip we had talked about for more than a decade, which got pushed back to “when I retire” so we could travel without a deadline to return to work, and eventually had to wait for vaccines and re-opened travel.

We were gone just short of eight weeks, and there was a new post every week during that time. Most of those posts came from my inventory and were designed and scheduled in the last days before we left. I also wrote posts from the road when something important or interesting caught my attention, and I added a couple trip reports complete with photos from our travels.

I even discovered that it was possible to write, edit, add pictures, and schedule a post over hotel Wi-Fi when necessary. Knowing I can maintain my schedule while traveling is reassuring, because I hope to travel some more (if we ever get this blasted pandemic under control).

So thank you all for coming with me over the last year. I just went back and counted, there have been 67 posts on this page since we started. I hope you feel this has been worthwhile, and that you will stick with me for the next year, and the one after that.

We still have a long way to go.

You Can't Go Home Again

I have talked a couple times about establishing our creative identities, and how we can redefine ourselves for the next stage of our lives.

I firmly believe this is both possible and necessary for our well-being. It allows us to be our authentic selves, and not a role defined by our job or our social position. We are no longer defined as “Susie’s mom” or “the nurse on third shift.”

This isn’t always as easy to learn as it sounds, however, and that point was brought home to me quite dramatically just a few days ago.

As I have said before, I spent the last 22 years of my career in the accounting office of a resort hotel. I sat in an office overlooking the Pacific Ocean and handled the financial records of a hotel, restaurant, and lounge. There were around 100 employees at any given time and in my tenure I got to know all of them. Some of them were there when I started, some came later, but I knew everyone in the building and interacted with many of them on a daily basis.

The view from my former office. I realized I had a LOT of sunset pictures, but in my defense the windows faced west and sunsets were pretty photogenic!

I wanted to include this shot just for the novelty of snow on the beach. And the fact that there isn't a sunset in sight!

In short, the resort was a second home with an extended “work family” that I knew and liked. I belonged.

Even my leaving was like a child moving out for the first time. I left, I visited a lot at first, then I moved back home and interacted with my family intensely. Finally, I left again and moved far away.

Recently I visited my old home and realized I no longer belonged there. I had lunch with the friend who now has the job I left, in the dining room where I had eaten so many lunches over the years. I was even waited on by a server I’d known for over a decade.

But this time it was very different. There were employees I didn’t know, and who didn’t know me. I couldn’t assume that everyone would know who I was and I couldn’t wander through the “Employees Only” areas without someone questioning why I was there.

It was kind of like visiting your family after being away for a long time. The furniture has moved, or been replaced. Your old bedroom is now your dad’s office or mom’s sewing room.

You no longer belong.

For me there was an additional layer of disconnect.

For my entire tenure we had plans to remodel the accounting office. But because we were not in a public area, and because we were functional, we were always a discretionary budget line item.

As the financial watchdogs we prioritized spending, and always placed our hidden corner of the building low on the list. There was always something more important, and year after year we put off major work.

Finally, though, the remodel moved up the list and work started this spring on a complete gutting and rebuilding of the offices, including an expansion into some adjoining areas.

The new offices are going to be amazing. The day I was there I got a tour of the nearly-completed area with my friend who will work there. I cannot express how pleased I am for them that they will get to work in a completely rebuilt office with new furniture and fixtures. It’s a beautiful space.

This is where we started. We'd made a few changes over the years - adding shelves, ripping out water-damaged carpet - and there was always that spectacular view which offset a lot of the other issues.

And it truly is no longer my office. Absolutely everything about the place has changed. Walls moved. Windows replaced. All new furnishings.

Mom’s new sewing room, Dad’s new office, was nicer than my childhood bedroom had ever been.

It's not complete in this picture, but you can see how lovely the new space is. They extended the room onto the balcony (visible in the before photo) and knocked a doorway through into a portion of the room next door. The new windows are smaller but the view is still spectacular. It's going to be a wonderful place to work.

Honestly, it was a gut punch.

I’ve left jobs before, and things changed, sure. But this was the longest I had stayed in one job and I guess I never expected it to change quite this dramatically. Somewhere deep and unacknowledged I still held a connection, a reassurance that somehow I could always go home again.

This wasn’t a gentle reminder that I was retired; it was an ice-bucket-challenge-level dose of reality. The resort, the company, the people – they had all moved on without me and I was no longer a part of them.

I can’t say I coped well with the impact this had on me. I felt lost and that feeling stayed with me for far longer than I would have expected, and I haven’t yet recovered completely.

This is the lesson I am having to learn, and one that most of us will face. No matter how much we want our retirement, no matter how much planning we do, no matter what safety nets we put in place, there are going to be times that reality sneaks up on us and sucker punches us.

I don’t have any real answer for this one, but I am trying to work through the conflicting emotions and to reaffirm my creative identity. I am unpacking my reactions and looking for ways to better handle the issues that have come up.

I am reading back over the posts I made about identity, and trying to internalize (once again) those lessons I thought I had already learned.

That shiny new office with the beautiful view looks oh-so-good and the siren call of all the up-to-date equipment is tempting; but it isn’t for me anymore.

I need to remember why I made this change, and how far I have come in my creative journey – and how far I have to go.

It’s time to move ahead, and as Thomas Wolfe said nearly 100 years ago, truly You Can’t Go Home Again.

Oh, The Places We Saw!

Wow! Another week gone already, hardly seems possible. Somehow, having several weeks of posts ready to go while we were on the road skewed my sense of Patreon-time and I find myself suddenly confronted with a deadline looming. Or maybe it's just the time-dilation effects of retirement that are caused when we no longer have to know what day it is.

In any case, I have some photos from our Big Trip to share with you today.

The Big Trip provided not only adventures, it also gave us plenty of photo ops as we traveled across the country. Some places were more photogenic than others (the white sand beaches of the Florida panhandle), some were odd or unusual (I mean, a statue with a bare backside visible from a wide swath of the city?), and some were impressive for their size (Meteor Crater comes to mind-maybe I'll do a post about our adventures there at some point). There was the Owl Court in Oklahoma City which carried a huge personal significance.

Photos cannot capture the colors of the surf, sand, and sun along the Florida panhandle. At least not photos with our limited equipment. But trust me, this is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been - even when you need SPF 100 to venture out on the sand!

Then there were the statues. No, not the historical ones, or those that were part of a monument, but the ones that can only be described as city-wide public art.

We saw more than one of this type of installation, and have begun to suspect that there is more to the story than the statues themselves. How they came to be, who created them, who encouraged their use, even what they mean to the community - those are all questions that come to mind. 

I must confess I haven't researched the background or meaning of these collections, but we did have the opportunity to document two of them (with plans to return and do a photo tour of a third one we found) and I would like to share one of them with you today. 

The train station that welcomed visitors throughout Shawnee's history. For many, this is where their adventures began.

We came through the small town of Shawnee, Oklahoma, on our way home, between Little Rock and Oklahoma City. After a day of driving through storms, flood warnings, and heat it seemed like a good spot to stop for the night. It was not quite dusk, and Steve had heard about the train station so we turned up the AC to cool our room and went exploring while it cooled down.

This cemetery gate caught our eye as we were driving past. The stone work was similar to that of the train station, and stretched several blocks. Somehow it seems as though it should have been on a quiet side street, not a busy street with fast-moving traffic, and I can only imagine that the street was far less traveled when this was first built. 

This cemetery gate caught our eye as we were driving past. The stone work was similar to that of the train station, and stretched several blocks. Somehow it seems as though it should have been on a quiet side street, not a busy street with fast-moving traffic, and I can only imagine that the street was far less traveled when this was first built. 

We got our photo, pulled back out and almost immediately spotted another horse! Sure enough, there are multiple colorful horses in Shawnee. In no particular order, here are the pictures. I don't know if we got them all, but these are the ones we managed to find.

This guy was in a tiny corral next to the train station. I felt sorry for him in such cramped quarters!

Horse standing guard over an intersection at 45th and Harrison in front of the Sonic Drive-In. All the statues we saw were on Harrison Street, our exit from the Interstate.

Regal Car Sales has this blue-and-gold statue out front. Maybe this is a one-horsepower model?

Blue seemed to be a common color for the statues, including this one at the BancFirst building.

This one stands in front of a large Shell gas station/convenience store. Notice the sign at the foot of the statue. Apparently some people can't resist the temptation to ride a fiberglass horse!

This statue is in front of OK Classics, a car dealership. We spotted him from across the street and only got a long shot of his paint job.

Given the paint job and the rental van in the background, I doubt you’ll have any trouble figuring out where this horse stood! If there’s any question, yes, that it a U-Haul logo on the flank.

This was perhaps the most unusual statue. Standing in front of the Sac and Fox Nation Multi-Purpose Center, it is covered with writings and symbols that hold significance for the Native population.

Each of these statues is distinct from the others. Although there seem to be only two stances - either on two feet or four - they each have their own decoration and paint scheme. Even those that are similar in color (blue seemed to be popular) have their own design.

That, I think, is the lesson we can take from this little photo tour: Even when we start with a similar idea or premise the end result will inevitably reflect our own approach - like the cactus stories I shared some months back. No matter how much your idea may seem like someone else's the end result will always be your own.

Get Out Of the House

For most of my life I wasn't a hang-around-the-house kind of person. I convinced myself that I was the extrovert, especially after marrying an extreme introvert and coming to understand his need for solitude. I felt like it was my job, as the outgoing one, to keep our outside lives in balance and act as the social director.

Trying to plan our retirement trip. I was always the one with the calendar covered with sticky notes, doodles, lists, appointments.

Even now there are times that I will join friends for a meal, or an outing, or a game night without him. After all these years we have accepted that we don't need to do everything together. We have learned to give each other space.

But in the past few years, particularly as I have allowed my creative nature to emerge, I have found myself becoming more and more of an introvert. I have learned to value my time alone, and to enjoy the freedom to do things by myself. Even if it's only watching TV alone, or reading a book in absolute quiet, that time is precious.

There is, however, a flip side to that solitude. Even when we value our personal time and space we still need some social interaction. We need to literally see other people, to interact with another human being, even if it's only the checker in the supermarket or the barista in our favorite coffee place.

This guy? He doesn't count as interacting with another human being. Besides, I never even got his name, and we couldn't find a common language. On the upside, this WAS outside my house!

We need, in short, to get out of the house.

There is plenty of data to back up this assertion; I'm not going to search out the studies that support it. If you want the research and the science behind this there are plenty of places online to find scholarly work that backs up the need for humans to have at least occasional interaction with others.

My husband, an experienced introvert, has learned to balance his need for interaction with his need for alone time. He leaves the house almost every day to do the grocery shopping, run errands, and walk, walk, walk. He speaks to the checkers, nods a greeting as he makes a circuit of the mall, or occasionally exchanges small talk with friends he encounters. (In a town this small that happens most every time he goes out.)

On the other hand, I went to work every day in a building with 70 or 80 other people. I worked in a resort hotel where I often interacted with the guests or other visitors, and I had many friends among the other staff members. I always had at least some social interaction with co-workers during the day, and there were always countless brief "How are you?" and "How was your day off?" exchanges.

In our own way, we each got some socializing every day. We each interacted with other humans on at least a superficial level. We greeted friends and strangers and were greeted in return. We achieved our minimum daily social connections.

Granted, his minimum level was apparently lower than mine. I would often stop during the day and talk-even if only for a minute or two-with my co-workers. He would more likely wave hello to someone he knew and keep moving. But either way, we interacted.

This was a beach photo shoot for my job. The pros were taking promo pictures, and I was taking pictures of them taking pictures. Sometimes I got to interact with lots of people during the day!

Now I am retired. I don't go to my office every day. I don't have to leave the house at all if I don't want to. I should go out. I need to exercise, whether that means walking around the neighborhood, running errands, going to the gym or the library-I still need to get out of the house.

And yet.

I have been staying home a lot more than I used to. I don't have a lot of desire to go out, even to do the shopping. The idea of staying in my own house, doing whatever I want to do, is almost overwhelming.

That doesn't mean I haven't gone out. Why, just yesterday I went to have my first cataract surgery. I interacted with several doctors and nurses and receptionists. That counts, doesn't it?

Well, maybe.

But one day in three weeks isn't much, and I need to re-examine my plans. I need to make time in my day to go outside, maybe even get off my own property and see something of the rest of the world.

I was outside the fence, so maybe this was off my own property. But I don't think it really counts. Besides, I wasn't going to get too close to our visitor - they have sharp hooves and didn't seem real friendly!

Honestly, this is a problem I did not expect to encounter. I thought my bigger problem would be the burning desire to go out, to see people, to go places, and to do all those things out in the big, wide world that I hadn't been able to do because I always had to work.

Yet here I am, sitting in my office and quite happy not to put on outside pants and actually walk out the front door of the house. (The back door doesn't count; it is only a few steps from my office door and I'll end up in there if I don't watch out.)

I am not sure what I will do about this, but I do know that I will need to put some form of outing on my schedule. I need activities outside the walls of my home. I need to see someone other than my husband face-to-face.

Right now we are in the middle of a health crisis in this country that is forcing us to stay home, so there are some things I can't do. The gym is closed. Ditto the senior center, local restaurants, movie theaters, the library. Shopping is an act of extreme bravery for people in my husband's and my demographic.

The thing that I find both surprising and scary about this though is that I don't mind. I'm quite content to sit inside, write, read, knit, watch TV, cook, even clean the house. It's kind of a terrifying revelation for me.

Still, the outdoors is not closed for business, and our streets are empty enough that they don't pose a danger. I can wave at people from a distance, see trees and wildlife, walk down to the overlook and stare at the ocean, even take the car to a mostly-empty waterfront parking lot and walk on the beach.

I can get out of the house. And I need to get out of the house. I need to see things outside my own walls.

Get Out of the House is going to be an entry on my schedule at least three or four days a week.

I consider it a moral imperative. (And if you don't know that reference from the movie Real Genius, go find a copy and watch it. You can thank me later!)

Recommended Watch: Simone Giertz

Simone Giertz, YouTube channel 

Simone Giertz (pronounced "yetch") is a young Swedish woman who describes herself as someone who "invents useless machines." She was also the self-proclaimed "queen of shitty robots," a title she renounced a couple years ago.

Over the years she has made an alarm clock that slaps you awake, a toothbrush helmet, and a lipstick applier - none of which actually performs the assigned task with any degree of competence.

But beyond the inherent silliness of building a breakfast machine (here), or a soup robot (here) there is an underlying sense of freedom and exploration. Her invention may be silly, and it may not work, but they are amusing to both the builder and the viewer. She even made a Tesla pickup before Elon Musk!

On a more serious note, she has also shared with her followers her journey through brain surgery for a non-malignant tumor, and the return of that tumor, and her recent move from San Francisco to Los Angeles.

What shines through all of her videos is the joy she takes in making things both large and small, useless and useful, successful and unsuccessful. This young woman has a lesson to teach us about trying things without putting expectations on ourselves, simply for the joy of allowing our creativity free rein.

Even if you don't watch her other videos, I strongly recommend her TED talk from 2018. She talks about performance anxiety, letting go, and why you should build something useless.

And that's a lesson we all need to learn.