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Special thanks to my soulsister Karen for sending this amazing piece from The New Yorker. It feels so good to me to have a president who is reflective in this particular way. Here’s a quote from President Obama written in 1996 before anyone could imagine an inauguration quite like this one:

All my life, I have been stitching together a family, through stories or memories or friends or ideas. Michelle has had a very different background—very stable, two-parent family, mother at home, brother and dog, living in the same house all their lives. We represent two strands of family life in this country—the strand that is very stable and solid, and then the strand that is breaking out of the constraints of traditional families, travelling, separated, mobile. I think there was that strand in me of imagining what it would be like to have a stable, solid, secure family life.

Michelle is a tremendously strong person, and has a very strong sense of herself and who she is and where she comes from. But I also think in her eyes you can see a trace of vulnerability that most people don’t know, because when she’s walking through the world she is this tall, beautiful, confident woman. There is a part of her that is vulnerable and young and sometimes frightened, and I think seeing both of those things is what attracted me to her. And then what sustains our relationship is I’m extremely happy with her, and part of it has to do with the fact that she is at once completely familiar to me, so that I can be myself and she knows me very well and I trust her completely, but at the same time she is also a complete mystery to me in some ways. And there are times when we are lying in bed and I look over and sort of have a start. Because I realize here is this other person who is separate and different and has different memories and backgrounds and thoughts and feelings. It’s that tension between familiarity and mystery that makes for something strong, because, even as you build a life of trust and comfort and mutual support, you retain some sense of surprise or wonder about the other person.

And from my sweet Myriam, this open letter to President Obama from Alice Walker.

Happy New Day!

an old photo, from when i first started taking pictures and was very new to painting

I’m on #60 of 100 new designs as I play The Portfolio Project with my friend Jen Lee. At first, it took me a whole day to do one sketch. Then I realized I could modify on the spot. Then I got faster from so much practice. Now it feels like riding a bicycle fast down a hill. I can hardly keep my feet on the pedals.

Here are a few reflections on creating art with a goal in mind, but I think the same applies to whatever you promise yourself you will do to honor your most true self:

1. Creating art will make you incredibly happy, no matter what your reason is for doing it.
2. With (what appears at first to be) a ridiculous goal in mind, you can do way more than you ever imagined.
3. Your monkey mind will go into overdrive thinking up other Really Great Things you could/should be doing instead of painting, but it’s in your best interest to set all that aside and continue your work for now.
4. 100 paintings isn’t that many after all. The trick is to show up and get started.
5. When you commit yourself to do something, you find the most efficient, creative way to do it.
6. That innovation gives way to more innovation. And then more. And then even more.
7. Trying to figure out how these paintings will make you money will pretty much make you want to stop the whole process immediately. It’s not nearly as fun to think about selling paintings as it is to actually make them. And it’s best for right now to just make them.
8. That said, by doing your work, you can quickly see that real world success is within your reach. You can be energized by this or you can be terrified. Your call.
9. It gets really noisy in your head when you actually do your work, but the noise quiets down if you keep working anyway.
10. This work will not take you away from other dreams. In fact, your progress here feeds your progress in other arenas and everything starts to integrate into One Big Thing. I know that sounds crazy, but trust me, it’s true.
11. It’s really, really hard to do anything else when you are working on a project like this. (Exhibit A: my kitchen. Exhibit B: my floundering Etsy store. Exhibit C: missing posts about major progress on many fronts in Rwanda. Exhibit D: my inbox. Apologies to everyone and then some.)
12. Art really does heal you.
13. Beware of words you put on paintings. Two and a half years ago I made a postcard that I thought would be lovely for random unknown sad people. It only took two years for me to realize the person the postcard was meant for was me.
14. If you forget about time, you will still get somewhere really wonderful right on schedule.
15. There’s some strange connection between creativity, spirituality and sexuality. I can’t even begin to understand it let alone explain it, but I always feel it buzzing below the surface of things when I’m creating something.
16. Your paintings know things about you that you don’t know yet about yourself. (See #13)
17. What shows up on the page is the very thing you most need to know for your own wellness of soul. Let your all-knowing mind be your teacher.
18. Not everything you do will be brilliant. Some of it will suck, and that’s okay.
19. It’s nice to have someone to rub your hands at the end of the day after all that work. You can ask random people to do this task, and most of the time they will say yes without minding it one bit. This many paintings will wear you out after awhile, but that’s to be expected. You can rest when you need to.
20. You don’t have to have perfect circumstances or a wildly supportive cheering section to meet your goals. In fact, it might be best to just do it because you want to.
21. Everything you do matters. Every story you tell yourself about your creative life and what’s possible for you holds incredible power over you, so choose your story wisely.
22. It’s okay to have serious doubts about your talents and abilities. Do your work anyway.
23. Nothing is a mistake.
24. It’s okay to take your time.
25. What you think is a breakdown is really a breakthrough. (Thank you Jen Lee for this.) So push through the hard parts. The other side of each little meltdown is truly glorious. Unless, of course, what you really need is simply a little sleep.

And with that, my darlings, I say goodnight. A sneak peak from the studio coming tomorrow. If. I get those Etsy packages out. Swear.

gremlin: fairies that are somewhat mischievious; that little person in your head making constant critique and commentary whenever you move in the direction of health, happiness or a long held silent dream

Invite your gremlin along for a cup of hot tea, a hot bath, a blustery wintery walk. Listen to his complaints about you and then thank him gently for trying to keep you so safe. He represents a part of you that is terrified of your disappointment and never wants you to try for fear of failing. You have to give him credit for having your back in this way, even if he is a little overzealous.

Write your gremlin a thank you letter. Thank her for all the ways she has kept you stable and calm and exactly in the same spot. Thank her for being so invested in your security. Let her know that you appreciate her contributions, but that you have to say good-bye for now. Promise to come back and tell her what happened on your great adventure.

Go on a secret mission to spread a little hope to all the other lovely people being oppressed–I mean watched out for–by their own secret noisy gremlins. Write little notes of encouragement that would mean a lot to you if you found them on the sidewalk, in the coffeeshop, tucked neatly in the pages of a get-fit-fast book in the bookstore. Then go leave your notes all around.

Ask for a long hug. It’s preferable if you know the person you are asking, but not required. I find old people, people who are chubby and small children to be ideal candidates. Let yourself make a long sigh during this hugging business. Close your eyes and pretend it is the Universe her Self supporting you in that long embrace. Do it even if you feel downright ridiculous, and if your gremlin objects, remind her she’s getting hugged right now, too. She’s completely averse to affection, even though she desperately needs it.

Tell your gremlin you’re going to work now. Your gremlin really can’t hang around if you are going to do your work. She can barely stand it. So excuse yourself graciously (or ask her to come along) and move your body to your working place. Sit down in the chair and start moving your hands the way you do when you love to work. Your gremlin will be very crabby at first, but then she will get bored and find something else to do, especially if you have powerful, happy music playing.

Promise yourself you will sit in your chair and make something, no matter how ugly or imperfect or strange or far from your far flung dreams. Make that thing and then kiss it and then send a picture of it to me or Rachelle or Andrea or Jen or some other dear soul who knows all about gremlins. We will hold your created thing lovingly and then kiss the picture of it and send it back with kind words. Truly. If you don’t know what to create, make a little ode to your gremlin. She’s vain enough to enjoy the attention.

Make a list of all the things you are gaining by keeping this gremlin as your constant companion. This is a hard one, but please try. (You know she’s there partially by invitation, right?) What do you NOT have to do because you have this ever present constant house guest? What feelings do you get to avoid? What work do you never ever have to even start, let alone finish? What lovely story do you get to keep, forever unchallenged, because your little friend is so needy? I’ll call you on the phone and sing you a song if you have the courage to get somewhere with this one. Promise.

Align yourself with something you deeply, passionately believe in. Right now, for me, my noisy gremlins are sulking because I decided to try to build a house with my friends instead of listen to their banter about scarcity and the-futility-of-working-in-Africa and other such nonsense! Other days all it takes is one healthy bowl of Organic Pomegran Plus Granola with Cherries Cereal and a dollop of Fage to convince them there’s no use really. Sometimes it requires wearing rain boots when it’s not raining. My gremlins are natural skeptics and vigorous non-believers, so even the tiniest ounce of faith in kindness, health or play grosses them out and sends them packing.

Okay, my gremlins are starting to get all cozy with me, hoping I’ll keep blogging instead of working on The Portfolio Project, so I better get these girls up with me to the Tower pronto! Sending this out to you, friends, with so much love and more than a little hope for a happy gremlin-tamed day.

dedicated to Rachelle, one of my original soulsisters and all her lovely noisy gremlins.

And other things I remember now, about how it all began. The rest of the story here.

Love is fragile.
Friendship can last a long, long time.
Sitting under the tree to solve your problems African style is as close to magic as it gets.
Nothing heals a wounded soul like an open listening heart.
You can skip to the front of the line, but it only really works out if you’ve already done your work.
Everybody needs kindness and respect and love.
The wisdom of someone who has suffered greatly is a kind light you can trust to show the way.
Most of the limitations you feel are (more often than not) a crisis of imagination.
Dreams can be treasure maps.
Even grownups need blankies sometimes.
Stories are powerful medicine.
Being cracked open is very, very painful but it is not without purpose.
This is never the end of your story.
The problem is not wanting too much; it is not having the courage to want enough.
Desire is a great teacher.
We each have the power to create new possibilities that have not existed before.
In acceptance lies peace. Thinking someone else is in charge of your happiness is sure and certain death.
You can’t learn something quickly or any faster to avoid pain.
The process is the master. Surrender now. Or as best as you can, while screaming.
Breathing into each moment really does help.
Thinking is highly overrated.
Music can be a mentor; movies can be gentle friends.
There’s a certain kind of love that does not let you go.
The sisterhood of friendship is like manna from heaven; it can make you new every morning.
Shame is a killer; kindness is the cure.
You can be okay without knowing.
It’s really good to believe in something, even if it’s how happy you feel standing in a quiet open field.
Being seen, truly seen, and loved just the same is what everyone on this green earth is hoping for, even if they act like they don’t care.
Real privilege is when you are invited to serve and you do it, even if it’s incredibly hard or annoying and not at all the picnic you had planned.
Your heart knows the way through the wilderness; the only thing to do is follow.

What do you know now?

My friend Jen Lee came to see me on New Year’s Eve after I casually mentioned in an email how much I was wishing we could have a little New Year’s pow wow to really get our plans for 2009 off to a good start. Usually I’m the one hopping on a bus to New York to spend the day in coffees and little meetings in Manhattan before spending the night on Jen’s magical red sofa in Brooklyn. I couldn’t believe how touched I was that this time someone was taking a turn to come to me. I cleaned my house and tidied up with so much happiness in my heart.

Jen was a strange and rare gift to me. She came during a painful time and watched and waited while I pushed my way out of a cocoon of radical change and transformation. I’ve been there, too, to watch her take flight and claim her place in a powerful circle of wise and soulful women. These days we both hover over our respective creative stews, minding the fire, tasting now and then of the other’s pot to see what’s needed, what’s just right, what’s missing. I have come to count on Jen’s mindful eye and her sage wisdom. I have come to look forward to our long walks on city streets and quiet conversations as we map the terrain of the healer’s heart.

Recently we’ve been recording these conversations. Listening to them both delights and horrifies me–I love this public record of the way we are together and I feel shy to think of anyone listening. But at this beginning of the year, I thought you might like to hear what we have brewing. You might want to join us. You might want to record a creative conversation of your own.

Here we are:
super chilled and sleepy, thinking up The Portfolio Project
okay, both of us more than a little sick, tying up loose ends before we start–a Happy New Year podcast

and this lovely podcast from Jen alone about refinding the lost parts of ourselves

I know you thought I was not writing on this blog for so many days in a row because I was upstairs in the tower thinking Deep Soulful Thoughts about The New Year and the very Serious and Meaningful things I would do to make the world a better place in 2009. But, no, no, my friends, I was actually walking around my house wearing this green scarf day and night and waiting for Fatou to come over so she can help me drape it around my head in various ways.

For example.

We’ll be sitting at the kitchen table talking and I’ll be suddenly distracted thinking about Fatou and how she covers her head, and then I’ll say, “Mama, can you show me how to do my scarf like that lovely way you do when you go to mosque?” And she’ll say, “Sure, mama, come here.” And then I let her make me at least look like a proper Muslim woman and we drink tea and talk like that for a little while with her stopping to laugh at me every ten minutes or so because I’m taking it all so serious. And then we go to my living room and lounge on the couch and she’ll rearrange her own scarf, but this time wrapping it around her head like a respectable African woman going to market, and I’ll say, “Mama, can you do mine like that, too?” And she’ll say, “Sure, mama. Come here,” and then I’ll sit on the couch thinking about how happy I am with my wild and unruly hair all tied up neatly like that and I’ll remember when I was ten and realized I had more hair than Marlo Thomas and wished it were okay to wear a turban like the sheiks in the movies. And right about then I start to get claustrophobic and I have to take the whole thing down and put my scarf back around my neck like a regular old American girl and then Fatou laughs some more and asks me, “Do you have any chocolate, Jennie?” And I say, “Yes, of course,” and then we go back to the kitchen where we started before I got all silly and stupid about this green scarf that really is my favorite color even if it’s not really my color if you know what I mean. And I tell myself I hope that when I’m really old, it will still be old lady fashion to fold your square scarf in a triangle and tie it neatly under your chin, because, that, my friends, would make me so, completely, deliriously happy.

In case you’re wondering now what this has to do with anything important at all on New Year’s Day, I’m thinking that while it would be wildly thrilling to lose twenty pounds this year or take a class or run a marathon or get organized or in short move my life one excruciating step closer to perfection, the things that are more likely to make me happy (and healthy and whole) are the incidental ones collected in tiny moments.

Like…

Walking in the creek in my new boots covered in hearts
Riding my bike to the grocery store
Taking hot baths
Eating exactly one square of dark chocolate every day
Writing little love letters from the Universe for strangers like you
Smokin’ and jokin’ with my soulbrothers on the streets of DC
Taking pictures of my kids
Letting truer words never spoken sink into my wide open heart
Saying hi to the tree in front of Carter’s school that I swear wants to hug me, her branches extend just so
Lighting candles
Singing for no reason
Washing my neglected hair
Being thankful for the miracle (and even the trauma) of finding Africa in my heart
Clipping my toe nails
Asking for ridiculous displays of affection from my children
Giving myself permission to at least try on mumus, my 70 year old self fashion statement of choice
Telling knock-knock jokes
Giving away my best secrets
Praying simple prayers addressed to all dieties, the Mother Mary, the sky, the trees, the good green earth
Reading poetry
Being with my pre-school BFFs
Talking on the phone
Drinking African tea
and yes, asking my wise and wonderful friends to indulge my need for a green scarf arranged various ways on my head

What soulful, silly thing will you do not for today or this month or this year or the rest of your life, but for this one tiny moment? What simple, ridiculous request is your wild unruly soul making right now to seduce the most true you?

i want to add that while i’m being playful in this post, i feel deeply respectful of the hijab
and envy the kind of devotion that makes that kind of practice possible.