Today is my mother’s birthday. She’s been gone twelve years. In many ways, she was our family’s glue. I returned home for reunions regularly, but less so after she passed. The pandemic crimped that pattern further. It had been five years since I’d seen my nieces and nephews, and I hadn’t met their children. My husband and I finally went back East and made the rounds to four households in two states, plus squeezed in business in a third. Mom would have loved it.

​​Today, I’m facilitating my last Winter 2024 writing circle. Two groups ended last week. As usual, we performed our final day’s “appreciations,” which happens before we say goodbye. These expressions of gratitude are spontaneous and begin with offering comments about what I treasure in each person/writer. 

​My chest tightened as I listened to fellow cast members perform their stories two days before the show. What am I doing among award-winning storytellers? I wondered. Must I follow a Moth GrandSLAM Champion and share a stage with professional actors?

On January 1, Robyn Ryle’s Substack landed in my inbox. A sociologist and author, Robyn writes about culture, mindfulness, and writing. In her piece subtitled, “This is not a New Year’s Post,” Robyn says she dislikes the idea of linear time inherent in “the whole New Year’s mess,” which makes us “anxious about our impending deaths.”

Last November 2022, I received an email blast that asked, “Do you have a holiday story to tell?” The question came from Suzanne Weerts, founder of JAM Creative, a charitable organization that brings stories to the stage. Suzanne is also a Write Where You Are writing circle alumna. In her email, I learned she was producing and directing Jingle Tales & Tunes 2022, a holiday fundraising event at The Colony Theater in Burbank.

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​We recently had our deck rebuilt. We intended to repair it, but when the construction crew began pulling planks, we discovered the foundation was rotted. “It’s amazing this thing didn’t collapse,” the foreman told us. “It was literally floating.”

Last week, I went to the dark side. 

I kept trying to get out of my low mood, which I created by misinterpreting a situation, making presumptions about other people’s opinions about me, and then listening to—and believing—the small voice inside my head ranting about what a terrible person I am. These thoughts looked real. 
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​Have you ever felt out of your depth when thinking about creating something new? In this video, I share a story about a recent experience in which I felt totally intimidated. I eventually let go and had fun, which is what creative expression can be when we release expectations, explore, and play.

​We also need to feel supported in a safe and sacred space. This means:
 
1.      You can show up as you are, even if you’re scared.
 
2.      You know all parts of you are welcome. Even your insecurities.
 
3.      You’re allowed to be tired, vulnerable, and uncertain.
 
4.      You know you won’t be judged.
 
5.      You’re allowed to have all your feelings. 
 
6.      You know you’ll be met where you are, and where you are is perfect.
 
7.      You know you won’t be compared to someone else’s version of who they think you should be.
 
8.      You don’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations of who you are or what you create.
 
9.      You understand your creative expression will exist on your own terms and won’t be compared to others.
 
10.    You feel the joy of creative play for its own sake, without goals, ambition, or needing to prove anything to anyone.
 
If this sounds good to you, check out my upcoming summer writing circles.
 
The deadline to sign up is this Friday, July 7, at noon PT. 
 
Classes begin next week! I’m excited to dig in with new and returning writers.

Last week, I attended Camp Scripps, organized by and for Scripps College alumnae. The camp offers four days of workshops, readings, late-night conversations, performances, sports, friendship, and fun!

​This year, I taught “Sacred Journal Writing: Start or Revive Your Practice.” In this workshop, we discussed these seven ways to use your journal:

​​I recently returned home from a desert retreat. I try to go every year. It’s the best place I know to get quiet and to heal. No work. No schedules. No social media. No news.