Each week, I sift through various possiblities of what to write, or sing, or draw. This week is no different. I consider an Irish story, my video about Carl Jung and shadows (next week, I think), some kind of musical thingy, a travel memory. The sifting is often more work than the writing. But good news, I’m getting so that I trust whatever comes up.
I started this Substack endeavor two years ago next month. One of my first entries was SHOWER POWER.
Luxuriating in my morning shower, everything is crystal clear. I know where I’m going. I understand everyone’s lives. I am pure love. Ideas and inspiration rise exuberantly with the steam. I would love to create a Beaker and Bunsen/ Mr. Peabody machine to pipette all of it into a bottle for safekeeping. I could line the bottles up in the bookcase in my studio, ready to be decanted whenever I feel confused, discouraged or in need of direction.
I came across an article by Calvin Tomkins in The New Yorker about Scottish painter Peter Doig’s life and works. “Accidents, mistakes, and unforeseen discoveries figure to some degree in the work of most artists, but Doig is a virtuoso of the unpredictable.” He has catapulted through life, trusting his whims at every turn. The dictionary definition of whim include words like capricious, eccentric, often sudden idea or turn of the mind, a sudden wish or idea, especially one that cannot be reasonably explained.
This reminds me that age 72 is no time to feel timid.
Life can feel small and inconsequential in the day to day, but the overall story can be glorious. Which is more important? Daydreaming about that novella-in-flash festival in Bath or stopping on the sidewalk to hear the old man’s story? My shower-self knows the answer. Everything is sacred, from the passion to create, to the old man on the sidewalk, to sitting quietly to stare out at the sea
In the shower this morning, I was still sifting when my drowning brain was saved by the thought of a simple list. - a simple numbered list for the coming year. Random thoughts, self-advice.
Be good to yourself.
Don’t let worry, anger, apprehension cloud all the beauty of the world
.
Help the old lady, struggling to reach her special teabags on top shelf in the grocery store.
When you are quietly thinking, That guy is really weird, take a moment to consider your own weirdness.
Consider the trees. They have seen it all
.
We will survive the next four years. You don’t need to follow every infuriating detail. It will only drain your own battery.
Meet a friend for coffee.
Spend a moment to realize how unique you are. There is only one of you.
Make eye contact with every baby you pass in the grocery store, on the sidewalk. You’ll be amazed. They always lock eyes with you. They are old souls, their eyes are filled with wonder, wisdom. They’re newly arrived from the larger universe of souls. They have things they could tell you.
Make new friends.
Don’t be afraid to say who you really are, what you’d really like to try to be
.
Watch the birds. They can teach us about a simple life
.
Put down your phone as much as possible.
Learn a second language - a great reminder that we are not the center of the universe.
Carry a notebook to write down an amazing thought.
Stop comparing yourself to others. You will always feel like you’re a gift to mankind or like day old bread.
Don’t write your memoir. But…
write down one little memory in your little notebook. Be specific. No I grew up in Whateverville. Instead, describe a room in detail - the appliances in the kitchen, the wallpaper in the downstairs bathroom, the first time you realized your armpits smelled, how your 8th grade science teacher always said, Well, whatever!
Don’t forget that humility is way more intriguing than being a know-it-all.
Remember that you know very little.
Be curious, full of wonder
.
Put down the phone.
Take accordion lessons
Skip the news. It’ll be there tomorrow. But you may not be.
Get a sketchbook. Draw something. Anything. (Remember, kids art is better than grown-up art.
Make up a song about the weird guy at the bus stop. (OK, he is a bit weird.)
Eat more vegetables.
Call your mother.
Oops, One more item.
29. Get your copy of
OK. I give up. It’s your turn. Happy New Year.
Love reading you, Kate. Made me want coffee with you! Or tea.
AMEN, Kate!