Cindy on January 10th, 2009
“More important than the quest for certainty is the quest for clarity.” — Francois Gautier
The answers to our most difficult career questions are rarely “clear as glass.” Sometimes we need to pull back and get quiet in order to gain fresh perspective. Curious? Read more in my January 2009 Michigan Women’s Forum column. – CL
Cindy on January 6th, 2009
The key question isn’t “What fosters creativity?” But it is, why in God’s name isn’t everyone creative? Where was the human potential lost? How was it crippled? I think therefore a good question might be not why do people create — but why do people not create or innovate? — Abraham Maslow
Lately I’ve been feeling stuck, burned out, immobilized. And it’s not just because I’m worried about the so-called print media crisis. I’ve been working long enough to know that periods of fallow time are part and parcel of the writing life. I know that all writers go through days or weeks when the work feels off, or never good enough — when self-doubt is a faithful office companion. And I know that it passes soon enough.
In her new book, Stuck: Why We Can’t (or Won’t) Move On, Anneli Rufus talks about why so many of us struggle to make necessary career changes when we know it’s time to move on. Or why we can’t seem to mend relationships that aren’t working. She details some of the things that keep us stalled — living in the past; holding grudges; the need for instant gratification; bad habits; perfectionism; consumerism. I recognize my “stuckness” in many of Rufus’s pages.
Thankfully, I’ve learned over the years that my best antidote to writer’s block is focusing on different creative projects that have little or nothing to do with writing or publishing. Cooking a beautiful meal, for one example, satisfies my need to work with my hands and to offer something that will nourish others.
But I’ve found my greatest satisfaction working on mixed-media collage or constructions in the art studio upstairs. This art form requires that you use “found objects” or whatever else you have at hand — sort of like rustling up dinner from the pantry when you haven’t had time to grocery shop. It’s imaginative and messy and challenging. (The piece of art shown in the photo above is an example of mixed-media construction, recently created by my husband Douglas.)
When my life feels like a series of disparate parts that don’t make sense, mixed-media collage is also wonderfully therapeutic. Crafting a collage, like writing an essay, requires that I look at my world in new ways. I hunt for beauty in places I’ve overlooked before: tool boxes; hardware stores; the recycle bins in my garage. I’m compelled to hunt for possibilities in thrift shops and my own junk drawers. Every object is sacred in the mystical-ordinary sense, and even junk mail is worth a second look. Everything has a story waiting to be told — not necessarily in words, but in shape, form, texture and color.
I’ve been writing steadily and professionally for nearly 30 years, and I don’t imagine that I’d ever stop altogether. Keeping a journal and posting these essays is my way of making sense of the world. But this year it’s likely that I’ll devote more time to artwork and look for new ways to explore my creativity. Shifting the balance feels a little risky now (change always does) but that’s what makes midlife fresh and exciting. This could be the year I take the leap — and get unstuck. — Cindy La Ferle
– Original artwork, “Dad’s Younger Brother,” by Douglas La Ferle –
Cindy on January 2nd, 2009
“The longer I live, the more beautiful life becomes.” – Frank Lloyd Wright
Late last summer, my husband and I fulfilled our longtime dream of purchasing a Frank Lloyd Wright home in southwest Michigan, where we hope to retire in a few years. Like most homes that need repair or renovation, this one has its own lessons to teach. You can read my new essay online in The Christian Science Monitor. –CL
–Photo of the Carl Schultz house by Doug La Ferle–
Cindy on December 29th, 2008
“Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each year find you a better person.” — Benjamin Franklin
I stopped making New Year’s resolutions a long time ago. They rarely stick — and only serve to throw me into a vicious cycle of guilt, remorse, and self-contempt for the better part of January.
Instead, I stumbled on another ritual that works in the long run. I call it my “lessons in the rear-view mirror” exercise, which is simply a review of what I learned throughout the past year. Here are a few of my hard-earned epiphanies from 2008:
* Change, hope, democracy, and possibility aren’t just verbiage for a campaign slogan. Despite an incredibly vicious presidential campaign that pitted neighbor against neighbor, the first African American was elected to the highest position of government in the United States. The epitome of grace under pressure, Barack Obama reminds me that anything is possible in America, and that people who expect more from life (and themselves) often get it.
* When friends and neighbors truly love you, they won’t sever the relationship just because you didn’t vote Republican or put Obama signs on your lawn. The really good ones still bring you coffee cake.
* Frugality is cool again. In the midst of a long recession, conspicuous consumption has gone the way of the manual typewriter. Many of us woke up to the fact that we already have everything we need — including a supportive family, longtime friends, good neighbors, and a closetful of unworn clothes that still have price tags hanging on them. Our houses are big enough, our cars are new enough, our lives are rich enough. Enough is enough.
* There’s no such thing as “getting ahead.” When everything around you is changing rapidly, slowing down to catch your breath is often the best course of action. I regret that I spent the first half of my life dashing frantically from one activity to the next, as if there were a contest for the achiever who got it all done first. “What will your tombstone say?” humorist Loretta LaRoche asks us to consider. “Will it say, ‘Got it all done, dead anyway?’ ”
* We all deserve to be paid what we’re worth, whether we practice dentistry, carpentry, or journalism. Our experience and expertise have value — and others have more respect for services they have to pay for. When I give away my professional skills, people not only perceive me as generous, they also think of me as a walking freebie. I also make it harder for my colleagues to earn a decent wage.
* Parenting is the most important job a person can ever do, and it’s worth giving it the absolute-best you’ve got. Kids grow up faster than you can say “empty nest.” It’s a sappy cliche, I know, but until you watch your kid pack the car and drive off to his own new place in another state, you don’t really believe it.
* When someone steals one of your best ideas, it’s hard to get it back.
* You can’t take anything for granted. The Detroit newspaper crisis got me thinking about my 25-year career writing for print media. My smallest paychecks — and my biggest thrills — were always earned from a byline in my local newspaper. As Joni Mitchell sang, “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone…”
* Support networks really work. Having a posse of gifted writers with whom to commiserate has kept me sane — and hopeful — and I’m forever grateful for their friendship. Despite all the bad news for print media, writers are an optimistic bunch. Already, fresh ideas are brewing and there’s plenty of positive talk about publication start-ups and new ways of making a living with words. There’s hope in the midst of change.
* Love makes everything better. Everything.
– Cindy La Ferle
Cindy on December 22nd, 2008
“Christmas, children, is not a date. It’s a state of mind.” — Mary Ellen Chase
Over the centuries, Christmas has been reinvented and repackaged, promoted and pummeled â somewhat like the cookie dough we cut into festive shapes and decorate every year in December.
Christmas is also a mass of contradictions.
The day was chosen ages ago to honor the birth of a king in a lowly manger — a king who ultimately advocated a life of humility and charity. Yet today the holiday is celebrated more as a buying frenzy than as the birthday of a humble messiah.
Then again, Christmas is a mirror reflecting our culture. As author Bill McKibben explains in Hundred Dollar Holiday: The Case For A More Joyful Christmas, “Christmas has been, and always will be, a product of its time, shaped to fit the particular needs of people, society, and faith in particular moments of history. And nowhere is that clearer than at the very beginning.”
Historians can’t certify the exact date of Christ’s birth. In his book, McKibben reminds us that fourth-century Christians decided the Feast of the Nativity would be observed December 25 — originally a pagan holiday. The date was deliberately selected to replace the rowdy winter solstice festivals held in those days. On the old Julian calendar, December 25 was the longest night of the year, which is why the torch-carrying pagans had chosen it to glorify the sun. As church leaders hoped, Christianity eventually took root, and by the end of the thirteenth century, most Europeans celebrated the birth of Jesus.
Since then, classic novels and popular films, including Dickens’ A Christmas Carol and Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life, have helped transform Christmas into the most sentimental holiday of the year.
Today we tend to forget that the Currier and Ives Christmas we idealize evolved during the 1840s “when Americans were mostly poor, worked with their hands, and lived with large, extended families,â McKibben notes. Yet it would be impossible to re-create such a Christmas in suburban America. âMore and more, that old Christmas finally feels played out,â McKibben writes. If we’ve grown ambivalent about the holiday â or even disappointed in it — that’s partly why.
Still, at its heart, Christmas remains a celebration of light’s triumph over darkness. A celebration of miracles.
On Christmas Eve, even the most cynical among us hope to rekindle the embers of our faith, if not the childlike wonder and magic of the season. Like pagan revelers, we build fires and throw one last party before surrendering to winter’s chill. Like hopeful Magi, we track the glimmer of a distant star, trusting there is something wondrous and good at the end of our most difficult journey. We plug in the lights on the Christmas tree and maybe even leave the porch light on for Santa. We light the last candle of Advent to invoke the Divine, and we keep believing in miracles.
Merry Christmas, everyone! My heartfelt gratitude goes out to all of you who’ve visited this site regularly, left your comments here, and offered your friendship. Getting to know you better has been one of the highlights of my year! –Cindy La Ferle
