tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89808827255473402372024-03-12T22:26:10.308-07:00the ingredients of stuff... what goes into imagining a worldstorypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-24681373077487071052012-12-13T14:39:00.001-08:002012-12-14T08:45:25.653-08:00Exercise 2: 5 Days of Practicing Love (for the Real World)There've been loads of hours logged in laboratories and libraries (and probably a few pubs) to prove that if we pretend enough, we can talk our minds and bodies into believing all sorts of stuff. You know: smile and, eventually, you'll feel the corresponding happiness. Stand with big-ness and, eventually, you'll feel confidence. <br />
<br />
We don't doubt it. We don't doubt it at all. It does, though, make us long (a little bit) for things we don't have to trick ourselves into. <br />
<br />
It also reminds us of a woman we once met who had hours of complaints and criticisms (okay, maybe it was just minutes, but it felt like hours) and when someone gently suggested considering an alternative point of view, she snapped, 'I don't want to hear that. I only want positivity in my life.'<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/JI3vPNvqi-Q?rel=0" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
So. Here's our exercise for today. It's an exercise to find a small, real sensation of love. <br />
<br />
Spend two minutes (5 if you have to and 10 if you can't resist being distracted by text messages.) Wait. Where were we? Ah. Two minutes recalling moments of sweet contentment. Small gestures of generosity. Seconds of connectedness. <br />
<br />
Okay, those sounded like a bunch of words. How about this? Recall that moment when someone's face lit up when you arrived. When someone really listened to you, to your answer, to your request. When someone approached you at a party or event. When someone asked about an old episode you mentioned months ago. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I want to be loved for who I am, she said, because being loved for who I'm not just stresses me out. </span></span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">-'Love Match' </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;"> by Brian Andreas </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;">(from his new book 'Theories of Everything')</span></blockquote>
Remember that feeling of someone <u>seeing</u> you, of counting you as one of us in this great big messy, fun world. That is a sensation of love. <br />
<br />
And now? Consider offering that same, simple moment to someone else. Oh. That'd be TWO exercises, wouldn't it? Well. Follow your heart. :)<br />
<br />
And that's it for today. storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-5073899738840958862012-12-12T12:09:00.002-08:002012-12-12T12:09:44.364-08:005 Days of Practicing Love (for the Real World): Exercise 1It's not the strangest thing in the world, but it's at least really odd: We - people - are pretty talented at noticing and detailing the many ways other people offend us, bother us, treat us wrong and generally bug us.<br />
<br />
Love? Noticing love? Well, <u>that</u> we're not as good at. (That's the odd part, when you consider how much we want to see it.) <br /><br />We can sometimes have strict criteria for how we want love shown to us and if we don't see what's on our list (Flowers? Check. Gifts? Check. Unwavering attention to our story about how other people are bugging us? Check.), well, we can start suspecting we're not so important to other people. <br />
<br />
Thing is, love doesn't always look like how we want it to look. In fact, it rarely does, unless the other person is following the exact same recipe, using the same ingredients. That, or they're exceptionally good at trying to please you.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/eny5DxodJmQ?rel=0" width="420"></iframe><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Creature on Fire: This is a creature on fire with love, but it's still scary since most people think love only looks like one thing, instead of the whole world. </span></i></blockquote>
<br />
There are so many, many expressions of love. Time. Conversation. Someone's readiness to help us find an alternative way to see a problem. An offer to walk your dog, feed your cat, fix a leak.<br />
<br />
So. Today's exercise: Take a look around. Look for what love looks like.<br />
<br />
No, no, no. Don't look for signs of other people adoring you. Look for how they love the world. <br />
<br />
Do they smile? Cook and share? Shyly tell their secret dreams? Clean up? <br />
<br />
(If that was too easy and you haven't even broken a sweat, try remarking on what you've seen. Celebrate the other person's love of the world. Try saying, 'You're a great person to talk with.' Try, 'It makes me so happy, seeing how you give people your whole attention.' )<br />
<br />
That's it. That's all. <br /><br />* * *<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">If you want to know where we got the idea to do this, even for a few days, here's the story ...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Yes, please, we said when we were invited to a 40 days of gratitude program. We're pretty much grateful for everything (even the bad stuff) - it's kind of a personal practice/attitude kind of thing - so it sounded easy and breezy. <br /><br />Forty days, though, put us so far away from Thanksgiving that we didn't make the connection (nor did we have any of the big party atmosphere of everyone else doing it until a few weeks later). Our program was more than keeping a journal or picking a thing to be grateful for; ours was a series of small exercises that asked us to see the world and practice ways of feeling genuine gratitude in spite of the way the world wants to work.<br />
<br />
It was not always so easy, but after a week or so, we noticed we were not only feeling normal gratitude, we were actually feeling how to put it in action in every day-ness. Oh, yes - that's where gratitude gets tested. :)<br />
<br />
Well. Now that we're in the season of twinkling candle-and-starlight love and peace, we thought: Ooh. Maybe we could to a little of that exercise thing with love! The sentiment swirling around us is wonderful and warm, but sentiment can evaporate. We wanted to practice a way of thinking, a way of being able to know the difference between the words and the ... well, living love.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-39072935650216884842012-10-01T08:18:00.001-07:002012-10-01T08:18:45.030-07:00It's the Middle Things<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GzjPdqxzvuKlOWR1IkhKKbye_bh52StcF8qWt0ldCeH2LDWeR4MNpDL89PXYIWI34GuwfraopR0ktcUr8RK6Qb4vVNbpt0YAXh3E32-4Rcl3mX2YYA0Qqbrsd6f9I_POR62lFCxLKZ_h/s1600/SP_CrossingLine.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GzjPdqxzvuKlOWR1IkhKKbye_bh52StcF8qWt0ldCeH2LDWeR4MNpDL89PXYIWI34GuwfraopR0ktcUr8RK6Qb4vVNbpt0YAXh3E32-4Rcl3mX2YYA0Qqbrsd6f9I_POR62lFCxLKZ_h/s320/SP_CrossingLine.jpeg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing the Line*</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We've had to do a whole lot of thinking about some of the political let's-be kind-and-call-them-arguments we've come across this summer. More than a few times, we scrolled through comments that were all diatribe and provocation until all we could do was snap at our computer screens: Stop it. Stop it!! Stop the insults, the abuse, the viciousness.<br />
<br />
As you'd expect, nothing happened. <br />
<br />
Finally, to our big relief (and kind of surprise), we settled into acceptance. People will do what people will do, even if we think they ought to do something else. <br />
<br />
Then it occurred to us: maybe this is a kind of gift. Maybe we're supposed to lose it, go ballistic, be crazy judgmental, vengeful and awful. Maybe we've <b><u>got</u></b> to see our lesser selves before we get the message - loud, clear and in no uncertain terms. Our lesser selves are lesser in every way. <br />
<br />
Our lesser selves are ugly and, as big and monster-like as we feel when we're letting loose with them, they make us small. Our lesser selves are the parts of us we get to regret. They give us the chance to ask for forgiveness for doing and saying and thinking things that are really crappy. Unfair. Diminishing. The whole experience of being our lesser selves is humbling. <br />
<br />
Once we thought that, we forged on (because that's just how we are) and wondered about our middle selves. <br />
<br />
It's hard, if not impossible, being our best selves all the time. Okay, or most of the time. We have so many things bugging us, so many people <u>clearly</u> asking for our opinion and judgment. Why, after all, do they have to dress like that? Talk that way? Buy that stuff we'd never buy? Go there? Have that haircut? Read those books? Watch those movies? Laugh so loudly? Interrupt so often? Park that way, vote that way, believe that way?<br />
<br />
Sigh. Yes. There are so many people. And that's the point. We don't like believing it, but they're figuring out stuff, too. All the stuff we're wrestling with? So are they.<br />
<br />
<i>Not everyone</i>, you say drily. <i>There are some real dopes out there and they're not trying to do good, be good, grow or learn. </i><br />
<br />
That might be true. That might be not true (although it probably is). <br /><br />Whichever it is, whatever those other people are doing, has got nothing to do with being our <u>own</u> best selves. (Told you we thought about this, looking for a loophole, wishing pretty hard there was one.)<br />
<br />
It's easy to snuggle into the middle, being our okay, not-too-bad selves. The middle self is the optimal position. The middle self is accepted everywhere. <br />
<br />
That's all the reason we need for staying put, isn't it? It's the story most others recognize, that we recognize in others. It's the story that will get us sympathizers and allies and party invitations. (How many angels are known for their hilarious antics and withering sarcasm, hm?)<br />
<br />
Let's just be honest. Being accepted is one thing. Accepting the world and still imagining with all our heart and mind a brighter, beautiful future is something else. <br />
<br />
That's what we think today. And you?<br />
<br />
<br />
* I have too much to lose, she said, if I cross that line.<br />
Like what? I said. She could not think of anything that day so she said she'd get back to me. Since then I've been thinking what I would lose if I cross my line & I haven't come up with anything either. There's always another line somewhere.storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-16503382297502337792012-09-09T13:08:00.002-07:002012-09-09T13:08:38.201-07:00Stuff We Just ... Say <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?action=Show&storyID=1500" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlXox1lrB8Ufsk_G8YvCwaHd2PrLT1bunvRy3UcltlEtTcCc1LrrZdkEOIPcZfeXqsG4zaLr9gQkibknX4BoJMwOI9_dd2xXLPA_fLcaq_tvv8y26zzQqfA7P8VrlgZ7Tj3kV1V7kSO7o/s1600/DifferentPlans.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Different Plans</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Probably just like you, we grew up reading a lot. Not a little a lot. A lot a lot. It's a fantastic way to understand language and how words can paint whole new worlds. It's also a long, long never-ending vocabulary lesson. Remember discovering a word and honestly being thrilled by its meaning? The way it created a window to understand the world in a whole different way? <br />
<div>
<br />
All that reading, we figure, had something to do with the way we could never get comfortable with hipster language. We weren't against it. We just had this appetite for the billions of <u>other</u> things we could say and after awhile, we assumed we never used it at all. <br />
<br />
Then we started a small project that hinged on us having conversations with people whose first language was not English. We used an assortment of languages to get through these conversations, mixing and matching and laughing a lot along the way. <br />
<br />
It shouldn't have been all that surprising (but it was) that our biggest obstacle in these talks was that we were loaded with idioms, those phrases that seem to be short hand for something we think we all agree on when often, they don't mean much of anything at all. Stuff like, oh ... that's half the battle. Heads up. All of a sudden. <br />
<br />
Anyway, that's the thing about stuff we just say without thinking: we don't even realize we're saying it. That's not necessarily a bad thing. We'd have some pretty short conversations if we didn't have filler. :) But, because we like so much looking at the stories we live with and the stories we can create and the stories that are possible, we also have to look at the stories we're holding on to. Those are the stories that don't leave room for new ones. Some of these are tacked into place by stuff we just ... say. <br />
<br />
Like 'like minded people.'<br />
<br />
The first time we heard this, we thought: well, that's a strange expression. It hints at good stuff. In fact, it's a little bit comforting. Like minded people are a club. Like minded people are the ones you can trust to agree with you, care about what you care about, follow the same rules, subscribe to the same philosophy. <br />
<br />
All of the above is exactly why it made us bristle a little bit. You see, we like the idea of people being able to belong and not think at all like we do. Sure, we like people agreeing with us as much as anyone, but the idea that you don't get to belong if you do disagree is ... well, where's the fun in that?!<br />
<br />
We don't want to be like minded people. We want to have big creative powers that unleash imagination and play and dreams and laughter. We suspect we get those more often by letting go of 'like mindedness' and being mindful of EVERYthing. Of living fully, to the furthest edges of our minds' frontiers. <br />
<br />
We picked this phrase to poke at first because we so believe - we know - we're all in this together. This life. This world. But we're in it together with all our various and very quirky<u> differences</u>. We're in this together with our own best selves, our own hopping ideas, our own silly or serious or uncertain love of all that can be. <br />
<br />
Toss those into the mix and accept that everyone else is JUST as different? Oh, come on. We will fly!!<br />
<br />
Anyway. That's what we think today. Oh, and it's got nothing at all to do with politics. Promise. :) What about you?</div>
storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-86490491884883806142012-08-19T12:52:00.000-07:002012-08-19T12:52:25.717-07:00Ingredients of WritingIt feels like we've been asked it a gazillion times. This might be an exaggeration. It probably is. Still, we've definitely been asked it a LOT: Where does Brian get his ideas from? <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbeAm2ehQnch1Mp5Q5xr-c57glwoUZJ3qGXxtif-c7FbpHL_4hu_FTa-hXkiryUZZSe_FcpkPbhVn2nzuk7fb8SZyQ2F1kEtRJ2arw7VWCWOHbOpnDObTupoPDkH69iTJT3LG0wp6c76j/s1600/dissappearing.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbeAm2ehQnch1Mp5Q5xr-c57glwoUZJ3qGXxtif-c7FbpHL_4hu_FTa-hXkiryUZZSe_FcpkPbhVn2nzuk7fb8SZyQ2F1kEtRJ2arw7VWCWOHbOpnDObTupoPDkH69iTJT3LG0wp6c76j/s320/dissappearing.jpeg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Disappearing by Brian Andreas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So many of our friends are writers or aspiring to be writers; if you're one of those, the question might be familiar to you. <br />
<br />
Welp (as they say). We're not convinced that ideas are the secret to writing. Ideas, after all, are everywhere. Every day. Every hour. Available to all. They come in handy for a writer, but they are not what makes a writer. <br />
<br />
Actually, any one who knows words and how to write them can be a writer. Put one word after another, add a little punctuation in interesting places and - voila. It's simple. <br />
<br />
There are ingredients, however, that distinguish someone who <u>can</u> be a writer from someone who turns our minds into a theater, who leads us to places where our imaginations are set free. Our favorite of these ingredients is ... it's more than a perspective. It's a way of seeing the world. It's a way of being alert and open and sensitive as if the writer's sporting a pair of antennae. <br />
<br />
We all have one, a way of seeing the world. Some of us might have a few. Some have a way that helps make them superb lawyers or cooks or community activists or teachers. Some have a way that helps make them a superb street sweeper. <br />
<br />
We were talking one afternoon with a great film director from a country where the streets are still swept by people, people who quite literally push a broom. <br />
<br />
Our talk was interrupted several times by adoring fans and although he was gracious, he wasn't impressed by his own power. "We need street sweepers, too," he said, without any false humility. It was, in a word, true.<br />
<br />
The idea was a pearl and we've carried it with us ever since. <br />
<br />
We all have a place in the world, whatever it is we do. Of course. But the pearl part of the idea was to remember that what ever job we have - from cashier to house painter, from sushi chef to dancer - represents the chance to unlock a different point of view. A way of seeing the world. <br />
<br />
If we let it grow, it lets <u>us</u> peek into corners that others might not see. It lets us bring back stories from those corners. <br />
<br />
A writer who pushes the edges of his or her view, who practices seeing as much as crafting a sentence, will begin to experience things differently. Think differently. They will have an invitation into the corners of other's lives where secrets are revealed, silence starts whispering and what sits in shadow begins to see the light. <br />
<br />
This is a writer's way of seeing the world.<br />
<br />
So. We don't know where Brian gets his ideas from. What we do know is that his way of seeing the world is playful. The world genuinely delights him and sparkles for him and he sees magic easily and when we're along, we suddenly see it, too. <br />
<br />
We could dissect it. But more, we like the mystery of it all. <br />
<br />
That's what we think today. How about you?<br />
<br />
<br />storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-6652770512730193022012-07-29T11:49:00.001-07:002012-07-29T11:51:34.867-07:00Getting That Namaste Going<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhudqbVLKaByd0df4MTB9zBel5bHb6izZcMgSclmrgWW52pr1DfvM5VVAC8F52GqmfA8HU5JhC9dQWhglFElZxaooTSLkdH8tlXpcnWhCpHtqvtaqrWFR_q6PcVDd5jgTNOkWiOgPB48jgZ/s1600/AtoZ.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhudqbVLKaByd0df4MTB9zBel5bHb6izZcMgSclmrgWW52pr1DfvM5VVAC8F52GqmfA8HU5JhC9dQWhglFElZxaooTSLkdH8tlXpcnWhCpHtqvtaqrWFR_q6PcVDd5jgTNOkWiOgPB48jgZ/s320/AtoZ.jpeg" width="224" /></a></div>
Namaste, that idea of finding what makes us all one, can be pretty tricky when put into practice. Lovely at yoga time, sort of bothersome out in the real world. <br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />Easy breezy, to see the see the divine in someone when they're being, well, divine. You know: they've just said wonderful things about you. </span><br />
<br />
A little less easy, but still do-able without breaking a sweat, is seeing the divine in someone when they're being normal. <br />
<br />
The hard one is seeing the divine (forget honoring it) in someone who seems absolutely set on making it hard. <span style="background-color: white;">It's clear (isn't it?) that people out there are walking, if not waltzing, around with no clue at all about peace and love and light. Getting namaste to work with them seems hardly worth it. </span><br />
<br />
Well, maybe it helps to start small. Because, in the end, it's <u>not</u> all that hard and the beauty of namaste is the benefit to ourselves. Of course, just because we can see the divine buried deeply in someone doesn't mean we have to stick around waiting for it to squirm its way to the surface. But we could. We can.<br />
<br />
How? Try looking through the prism of their story. <br />
<br />
Just the other day we met with a man who'd launched a local volunteer project. We'd done some designs (and were pleased with them). He was a tad less enthusiastic and even a bit insulting. We tried to explain the designs and that led to unexpected snarkiness. <br />
<br />
You'll have your own incident to put in place of this example. It happens. And when it happens, we can grow silent and hurt. Or angry in return. Or any number of things that will leave us brewing for a few days. <br />
<br />
This time, right smack in the middle of his belittling, we let ourselves think of his story. And we saw. We saw he's tired of working to get the project off the ground, tired of the time, the meetings, the personal expense. We imagined h<span style="background-color: white;">e's tired of having people disagree with his vision, tired tired tired. His best self - the one that had wanted so passionately to create a beautiful collaboration - was too tired and unfed (and, presumably, unappreciated) to come out to play. </span><br />
<br />
We saw that story behind his words. And so we spoke gently (but firmly) and asked if he'd heard what he just said. He paused. He was chagrined (a good word that could stand a revival). He breathed. <br />
<br />
And that's the whole story, because the rest of the meeting was lovely.<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">We know (we really do). It sounds great, except we live in the real world. We kind of like having episodes with a little drama to take back to our friends for dissecting. More, though, who's got time? Every minute spent messing around with their story, looking for whatever smidgen of divine they might have, is precious time we could spend telling our opinion, our woes, our stuff. </span><br />
<br />
That's one way of doing the math. Another way is to consider that people change when we find the light and the peace in them. <br />
<br />
And what do we get out of it? Well, if doing it for doing it's sake isn't enough, we also get a little more compassion. And a way better sense of humor. <br />
<br />
It's a pretty good reward. That's what we think today. You?storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-86922088675584354462012-07-22T13:08:00.000-07:002012-07-22T13:09:52.480-07:00Healing Our Creativity<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2-J322XeeTtOi_uvhfLdgEeabqeDDNW4DZihR3tvJ-R-co7E-2Tv6_cCt7EFTjdLuyT7Bqgrp_ajXzW3KhD0tb4YezL1vSGLsgDn3F6JSFrdCWn5Fc89jxs1ZkWtAMEDFIzO6TPUNhVy/s1600/legacy11x14.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2-J322XeeTtOi_uvhfLdgEeabqeDDNW4DZihR3tvJ-R-co7E-2Tv6_cCt7EFTjdLuyT7Bqgrp_ajXzW3KhD0tb4YezL1vSGLsgDn3F6JSFrdCWn5Fc89jxs1ZkWtAMEDFIzO6TPUNhVy/s320/legacy11x14.jpeg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Legacy'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sometimes, it's just hard to find our creative light. All the advice and wisdom, all those dependable techniques we've collected for tapping into our source, seem to disappear - at least temporarily - when tragedy strikes. We need our time and all our heart's and mind's resources to heal. <br />
<br />
A public tragedy has an impact, too, but it really shouldn't affect our creativity. Should it? Well, that's the thing. News of the massacre in Aurora ripped through us all but we returned to our own lives, some of us with a renewed commitment to savoring all its mystery and wonder and beauty. <br />
<br />
It occurred to us, though, that our creative cores might have been more wounded than we'd like to think. When there's so much awful in general, when the world is arguing and hating and insulting - well, you can play all day long and insist on driving the rest of us crazy with your cheerfulness :), but can you really avoid being affected? Even infected?<br />
<br />
Mind you, we've got no study to stick under your nose and shake it all about. It's just this idea. <br />
<br />
We once lived in a country that had been occupied for a long long time and health care standards had slipped a bit. Most people we knew had chronic pain from one thing or another. Dental issues were common. Of course, the newly free country was expected to start solving all sorts of problems. Now, surely you've had toothaches. Imagine a country filled with yous and your toothache. Exactly how well do you suppose you could think and dream? Would your imagination not suffer? <br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Maybe we in this country aren't living with physical ailments, but there's definitely something going on with our national psyche. When truly awful stuff happens, can our creative cores really just move on? Or do we sag and sink a little, barely noticing that our light has dimmed? Are we so accustomed to believing in our creative power that we fail to see it struggling?</span><br />
<br />
Our creative center's not just for artsy stuff. It's for the thinking and taking action. We use it to open our perspectives (when they'd rather sit right where they are, thank you). We invite it to help get us out of habits, to imagine more bravely. We harness its power for our vision. <span style="background-color: white;">So, if it's not operating well or just running on fumes, what can we do to restore it? </span><br />
<br />
If there's any truth to this idea, then it won't do to hope it just ... goes away. (We've tried that before. Hardly ever works. :))<br />
<br />
Acknowledging the possibility that it's true, that we're all susceptible might be useful. If we consider that our creativity doesn't exist in isolation, it changes how we think and how we talk about it. <br />
<br />
Here's what we tried, just yesterday:<br />
<br />
1. We talked. We didn't talk about the tragedy, about what everyone else was doing wrong. We talked of what to contribute to the world conversation and how we can collaborate. Now. We didn't imagine how to do it; we began.<br />
<br />
2. We made a firm decision to create (at least for the day). It's so easy to meet people on the street or stop by for a visit and review the news of our days, discussed what's happened. Instead, for one day, we concentrated on creating a new conversation, right then. The easiest way to do this is to do something. Look at something in a new way. (The hard part is sticking with it when others, out of sheer habit, want to talk about the old stuff.)<br />
<br />
3. No matter what we did, we were conscious of doing it for the pleasure. This is hard at a time when we're all accidentally vying for attention, trying to entertain our friends, to please people, to show how unique we are, to get the conversation back to us. But slowing down just a little had the wonderful consequence of making us very present. <br />
<br />
4. Set out, again, to love. <br />
<br />
So. In the end, it's just an idea, but one we're thinking has a whole lot of truth. <br />
<br />
We live among each other. We feel each other. We heal each other. With love.storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-14056894630010158112012-07-18T11:14:00.000-07:002012-07-18T11:52:45.095-07:00Buy Like There's a Tomorrow (and it's magical)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZe8wAC3SvmG1nLscjVh5QaC5MtJ7XhUBgGKV716WT0uBinyHFKiiXln4Ljr4GQ4QF1PYuiRwnR1pUHQx7Dv0P37ke_Jp6ZAvEDKGQI4Xx6QPQVQmEGLHM5Zzgu_w0lDW6rpPKE1dORXW/s1600/photo+(14).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZe8wAC3SvmG1nLscjVh5QaC5MtJ7XhUBgGKV716WT0uBinyHFKiiXln4Ljr4GQ4QF1PYuiRwnR1pUHQx7Dv0P37ke_Jp6ZAvEDKGQI4Xx6QPQVQmEGLHM5Zzgu_w0lDW6rpPKE1dORXW/s200/photo+(14).JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Using our pretty scientific calculations, achieved with a few fingers, one thumb and that favorite StoryPeople device - a stubby pencil - I figure there's at least once every episode of Antiques Roadshow that I drift into <i>hmmph</i>-ness (not quite a pout, but it comes awfully close).<br />
<br />
It's not brought on by the expert valuation of any thingamabob or jig. Lots of stuff that's worth a lot doesn't get me very excited. So, no. It's not the price tag. It's the <i>how cool is that</i>? The <i>why didn't anyone in my family think to collect that</i>? <span style="background-color: white;">of them. </span><br />
<br />
In the ups and downs of cultural values, we're in a spot now where we're sort of supposed to be embarrassed of our impulse to buy stuff. The state of the economy's done a good job of helping that along. <span style="background-color: white;">While it's inarguably good to reign in the urge to buy everything, it strikes someone like me as wrong to set off on a course of buying nothing. Buying stuff keeps businesses we really like in ... well, business.</span><br />
<br />
But also, it seems it's a super duper old cultural imperative we've inherited (and I do like honoring cultural imperatives. Who doesn't?). Ancestors from all over the world have apparently always loved to purchase the beautiful, the curious, the exotic. Of course, there's probably always been some showing off behind it. It's suggested that Florence flourished because of a big old competitive streak. But aren't we glad? (Well, I am. If you're looking for a good city to ooh and ahh over, Florence is a pretty good choice.)<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Every once in awhile I find myself seeing the things I've bought and collected almost as if for the first time. I don't mean to get philosophical, but it's hard not to ask oneself a few things. What for, the buying? Why? And now that they are bought</span><span style="background-color: white;">, do they mean anything? I mean do they mean anything before they appear on Antiques Roadshow.</span><br />
<br />
Well, sure. First there's that happy sensation of owning. It's mine, it's mine! Mine, to touch, see, read, hold. <span style="background-color: white;">An old, perfectly crafted watch. (Why yes, thanks for asking. I</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><u style="background-color: white;">did</u><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">find a Cartier Tank watch, with its little sapphire on the manual windup thingie. For one dollar.) Pottery. A wooden sculpture. A painting.</span><span style="background-color: white;"><br />That sensation of being a two year old settles down, though. Thankfully. It turns into something different, something richer. It's one of those recipes that makes you guess at the ingredients. Pleasure? Satisfaction? Something like that. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />Old things, discovered at a garage sale, feel rescued. Some, with stories nearly forgotten, feel remembered again. New stories begin. Brand new things, used and worn and touched and shared, begin to decorate memories. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br />They are just things. No point in arguing. But these things that pick up memories and hold them for us, become a sort of museum of our lives. One of those cool, kind of enchanted museums that you can stroll through and still smell, feel, hear episodes from long ago. </span><br />
<br />
So, yes, I think. Oh, yes. Buy! Buy what makes your imagination quiver and spark. Buy the thing that will be a vessel for memories, a vessel for stories. Future generations might not care one little bit about the quiet things, but in case they do? I'd like them to find a treasure trove. <br />
<br />
And you?<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-71358915710494616722012-07-08T13:36:00.001-07:002012-07-08T16:27:09.664-07:00What The Cool Kids Are DoingLet's pretend. Let's pretend we're in a store and let's pretend we're looking at pairs of socks. <span style="background-color: white;">Now, let's say we're trying to decide between the stripey pair or the traditional blue. (We, of course, feel the lure of the stripey pair.) </span><span style="background-color: white;">The sales person points at the stripey ones and says in that tone of voice (you know the one): These are our most popular. Everyone's buying them.</span><br />
<br />
Eeeeek. You can stop pretending now. That was a real 'eeek.' Not only is that the least persuasive thing you can say to me, it's crazy making. A huge 'what?!?!' with fangs showing and fur on end swells up in me and swings its little arms to bat the words away.<br />
<br />
Yep, I'm a little sensitive (probably overly) to the message: <i>Here's what's cool. Do it. Say it. Be it</i>. <br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Some of the advertising messages being pushed around the internet, then, make my susceptible head pound. There's an advertising campaign currently running that promotes the idea of checking in with your friends so they can tell you </span><span style="background-color: white;">what to do. Where to go. What to see. Where to stay. Where to eat. What to eat. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
It sounds like innocent and good fun, because - really - who doesn't want to turn their friends on to great things? <span style="background-color: white;">In this world with so, so much going on, information and opinions of people we trust are valuable. Maybe even invaluable.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">This message, though, crosses the line (sneaky, sneaky) from information and ideas into 'have the very same experience.' </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">It almost seems a calculated campaign - or at least one that people are agreeing to without much of a fuss - to return us to a sort of high school culture where our own instincts are to be doubted. We SO wouldn't want to miss out on what the popular kids are doing. (Would we?) </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Maybe, though, it's been this way since we evolved into a civilized society. Maybe there will always be someone, somewhere, trying to persuade us to do what someone else decided was cool, to sacrifice the mystery in our own lives. And how to combat it? </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Well, there's the simmering and growling, of course. Or ... </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">there are stories. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">No matter how alike we might ever try to be, we are each very different. And, no matter how different we are, we're united by discovering our same stories, not by making our stories the same. </span><br />
<br />
Discovering someone's had a similar experience, found themselves in similar circumstances, felt the same way, thought the very same thing - well, it's a mix of exciting and comforting and even a little inspiring. <span style="background-color: white;">(That Jung obviously knew a thing or two. Go, archetypes!!) </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">It really is a relief - not only I am not alone, but ... wheeee! there's a possibility that together, we can make something happen. (And if we can, it will change the whole game). What's really fun? Knowing I'm not alone in loving the discovery that I'm not alone. We hear it all the time - and I mean ALL the time - story by story. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">'Exactly what I thought!'</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">'This is me!'</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">'Yippee and ti-hi-ho! I'm not alone!'</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">We were given the gift of discovery. Every day, we are collecting </span>our own tears and giggles and shrieks of delight. We might be doing the same exact things, but what we share - or rather, the stuff that connects us - is the the stuff in our hearts and imaginations. That's the stuff of stories. That's what we'll always share. <br />
<br />
Stories free us to be ourselves.<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-84039149992911629762012-06-24T10:33:00.001-07:002012-06-24T10:33:17.037-07:00Talking about Peace without Shouting<span style="background-color: white;">For some mysterious reason, a lot of sniping, snarkey political stuff was showing up around the internet a few weeks ago. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Perhaps politicians, being professionally thick-skinned, can shrug it off and actually get to work working with each other, as promised. St</span><span style="background-color: white;">arting from disdain, contempt and insult is a little difficult for the rest of us, though. <br /> </span><br />
And then a Peace* story showed up - on the same day a particularly unpleasant political post showed up. I was reminded of one of the best things I ever heard (in the category of 'what to say when we're getting a wee bit annoyed with each other', that is): behave yourself.<br />
<br />
A Scottish chappy said it to a man who was getting a little belligerent and mean. He said it with the best humor and patience (and one of those lovely Scottish accents, for extra special effect). <br />
<br />
It was a delightful thing to say. It also turned things around. <br /><br />
<object height="315" width="560"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/FQp2pFUwFHY?version=3&hl=en_US">
</param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true">
</param>
<param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always">
</param>
<embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/FQp2pFUwFHY?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="560" height="315" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br />
<br />
The very next day after remembering that long ago episode, we heard of Rodney King's death. Rodney King's death reminded us <u>all</u> of his most heartfelt plea to a city that had erupted into rioting. B<span style="background-color: white;">etween</span><span style="background-color: white;"> his plaintive </span><span style="background-color: white;">'can we all get along?' and the cheerful Scottish 'behave yourself' and Brian's story:</span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">*<a href="http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?storyID=3353&action=product&productCategoryID=1003">Hard Work</a> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">Why is peace so hard? she said & I said peace is easy. Keeping our mouths shut is hard.</span></blockquote>
I thought a little synchronicity was setting in. <br />
<br />
<br />
Some people have been taught to believe that the only way we can disagree is with name calling, cruel words and insults. It's a good time to teach each other a different way of believing.<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">A greater (or maybe even a smaller) effort to find the space for agreement might go a long way towards making our disagreements a little happier. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
Yes, it's hard to keep our mouths shut when everyone else is saying such obviously ridiculous and wrong stuff - ha! - but maybe we don't actually have to keep our mouths shut. Maybe if we can think of the other person's story, or just remember that they have one, before we open our mouths ... well, it makes it easier to behave <b>our</b>selves. It helps us do our part in getting along.<br />
<br />
And why wouldn't we want to try? We <u>are</u> in this together.<br />
<br />
- posted by Cris<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-87166474149004510832012-06-10T09:23:00.001-07:002012-06-10T11:14:11.749-07:00Boring Old Stories (pst. it might be your fault.)It was a little tempting last week* to wonder whether modern kids will ever have rich memories of anything, much less their grandmas and grandpas. You know what I mean - memories as rich in sensation as ours. All their txting and lol-ing and omg-ing and whatever else they're doing ... pfft.<br />
<br />
(Of course they will. If they don't, someone will come up with a way - an app, maybe a bakery product - to supply them with the proper amount of nostalgia.)<br />
<br />
Generally, we believe those memories are valuable. (They're ours. We own them. They'd <u>better</u> be valuable.) Besides, they're not so hard to collect. You take a breath, you reach out, you look at the weather - you've pretty much got the ingredients of a memory.<br />
<br />
The stories are a different matter. The treasury of tales our grandpas and grandmas and great aunts and uncles represent are pretty nice to talk about, but are their stories ... I don't know. Anything you really want to hear?<br />
<br />
Go on. Look around the room, try to change the subject, making that weird murmuring sound. It's a blog. I can wait.<br />
<br />
(And look! I did.)<br />
<br />
It's not always easy, listening to someone else's story, especially a grandpa's or grandma's. (Or even a mom or dad's.) Older doesn't mean more entertaining. Besides - we start believing, without really thinking about it, that we've heard everything. At least we've heard everything we want to.<br />
<br />
Still - we listen because it's the proper and polite thing to do. Because we should. Because it's very nice of us.<br />
<br />
Ick. Not a one of us wants to be the story teller with that kind of audience. There's nothing like it, is there, trying to tell a story to someone whose gaze has already wandered? Not even 'natural born story tellers' will tell a good story if the audience isn't hearing it.<br />
<br />
It's not good for the audience, either. What IS good is something that's a little more ... collaborative. Actually, if we're calling it a collaboration (and we are), that's not so easy to do, either. <br />
<br />
The secret ingredient is in asking questions and not just any old questions, but good ones. Any old question will get you any old answer (and sometimes less.) (Helpful hint: If you're asking a question just to fill in the time, to keep things moving, to pretend you're interested - that's probably an 'any old question.' )<br />
<br />
A question that's drawn from your own well of knowledge, what you can imagine, what you can stitch together from bits of ideas floating around - that question will get you something else entirely. If we <b>ask</b> for a story, if we craft questions to draw a story out, giving it room to breath and swell around us - things start cooking. <br />
<br />
Who knows how the story will go, but you'll create a space in your mind that can feel both breathtakingly clear and full of tingling curiosity. Sorry. That's just how it works. <br />
<br />
Being part of a story - coaxing it out of someone - becomes a simple miracle. <br />
And that makes it valuable.<br />
<br />
There. You can go ahead and think something else, but that's what I think.<br />
<br />
* Last week, a Story of the Day was <a href="http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?action=HistoryStory&storyID=1169">Raspberry Patch</a> & we had a little chat about the heirloom memories our grandparents leave us:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 19px;">My great-grandmother sent us out to pick raspberries in her garden while she watched the first moon walk on TV. You'll have plenty of time to see things like that, she said, but those raspberries were carried overland by your great-great-grandfather. She was very wise. I see pictures of the moon walk all the time, but all I have left from him is the memory of those sun-warmed raspberries.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
- posted by <i>Cris</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-60391491344555883592012-06-03T10:07:00.000-07:002012-06-03T10:07:35.880-07:00Welcome to the Party!When I met M., I'd been to more than my share of parties - from backyard bbqs to star studded events - but had never experienced what he created. He introduced guests to each other, of course, but he introduced us by suggesting shared interests, ideas & stories that we could turn into conversations. <br />
<br />
I love European history. The gentleman I was standing next to had been in the Battle of the Bulge. <br />
<br />
Right there, on the spot, he found threads & lightly tied us together. He connected us. He did this for everyone & not just once, to get the party started, but over & over. <br />
<br />
It's nice when our friends say flattering things about us, but when they actually hear our story & weave it into the world ... well, you can choose your own word for that. Yes, my idea of what a party could be was changed for forever. <br />
<br />
Which leads me (by a few big leaps) to the internet. Things are hopping, with parties everywhere we turn. We like, we friend, we follow - oh, yes, it can be heady, looking at a gazillion connections. If occasionally we feel some creeping reluctance to keep it up, there are articles all over the place to remind us what we'll be missing - super important stuff like influence, clout, sway.<br />
<br />
Here's what I've noticed, though. Replies & comments are so often exactly what you'd expect when time's short & your circle's large. We at StoryPeople, who are not only crazy about stories, but know their power, thought: let's set aside time to actually create a shared story.<br />
<br />
Some people have begun to tell their stories in abbreviated, even truncated form, as if they're not confident anyone will take the time to listen. Let's spend a day every once in awhile hearing & imagining there's more. Let's write replies & comments with all of our attention.<br />
<br />
Guess what? The day we set aside for that, we got long, lovely & witty letters in return. Letters with stories & ideas & things that - in the most simple, fundamental way - changed us. <br />
<br />
That's why we've returned to this blog. We share stories, yes, but we also hear stories. It's here we can take time to be more than connections. We can be connected.<br /><br />Welcome to the party!!<br />
<br />
<br />storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-76552032624350397902010-06-20T10:37:00.000-07:002010-06-20T10:52:40.169-07:00Fathers, Every DayHere we are, right in the middle of Father's Day, gifts & cards & hugs given, memories held close, tears shed & I can't help thinking: how do men know how to be fathers?<br /><br />How do they know how to make a feast of a crisp autumn day, a football game, tomato soup & a grilled cheese sandwich? How do they know how to weave a soft blanket of safety when we sleep in the back seat of the car, purring down the long road home?<br /><br />How do they sift our own dreams out of our promise to be part of the whole world?<br /><br />How do they know how to teach us fairness, generosity and patience? How do they know how to reach for our hand and when to let go?<br /><br />How do they know? I think of the men, the good & the great, in my life & it occurs to me for the first time: they don't. What they know is to love. To love.<br /><br />They learn, as we all do, along the way.<br /><br />Every day, all around the world, men become fathers and they will teach their children, one way or another. It's a good time, on Father's Day, to love them, our men - to play with them, to laugh with them, to cry, to plan, to dream adventures. This is what they'll share with their children.<br /><br />Their children are ours.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span><blockquote><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You may not remember the time you let me go first. Or the time you dropped back to tell me it wasn't that far to go. Or the time you waited at the crossroads for me to catch up. You may not remember any of those, but I do & this is what I have to say to you:</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">today, no matter what it takes, we ride home together.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?action=Show&storyID=1695">Riding Home</a></span></blockquote><br />Happy Father's Day, all! Happy Father's Day, Brian.<br /><br />Love, Crisstorypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-33462299114235440592010-05-26T09:46:00.000-07:002010-05-26T14:30:57.673-07:00Our Dazzling History of MistakesDon't you wonder sometimes about that fellow who invented the line: Let me make my own mistakes!! Me, too! I envision him shivering with mirth over the mischief, even the havoc, he packed into a few little words.<br /><br />What a trick, almost designed to get us caught in our own stubbornness. What a silly thing, to sign up for thinking of mistakes instead of ... oh, for instance, understanding and perspective.<br /><br />I think that he knew that people - young and old and all the ages in between - bristle when bossed around, especially when the bosser is doing it from a narrow and orderly little life, the kind that might be pretty but is so obviously built from small fears. He knew and was taking gleeful advantage of it.<br /><br />We might get testy, being bossed around, and will say any old thing that comes to mind, like: Let me make my own mistakes! But when we're not being bossed around, when we're invited to play in the big piles of collected knowledge, it's nothing but fun. How amazing that people have collected wisdom for forever and luckily, were willing to share most of it.<br /><br />For many of us, it's more than fun. We spend the rest of our lives jumping in those piles and rummaging around for wonder-filled clues and twinkling secrets and sparkety ideas. We'll still come up with a few mistakes - ha! - but we're more likely to find new mistakes, original mistakes, extraordinary mistakes with extraordinary fixes.<br /><br />Oh, yes, indeed, I think that fellow was messing with us. He's getting royalties on 'let me make my own mistakes' when he could have just as easily invented the line 'Tell me a story.' <br /><br />He didn't, though, and so it's for us to pass that on, to tell every child, every new graduate the truth - stories pry open the future and reveal more than we might even be able to imagine.<br /><br />Doesn't THAT sound like part of a dazzling history? Yes, I think so, too!!<br /><br />- post by Cris in Santa Barbarastorypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-88671290220205458582010-05-02T11:06:00.000-07:002010-05-03T07:22:14.680-07:00The Sparkling Gift InsideThis is true: when someone shares a rare story - one they've protected or one they might not remember they even owned - a moment of immeasurable power is created. In that moment, a life can change. In that moment, is a gift.<br /><br />Once, coaxing others to share stories was what I did. I had conversations with artists, film makers and writers and then wrote essays.<br /><br />The conversations seemed to require little skill, but in order to get to the interesting stuff, I had to learn how to listen actively. I had to learn how to be genuinely interested in knowing, instead of quick to believe I understood. I had to learn how to ask one more question.<br /><br />That question could rarely be prepared. No. That question had to be made from genuine curiosity. That question had to be borne of the moment.<br /><br />Artists aren't the only ones with conversations in them. I found that anyone I listened to and asked true questions of kept treasures.<br /><br />Then I made a shift in my career and started doing other things. The internet came along and everyone's daily escapades started filling the ether. There didn't seem to be a need for any more questions.<br /><br />A while back, though, the memory of those stories started nagging at me.<br /><br />I tried to remember the value there was in knowing someone else's story. And that, you ask, would be ... what?<br /><br />It makes most people happy, to have an audience that's genuinely interested.<br /><br />But it's not all about making others happy. Asking questions from a mindful, genuine place and listening to the answers, is not unlike finding a silk ribbon that ties us to a marvelous gift. As you untie it, the gift opens gently. And that gift is yours.<br /><br />I bring this up now because we're approaching Mother's Day. Mothers have stories, stories that might not emerge when we just ... talk with our mothers any old way. So many of us are accustomed to telling our mothers about ourselves. And so easily, we can fancy ourselves with a little halo for talking in such kind and gentle tones of voice.<br /><br />When I thought to try again, it was because of my mother. And I've heard a number of stories from her past, but it's the stories of her NOW that glitter.<br /><br />I ask one more question and she answers with quite unexpected things. We find ourselves freed from accounts of what she bought and where she went and old gossip and are in a different, wide open space. We are in utterly perfect, luminous moments.<br /><br />It doesn't matter who you're talking with - when you're right there, you are also assisting in the unwrapping of the story. Someone struggles for a way to express - you offer a suggestion - and the ribbon is freed from a knot of habit. The whole memory, the whole story, can change with that word.<br /><br />And suddenly reveal the sparkling gift inside. It's extraordinary. Every single time.<br /><br />- posted by Cris in Santa Barbarastorypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-35740886952603594132010-04-20T06:40:00.000-07:002010-04-21T08:31:01.722-07:00The Company of Happy Women<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >Last week, even before taxes were finished, a new neighbor asked, Are you always this easy going? I laughed, which was shorthand for <span style="font-style: italic;">What, are you crazy?</span><br />I try to stay positive, the neighbor said and waved her government forms in the air, but they make it hard to be happy. Right?<br />And I laughed again. Yes. Yes, they do make it hard to be happy.</span><br /><br />* * * *<br /><br />Ooh, I can be serious. SO serious.<br /><br />I didn't start out that way. Oh sure, I liked to dabble in it - a little beginning philosophy, a little indignation with government policy - but mostly I wanted to frolic. I was a natural at frolicking.<br /><br />When finally it came time to join the grownups (which might have been my first mistake) I didn't know the rules. There are no Cliffs Notes, just people ... being grownups. I looked to other women, in that discreet spying kind of way, and studied what they were doing.<br /><br />They were doing serious. I joined up. I learned the slightly furrowed forehead and earnest tones. I guessed it was the time-honored way to prove sincerity and loyalty.<br /><br />Thing is, it wasn't fun. And certainly - for me - it wasn't useful. The more serious I get, the more serious I am and not only is that not fun, it's not very creative.<br /><br />Whew. I'd barely joined when I started sneaking away, every chance. I knew there was an alternative. After all, I'm a woman, too.<br /><br />The alternative is other women, women who give each other permission to be playful, to laugh at ourselves and our mistakes. My own circle of friends has a remarkably high playfulness content.<br /><br />We talk of important things. We help each other. We solve. We trade valuable information and expertise. We offer true sympathy, empathy and insightful ideas for healing and recovering from hurts. No one's glib or unmindful of the pains and sorrows that appear in any life - oh no. But there's an unspoken agreement to aim at being delighted and contributing delight and laughter and good humor.<br /><br />I notice this happy phenomenon just as often among friends of StoryPeople - on Facebook, for instance. Moved by any one Story of the Day, women share snippets of joy from their lives. Mothers tease daughters. Daughters laugh in return. They make me so happy, having fun and I seem to breathe more easily and deeply and that is the source of inspiration.<br /><br />I think of my mother whose first impulse is to play and I think that THIS year, I will thank her and those mothers who did the work, who gently guarded that happy conversation and all its possibilities for us. I'm going to be giving these stories:<br /><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?action=Show&storyID=1301"><br />Underwear Parade</a><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><br /><br />I think we should make all the flags in the parade out of long underwear, he said, because then only the really fun people will come.<br /><a href="http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?action=Show&storyID=1496"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Enlightenment Life</span></a><br /><br />all the things you need for enlightenment if you've got to be back to work early on Monday<br /><br /><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?action=Show&storyID=1246">Smiling Eyes</a><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span><br /><br />She turned to me & whispered, don't you just love it when you get so excited you forget to breathe? & the thought of her smiling eyes still makes me laugh<br /><br />- posted by Cris<br /><br />And, in case you're no where near Facebook, I'm going to include a little animation we posted awhile ago. It's from our 'Elevator Stories' series. With love ...<br /><br /><object height="340" width="560"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/pZcVENia5a8&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/pZcVENia5a8&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="340" width="560"></embed></object>storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-58761920968169862632010-02-25T12:39:00.000-08:002010-02-25T14:12:17.984-08:00If They Left Us in ChargeThis morning decided it would like to be used for sending Valentines and I agreed straight away, not bothering to mention that the real Valentine's Day was ... um ... oh, a week ago, and now we're both giddy. (You should see the day here, shining bright and clear and hopping around.)<br /><br />If they left me in charge, I'd institute a regular day for valentines, maybe once a month. Of course, I'd fiddle with the Mission Statement (much as I do with the real day). And I'd yank both sides of the aisle in for a little sit-down and 'let's get this straight' chat. Look, I'd say, people invented this and they did what they thought was useful so let's not complain about it or refuse to budge; let's just do a little re-inventing. We made it, we can change it. NOW we're going to include everyone.<br /><br />Of course, someone would pout. "I'm not included. I'm not in a relationship," and I'd say, Nonsense and rubbish. If you're part of the world, you're in a relationship.' (And then I'd let them ponder it because there'd be so much more on the agenda we'd have to get through.)<br /><br />Yep, that's what I'd do. I like valentines. They are a simple way to practice giving love. And, if you yearn for something a little more challenging, it can be about giving it when it's not easy. Easy is when someone lights up, wraps their arms around you and is eager to hear your laughter chime. Not easy is when it appears you get nothing in return.<br /><br />Those are the BEST valentines. They're given freely, as quiet little acknowledgments that you recognize someone helping create your world. They're the moments when you actually care about someone <span style="font-weight: bold;">else's</span> story, when you care about the state of <span style="font-weight: bold;">their</span> imagination, when you care about <span style="font-weight: bold;">them</span> flourishing.<br /><br />There will be plenty of people who don't want your valentine, who suspect ulterior motives, or who want their love expressed in a different way and it will be tempting to just pack up your love and go home. My love tends to like action and creating. I nearly say: <span style="font-style: italic;">Okay. Here's 110% of my mind and imagination. Let's get cooking!</span> I assure you, this is not much appreciated by some.<br /><br />That's okay. Not a chance in hell I'll quit giving it. I don't know what love's made of, but when it's exercised, you can hear dreams and feel the greatest good working its way out and you can almost taste the promise of a big, rich world coming your way.<br /><br />Have to run. Valentines are waiting and I sense the day starting to pace ... :)<br /><br />- from Cris<br /><br />Oh! If you're not on Facebook, you might have missed some of the Valentines we posted. These are JUST the thing I'm talking about. Little messages to send and say: I see you and I love sharing this future with you.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zcJ8qRJj8aY&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zcJ8qRJj8aY&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yxkKO6CuHTQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yxkKO6CuHTQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object>storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-34449716283003839952010-01-28T14:34:00.000-08:002010-01-29T06:17:39.501-08:00What to Do When the Creative Won't Go ...Every once in awhile, the creative flow will suddenly - and seemingly without any good reason - gunk up. It'll actually keep running because we are creative beings and it's what we do, but there's a whole lot of stuttering and the stuff that comes out of us is soooo off.<br /><br />Fixing it can be a great and satisfying pleasure. It can be fun.<br />It can also bring us to tears.<br /><br />I forgot the tears part until a friend called the other day. The note of defeat was pretty loud and self confidence was definitely threatening to run away.<br /><br />Only days before, I'd had to do my own self repair and was all warmed up so I jumped in with gusto, barely stifling a 'yippee!' I could hear my friend's eyelids blink, startled by all the enthusiasm. She is fairly new to a full-time creative life after spending spent years in the corporate world, and thinks creativity is a part that needs expressing. I suspect that point of view is the culprit.<br /><br />To me, creativity is a way of life. A way of life makes room for everything and is always teaching us how to live into higher, truer sweetness. A few years ago, I interviewed Brian (Brian Andreas, to anyone who might not know who I'm talking about :)) about how he takes care of <span style="font-weight: bold;">his</span> creativity.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">(In case you're not connected to us through Facebook, here's a treat we made to help us surf out January ...)</span></span><br /><br /><object height="360" width="580"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xr5mCpbVME0&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6&hd=1&border=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xr5mCpbVME0&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6&hd=1&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="360" width="580"></embed></object><br />If I think creativity is a way of life, he must think creativity IS life. It's really as if there's no distinction for him. His antennae are up at all times, seeing the delightful in just about everything. In fact, sometimes I think the delightful that hides from so many of us actually comes out just for him. (I should hunt down those notes and post them, shouldn't I? Yes, I should and maybe I will. ) ANYWAY, one of the things we didn't talk about was what he does when there's a bit of a hiccup. IF there's a bit of a hiccup.<br /><br />That's okay. This is what I do when my machinery starts misfiring, things I check in on, things I ask myself, expecting me to answer very VERY honestly:<br /><br /> 1. Is there any - and I mean ANY - part of me focusing on applause or admiration or flickering daydreams of them gasping and grasping, finally, my genius?<br /><br />This is a very private thing and no amount of talking about it in a pub will clear it up. I like sharing my work and want to do stuff that's good for my career and I even have visions of doing projects that speak to a big old audience, but I have to do that from the business part of mind mind, not the creator part.<br /><br /> 2. Am I holding on to stuff just because I did it?<br /><br />Oh, THIS was a problem when I first started animating. I told myself - PROMISED myself - that I'd just 'try it out' but after hours and hours of work, my brain's hands would wave all over the place while it shrieked: I can't! I can't do any more! Oh, those were some ugly moments. When I started teaching Flash to kids, it's one of the first things I tried to impress on them: let it go.<br /><br />If the computer blows up, you haven't lost anything at all. You've been teaching yourself SOMETHING, guaranteed, and often, if what you had was great and wonderful and wanted desperately to be in the world, you'll be able to recreate it - only better.<br /><br />The thing is it's not enough to hope stuff disappears by accident (except my car the insurance company totaled. I really wish I'd go out one day and it would be - poof! gone.) Some things need revisions, need re-doing, need to be thrown away. It's a gift to stop and start all over.<br /><br />Clinging to what doesn't work is making a contract with a poverty consciousness. When I hear any echo of 'I can't,' I know it's true.<br /><br />I'm pretty committed to 'I can.'<br /><br /> 3. Am I paying attention? Am I receptive? Am I loose?<br /><br />Or am I letting some irritation nag at me, some tiny resentment I thought was hidden away scratch its way to the surface? I take the time to set it straight with some spiritual exercising; forgiveness is a good thing to start with and being really big grateful for all the creative juice I can squeeze out. THIS is where I want to be, buoyed by bliss-y stuff.<br /><br /> 4. Am I doing the work? Am I pushing my boundaries and edges and DOING the work?<br /><br />I really like the work involved in living. Everything I do, even the tedious stuff, informs the final outcome. To know more is to have a richer vocabulary I can access (and I don't mean a vocabulary of words, but of ideas and techniques). <br /><br />I'm not so fastidious - I just enjoy the sensation of discipline and the results.<br /><br />BUT. Sometimes, I'll decide to try something new. And I'll forget that I only got where I am after work. Some how, I allow myself to be deluded into thinking that by sheer force of wanting it, it'll work out. Working out is not the same thing as doing the work. Sigh.<br /><br />*** *** *** ***<br /><br />And that's it. They work like a dream. They return me to being connected to happy, playfulness and when I'm there, I can race like the wind. (Which is a hell of a lot faster than my car is going right now ...)<br /><br />PS. Am also happy to report that some of the above worked beautifully for the friend, too. So, finally, Yippeeee!<br /><br />- posted by Crisstorypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-82073513540307532482010-01-12T15:14:00.000-08:002010-01-12T17:52:13.172-08:00Winter PearlsIf you know anything at all about StoryPeople, you know some of us brace ourselves at the mere mention of winter and by the time it strikes, we've become certain we're the target of a terrible conspiracy.<br /><br />Good for you if bitter winter is refreshing and invigorating and the absence of daylight makes you merry. I couldn't tell if they were being cheerful or snippy because the cold does that, but one of your sort once said, 'If you don't like cold, you should leave.' And I thought it was a fabulous idea so I said good-bye. It really does all work out, doesn't it?<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >Winter doesn't seem to have a problem with me, she said, so I think it's right that I should be the one to leave. I think it'll make it easier on everyone.<br />- <a href="http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?action=Show&storyID=1626">Original Drawing #1656 by Brian Andreas</a></span><br /><br />We went back to California and now we live in what feels like perpetual spring. We have plenty of weather adventures, courtesy of Nature, but not much of that breath-taking cold stuff, so any winter we experience is entirely our choice. Wheeeee.<br /><br />It makes a big difference.<br /><br />Brian twittered the other day about sub-zero temperatures in Switzerland, but by the next day, he was given 36 bonus derees and was able to purr at the charming postcard scene (not so different than Decorah on a silent, snowy, golden-glowy night). Deeeeelicious!<br /><br />We ourselves just returned from Spain, where we spent a wondrous Christmas, and there was plenty of serious cold and relentless rain, but not one eye was batted in complaint.<br /><br />I began to recall other places I've gone quite deliberately when there was nothing but winter weather on offer (skiing doesn't count): Zurich, Paris, Manhattan, Venice, Prague, Budapest.<br /><br />They were cold and sometimes, not even decked in fluffy snow, but steeped in clammy fog - that most melancholy of conditions. But I don't remember any misery when I think of them. Instead, because I chose to go, because I chose the story, they come back to me - luminous and truly lovely memories.<br /><br />... my landlady in Budapest proudly sending me off to a film festival in Siberian temperatures wearing her prized silver fox ensemble. For a week, I lived in Dr. Zhivago.<br /><br />and ... standing in the center of the Piazza San Marco, under drizzle and in piles of mist, feet in half an inch of winter water, talking with an old friend about nothing at all. You know. Philosophy.<br /><br />Sigh.<br /><br />Well, enough with all the sentiment.<br /><br />Winter's awful, but it has a fathomless store of stories and that's good - that's really good - for those of us who like it just enough to visit.storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-45285431182484937342010-01-06T11:49:00.000-08:002010-01-06T13:40:01.652-08:00Filling our Box for the Future: Instructions (kind of)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATDbWkGTzd0"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 156px; height: 117px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp8_RCxrYMwLOjEoGEov6zjX3ox8JHbGbX7ICHcUAAG-AIdxN0t8btI6KxP-TCZlRlm5prFDEQ6ZeyXjPAsaRtgx5_AAW9hReglJh9dFko-P1bwHR2bVK98cy2_A4d4ge8jlAV7IsHlc9n/s200/boxforfuture.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423716826860560834" border="0" /></a>Of all the human quirks, this is one of my personal favorites: there we are, dancing around with our acrobatic, sparkly minds when someone, excited by all the merriness, says: <span style="font-style: italic;">Here's something to play with. Do whatever you want.</span> And we freeze.<br /><br />(Or start puttering, pottering, pondering til the deadline's passed.)<br /><br />Yep. Nothing will muck things up more than giving us no instructions.<br /><br />Last installment of this blog, we invited you to join in and send us your fun stuff for an animation of 'Box for the Future.' And we gave no instructions. This time, we made a little video. They're not instructions so much as illustrations of the sorts of things you can send us and how they'll fit in the box for the future.<br /><br /><object height="360" width="580"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ATDbWkGTzd0&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01&border=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ATDbWkGTzd0&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="360" width="580"></embed></object><br /><br />You'll want to decide what courage and love and play look like and sound like and feel like, but if you're looking for a little inspiration (besides your own private stash of stories), I'd head straight to Brian's stories.<br /><br />A big swell of courage fills me every single time I read 'Riding Home.' The story about talking Polynesian leads me right into the zippy, fizzy part of my head. They're as good as recipes, stories are.<br /><br />And that's about it. You can send your stuff for a couple of weeks. If you have any others questions, just ask.storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-49345989341126224002009-12-31T11:57:00.000-08:002009-12-31T13:07:58.669-08:00Making a Box for the Future and You're Invited!It's remarkable, isn't it, what we can create with something as ordinary as a piece of time? The year we've just lived is now entirely unique, but it began like any other. We've made a marvelous map of experiences, all of them now dancing on strands of time so delicate and fragile it's hard to believe they can hold the weight of so many memories.<br /><br />But every year - in fact, every segment of time we measure by, starts with the same - full of room in every direction, space for all those silky threads and beautiful patterns we weave together.<br /><br />That is remarkable.<br /><br />Over here, in this little corner of StoryPeople, we've pledged to create things with more color, more bounce, and much more laughter. Laughter makes everything look so beautiful.<br /><br />And you're invited. Because it's the new year, nothing sounded better than the story <a href="http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?action=Show&storyID=3799">'Box for the Future'</a> ...<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"> this is a dress-up box for the future<br /> & it's filled with stuff like courage &<br /> love & play because they're the only things<br /> that are any use at all<br /> when you get right down to it.</span><br /><br />IF you'd like to contribute a drawing, a character, any kind of artwork, actually - or maybe some music or the voice over (yes, we'd LOVE you to give a reading of the story! You only have to record it and save it as an mp3 file) tell us here or send us an email.<br /><br />We'll mix and mash and make something fun (or break down in tears, trying. :))<br /><br />It's true, this is <span style="font-weight: bold;">just</span> for fun and there's no big prize or anything (we're still saving <span style="font-weight: bold;">that</span> idea). You only have to draw it and send a picture (a jpg or png will do) and we'll weave your work in an animation and we'll all celebrate at the end because we spent some time together playing and creating. <br /><br />It's a really good way to start any year. <br /><br />With love and wishes for peace and your heart's true happiness ...<br /><br />Merry New Year!storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-75232431788061206062009-12-24T00:07:00.000-08:002009-12-24T01:26:20.811-08:00Extra Little Gifts for YouWe made tiny, fun cartoon gifts for you. We wrapped them up and put them under the <a href="http://www.publiczoo.com">public zoo site</a>. A few needed a bit of extra tinkering, so I brought them along to Spain and am adding them to your internet stockings right now: Side by Side for same sex couples. <br /><br />A few months ago, some wonderful someone asked if we could make cartoons of Brian's love poems for same sex couples. We blinked. We blushed. We shuffled through all the thingies on our workbench. You see, we couldn't quite believe we hadn't thought of it ourselves. <br /><br />Maybe we would have been right on top of it if we were better at marketing and advertising and demographics but what <span style="font-weight: bold;">WE'RE</span> good at is really and truly believing in love and peace and forgiveness and more love and lots of lots of fun. What we're good at is imagining a world ...<br /><br />Of course, even the best imagining needs us to take some action, put sweet ideas into practice, stop talking and start doing. We really think that's the exciting part. A gift, really, and you can't tell whether you're giving it or getting it. (Especially when you're doing it from Barcelona. :) ) Wheeeee! <br /><br />And so, for our gay and lesbian friends (and, frankly, for men who have men friends and women with women friends): Side by Side.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hl04G608g3c&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hl04G608g3c&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YTciShLjx7g&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YTciShLjx7g&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Merry Holidays to us, to ALL of us!storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-65165180502260044742009-12-18T04:05:00.000-08:002009-12-18T04:56:34.713-08:00The Gift of AdventureOne of the great joys of life is the moment when you know, with perfect clarity, that the rules are all made up - <span style="font-weight: bold;">especially</span> the rules of adulthood.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">off on another adventure of a lifetime & hoping he won't forget halfway through this time </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;font-size:85%;" >Adventure of a Lifetime</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"> - Brian Andreas</span></span><br /><br /><object height="360" width="580"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8FiH5vGZVYI&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6&border=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8FiH5vGZVYI&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="360" width="580"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /><br />Of course, after centuries spent in refinement, some of the rules work beautifully. A lot don't. Figuring out which is which can be one long frustration or an adventure. In fact, every once in awhile, I wonder if it's <span style="font-weight: bold;">the</span> adventure - starting every day all over again.<br /><br />A lot of adults follow rules that make them appear very serious or sophisticated - both of which are fun in small doses and neither of which are fun at ALL as a way to live. Still, they have their fans who are really good at waking up to start looking for disasters and injuries and bad stuff in general and then marshalling all their resources to keep the bad away.<br /><br />Aow.<br /><br />Today, as we give you this little animation to celebrate the beginning of Storypeople Kids, it seems much better to start the day with the excitement of a child, the child who hasn't learned to believe that he or she has to expect a certain outcome.<br /><br />Maybe that would get boring, though.<br /><br />I don't think so, do you?<br /><br />- Cris, writing from Madridstorypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-43333014676976217822009-11-17T18:36:00.000-08:002009-11-19T11:40:27.399-08:00Connections<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">Note: Hi! We just found out there are actually a </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; font-family: courier new;">few</span><span style="font-family: courier new;"> signed prints available - which is SUPER great for the Unity Shoppe! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">We asked Brian if he'd help out a little more on this first one, just to make it extra special, and he said, 'How about an original drawing?' and he didn't even have the question mark out of his mouth when we said 'Yes!' There's no end to the stuff that'll happen when you're in the mood to be part of something bigger ...</span></span><br /><br />In just ONE day, the auction will end on a 'Connection' print signed by both Kenny Loggins and Brian Andreas. The auction proceeds will benefit the Unity Shoppe of Santa Barbara. <a href="http://is.gd/4URBX">You can find it right </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji94Fn2cG496lwCATlk-5cBg8re3H3jj6P4LeVhSqv5RdeKb8iMoSPuzO8P7HDtPOvscZQO17qyWzBRBkuAZzcLJPSjO6t3J5bRZP-8j8H9rK7_xcsOC5Q4B73h2WAyEHeu0IE9nyjKemG/s1600/downtheaisle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 199px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji94Fn2cG496lwCATlk-5cBg8re3H3jj6P4LeVhSqv5RdeKb8iMoSPuzO8P7HDtPOvscZQO17qyWzBRBkuAZzcLJPSjO6t3J5bRZP-8j8H9rK7_xcsOC5Q4B73h2WAyEHeu0IE9nyjKemG/s200/downtheaisle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405496755504408514" border="0" /></a><a href="http://is.gd/4URBX">here and bid with gusto</a>. Or cheer on the other bidders. :)<br /><br />There couldn't be a better story for this organization, a local pearl - you know, one of those gems that isn't shiny and show-offy, but the reward of a <span style="font-style: italic;">lot</span> of grit - and luminous for it.<br /><br />Allow me to remind you how that story goes:<br /><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >there came a moment in the middle of the song<br />when he suddenly felt every heartbeat in the room<br />& after that he never forgot he was<br />part of something much bigger -<br /></span><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" ><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?action=Show&storyID=1358"> - Conn</a></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" ><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/WebStory.do?action=Show&storyID=1358">ection</a> by Brian Andreas</span><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0K4onF02cZVgt8PhY5mZo95k2Cw5xNlbf0kVr_UZAURU5bUNmoqXHXIFEbrc0jL5aZv-QgDq9yIGZRRZn5W1SeuAf6EmPRRO373PQ22SaTCsLtkBLhK41YcvQCKI6N7dqonswBE4qMCC/s1600/childrensdepartment.jpg"></a><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPTAfljgSFWb1m0cH5fW0AhltJpRGWNTQuQB7SSwGCn-oGij5DA-7QFpbaNKMYloeS0MsBHSMWvD2fagMoUs5S8VEcmYWTvYWy1ECRevxI1aU7IISmcn9nzvHOes6Q5oOQs2YY58tOV5f/s1600/unitytree.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPTAfljgSFWb1m0cH5fW0AhltJpRGWNTQuQB7SSwGCn-oGij5DA-7QFpbaNKMYloeS0MsBHSMWvD2fagMoUs5S8VEcmYWTvYWy1ECRevxI1aU7IISmcn9nzvHOes6Q5oOQs2YY58tOV5f/s200/unitytree.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405497140870486018" border="0" /></a>When it comes to helping each other, people do what they can do. And there are countless reasons why they do it, why anyone steps up at any time to give support or lend a hand. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhziQdP_5gjLzYDhpW1UoPaQQJCagOPXLUPxMdRJtD3pnwo34UHyqhB61Bo0azhGm27H2Nf4ig1GvoecBFqtGESlWJ3wNY54gNcFBwQdtggy9phQdjajJaqVnct7Eh2rmy3EaabhcRQ0SY/s1600/theaterabove.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhziQdP_5gjLzYDhpW1UoPaQQJCagOPXLUPxMdRJtD3pnwo34UHyqhB61Bo0azhGm27H2Nf4ig1GvoecBFqtGESlWJ3wNY54gNcFBwQdtggy9phQdjajJaqVnct7Eh2rmy3EaabhcRQ0SY/s200/theaterabove.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405497025852583554" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Nothing is better, though, than the hand reaching out because it knows the hand it's reaching for wants the same warm feeling of safety, the same strong grip of hope.<br /><br />Or the voice that advocates or negotiates for the one who is just trying to findthe the right way to talk of a future to its children.<br /><br />Or mind that opens wide and creates solutions and imagines <span style="font-weight: bold;">EVERY</span>one flourishing.<br /><br />This is exactly how the Unity Shoppe operates. There are <span style="font-weight: bold;">no</span> halos on parade. There's just a promise that's made and met every day: dignity for the clients. Real dignity.<br /><br />I don't know if it's in their mission statement or a formal matter of policy, but I'm going to trust my experience and guess it's borne out of a vision of our connection. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0K4onF02cZVgt8PhY5mZo95k2Cw5xNlbf0kVr_UZAURU5bUNmoqXHXIFEbrc0jL5aZv-QgDq9yIGZRRZn5W1SeuAf6EmPRRO373PQ22SaTCsLtkBLhK41YcvQCKI6N7dqonswBE4qMCC/s1600/childrensdepartment.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP0K4onF02cZVgt8PhY5mZo95k2Cw5xNlbf0kVr_UZAURU5bUNmoqXHXIFEbrc0jL5aZv-QgDq9yIGZRRZn5W1SeuAf6EmPRRO373PQ22SaTCsLtkBLhK41YcvQCKI6N7dqonswBE4qMCC/s200/childrensdepartment.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405496640997878482" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It seems as if all involved know this to be true and so, whatever they say, however they assist, whenever they're organizing or distributing - there is <span style="font-weight: bold;">nothing</span> but an unfailing attitude of unity.<br /><br />It's <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhil05EK6toLid6jdd30a3ljo81vdYHFhPkbb1zhQLE-Og8EUKQdK0OzwVYlT-6bkjQ1mEbZfbLeczurfu0zmQVwDAVukNV2ux3mbiHNM2aOZTaCkR_E9DPdgGTxmtLqt2I_CYeo1CsScuD/s1600/blackpearl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhil05EK6toLid6jdd30a3ljo81vdYHFhPkbb1zhQLE-Og8EUKQdK0OzwVYlT-6bkjQ1mEbZfbLeczurfu0zmQVwDAVukNV2ux3mbiHNM2aOZTaCkR_E9DPdgGTxmtLqt2I_CYeo1CsScuD/s200/blackpearl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405496537832782002" border="0" /></a>wild and it's wonderful and fills all of us in this community with big gratitude. What other way could you feel when you're invited to be part of something much bigger?<br /><br />** I've included a few pictures of the grocery store and children's clothing boutique for anyone who wants to be stubborn and refuse to believe it. Ha. Each of them gets a little bigger when clicked.<br /><br />http://www.unityshoppe.org/<br />http://www.logginsfans4unity.com/<br /><br /><br /><br /></div></div>storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8980882725547340237.post-55499418016071056882009-11-16T09:57:00.000-08:002009-11-16T11:51:30.159-08:00Creative StretchesIt started innocently enough. Brian emailed a photo of a painting he's working on. <br /><br />I liked it so much. In that mysterious way of art, this one felt luxurious - softest Egyptian cotton, one bottle of champagne at a South of France lunch luxurious. Ymmmmm. <br /><br />He added that he wasn't sure if he'd leave it alone. <br /><br />Even I, who am still a novice at painting, know that stage. In fact, very recently, I hauled out a few unfinished canvases that had reached it and been put away until I decided their fate. Unfortunately, my decision involved fiddling, fixing, tinkering with parts. I painted with gusto.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEU-AoMQY9dd6jHEO4wuWYUr4_dKzIPh_hyphenhyphenl7osjn_hVyfk2_OF0tBj2BShjR52Nb0mcbqpeqZ3LQHOvesaovSfCgQfxmV9BBjQIzI595UNM4pdMvCa4cw0c3Tem5VNFl7yf7YUVES4UZc/s1600/porch1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEU-AoMQY9dd6jHEO4wuWYUr4_dKzIPh_hyphenhyphenl7osjn_hVyfk2_OF0tBj2BShjR52Nb0mcbqpeqZ3LQHOvesaovSfCgQfxmV9BBjQIzI595UNM4pdMvCa4cw0c3Tem5VNFl7yf7YUVES4UZc/s320/porch1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404790193651174882" border="0" /></a><br />It was disastrous in just about every way, plus some since I'd done it to several. Eeek. I've included a picture of my solution. Consider it cautionary. :) Really, it was all I could think of doing since I liked all the rest of it. <br /><br />Naturally, I had a few questions for Brian about the future of <span style="font-style: italic;">his</span> painting.<br /><br />I wrote:<br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">What if you thought you'd painted the perfect eyes and glasses, but wanted a corresponding mouth - would you just paint over the mouth and hope they then worked together? The entire face changes with every expression, of course, so would you feel obliged - in a painterly way - re-do the entire face? </span><br /><br />Brian replied (in part): <span style="font-family:courier new;"> I'm more a fan of the entire painting. There is no such thing as the eyes & glasses are perfect but I need to do a different mouth.</span><br />Then there's a paragraph about his technique, but he goes on to write this:<br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Sometimes that means painting the entire thing over with white & starting again. I think of it as trusting that the painting you're going to end up with is going to be better than the sum of the parts along the way.</span> <span style="font-family:courier new;">Once you start messing with one piece, you have to be willing to go all the way & adapt the other parts of the painting (the parts you thought were perfect) so that it all works together. Doesn't mean you will, but you have to be willing to kill your darlings. What's true in writing is equally true in painting.</span><br /><br />That simple email conversation glinted and glittered in my head and like a little shard of diamond, stuck itself in my mind. When Brian enters the conversation, this often happens. You don't have to like his work or be his biggest fan to appreciate this: he is always exercising some hidden, creative muscles.<br /><br />That he shared was wonderful I love that generosity. Computer people, graphic designers, animators do that, too. They share.<br /><br />But I realized that <span style="font-style: italic;">what</span> he does made me giddy ... <span style="font-family:courier new;">you have to be willing to go all the way & adapt the other parts of the painting (the parts you thought were perfect) so that it all works together. Doesn't mean you will ...</span><br /><br />I can do it in writing. I can let go, throw away an entire draft, cross out a sweet turn of phrase. But what an excellent, EXCELLENT exercise for all parts of our creative life ... including our life.<br /><br />Well, that's what I think. How about you?<br /><br />- <span style="font-style: italic;">Cris, Santa Barbara</span>storypeoplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12935072233851420649noreply@blogger.com1