Timing is Everything

Dear Reader,

A year ago today I graduated from UNM’s MFA program and gave my English department convocation speech.  Tuesday while walking through one of the buildings on the campus where I work I saw a quote written on the wall. In black ink on the dry erase board designed for quotes of the day were Maya Angelou’s words, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Immediately, her words spoke to my writer self, “yes, we all have stories we need to tell, to share, to connect with others,” but they also resonated with me at a deeper level. Today, I think how I planned within this year to revise my manuscript a dozen times, throw away old poems, write new ones, but none of that happened.

In this span of time, poems I’ve tossed out: 0,
Poems I’ve Rewritten: 2,
New Poems: 3.

But time, can be measured in other ways.

Number of times I’ve overslept: 75
Number of miles run: 317
Cups of coffee: 567
Americanos: 100
Number of hearts I’ve broken: 4
Number of nights I’ve wanted to cry myself to sleep: 12
Number of times I did: 11
Number of times I’ve laughed so hard I cried: 15,000
Funerals I’ve attended: 1
Miles I’ve flown: 10,000
Number of things I regret: 15
Performances I’ve given: 25
Miles I’ve driven: 2,000

So, I made up those numbers, but you get the point. We can measure our lives in many ways and our stories continually unfold from exciting experiences and seemingly mundane day to day events that gain significance over time. I am constantly learning more about myself and the stories I have inside me waiting for me to put into words to share with whoever may need to read them. Time teaches me patience, especially when it comes to writing and my own journey’s unfolding.

Though it is easy to fall into the trap of time judging yourself or others by how long it takes to accomplish things or get over something, i.e. it’s been X amount of years since we moved, quit our jobs, found new ones, have been unemployed, Y amount of years since we’ve been together, since you left him or her, since she or he broke your heart, or Z amount of minutes, months, days, years since you’ve been on a certain path.

We track our stories in these ways and maybe it helps us make sense of them. Maybe it simply helps us remember, acknowledge that it happened, that we were there wherever there maybe be physically, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally.

I used to use loss to mark my own story of what made me into the writer-teacher-person-artist-dreamer, used to say it’s been x amount of months or days since the date and somehow I let this define me. It was almost easier to name it, make Loss a stagnant entity that stayed in the past. Back then, I tethered myself to Loss and Grief and felt anchored orbiting around them. Once I was able to write through my grief I no longer had to keep count of all the days I spent living in a world where someone no longer was. Today, I am happy and healed though the date of that loss that occurred six years ago still holds such significance for me as a marker of my life changing.

As a society, we can keep track of dates, mark it in our calendar to send us a reminder, but for me certain memories and dates have become ingrained in my bodily memory.

The story of how losing my friend impacted me is still forming, changing, and shifting with each year that passes. One evening last month I broke down in tears. It hits me sometimes like that when I least expect it. I used to cry in public places when something reminded me but this time it happened in the solitude of my office after everyone else went home. I couldn’t place where this flood of overwhelming emotion was coming from. But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again the body remembers. Some years it seems like that date might slip around a corner before I can catch a glimpse, but every year on April 12^th, friends, family, etc, remember. Maybe timing also brings you what you need. We call or email or text each other anything from “Hi” to “thinking of you” or just plain and simple <3. In those acts of reaching out to each other we recognize the significance of the event. We remind each other about the importance of love.

The next day, Friday April 12, I met a woman who was traveling to California for a conference. “What do you do for a living,” she asked. “I’m a writer.” And then came the inevitable question that follows, “What do you write about?” Most people ask that same question when we divulge our secret identities as writers. It almost feels like you put on a superhero mask or cape when you say it “I am a writer!” But do people ask Spiderman or Superman or Wonder Woman who they save? I can just imagine it “Oh who are you the hero of?” No, for us it’s what do you write about. Perhaps I glorify writing too much. Perhaps we do not save anyone. Perhaps we are mostly writing to try and save ourselves.

I write about a range of subjects – identity, loss, longing, heritage, culture, life etc. But to answer her question I simply responded, “I write about love.”

She just so happened to be on her way to a conference about “love.” We discussed our current relationship/non-relationship situations, and experiences with love. We talked about books she’s read on the subject, meditations she does, and what she’s learned from it all. The most striking thing she said she learned about love was that it wasn’t about the other person so much as it was about one’s personal self healing. Her books encouraged people to heal their relationships with those around them, their siblings, mothers, fathers, etc., and that once we learn to forgive others or ourselves and let go of things from the past then we can be open to giving and receiving the type of love we all deserve. While I was talking with her I couldn’t help but think on that specific day that we were meant to meet to talk, decompress, and share our stories. It was perfect timing actually, the universe in sync with what I know I needed to hear on that specific day.

Timing is everything.

Amazing things can happen when you least expect it. You’ll meet people you need and others who you didn’t know how much you needed. Some people who you never expected to support you will. Others you expected to support you won’t. People you thought couldn’t hurt you anymore will somehow find ways to break your heart. You’ll hurt people you didn’t mean to. You’ll want to go for it with someone or some opportunity even if there’s a chance of heartache at the end. Because now you know, heartbreak is inevitable. Now you know things will unfold naturally if you let them. It isn’t worth it to hide in the shadows or be afraid of possibilities.

If anything this year has taught me to not be too hard on myself, to be patient, and that some chances are worth taking. Now I know to take the leap.

What I’m leaping into: security, faith, confidence, and hope.
Things I know: There are stories inside us.
Things I hope I never forget: There are stories inside us.

On Happiness, Vulnerability, and Dreaming

Dear Reader,

I should begin by saying, I’m obsessed with TED Talks. Ok, maybe “obsessed” is too strong of a word, but I enjoy watching them and turning others onto watching them as well. You name a topic, they probably have a TED talk on it – power, invention, image, stories, women, education, on and on….

So when, one of my writer friends expressed her recent bout dealing with self-doubt, I was excited to see another friend of ours respond with a TED Talk suggestion. This one is called  “The Happy Secret to Better Work.” You can imagine my excitement heightened when I discovered I hadn’t seen this talk before. Eagerly I put on my headphones in my office, watched, and listened. The talk discusses training our brains to think differently, more positively by changing the lens through which we view the world, “our world.” One of the talk’s tips was to show/express daily gratitude. Each day, for 21 days, share 3 things you are thankful for. By doing these tips, the study posits that we can rewire our brains and perhaps change the way we think about success and how that is linked to our happiness.

For many of us, and I am speaking to this from my writer’s perspective, success is definitely on our brains. Who’s got an agent? Who doesn’t? Who has a chapbook? Were you a finalist for a 1st book competition? For those who are lucky, you get the book, you get published, and then your goal post for success, changes. It then becomes about how well is the book selling, what are the reviews saying, what about the second book – will that happen? Will it do better, worse, etc? For me, all of these questions and wondering whether or not we’ll “make it” is inevitably tied into vulnerability (another hot topic for us writers, and well, humans…)

Reader, I feel like the universe is making ‘vulnerability’ a theme for me in recent experiences. The V word just keeps popping up. In fact, another friend of mine just the day before wrote a blog: “Falling in love feels just as clumsy as falling down. Opening up and allowing myself to be vulnerable has sown a whole new crop of insecurity and self-doubt.” (Sigh, the perpetual cycle that plagues many of us…) I have to say that I love that Andrea was writing about love in this post. It makes sense. Anything to do with anything or anyone we love can bring up all those feelings of being afraid, scared shitless, and left in a perpetual state of confusion, insecurity, wonder, and excitement. We feel it in relationships, the initial getting-to-know-you-me-us, are “we” a “we”, but we also feel it with things we are passionate about. Perhaps this is why so many writers feel these emotions because writing is something that we love.

This of course makes me think of another TED Talk that I forced my friend to watch with me today called “The Price of Invulnerability.”  We watched it just after watching the Happiness talk above. During topics and points that he felt related to me, he pressed the pause button, then looked at me to see if his insight resonated with me as well. And they did, especially the beginning where the speaker talks about how we automatically assume the worst case scenario, almost as if we are afraid of happy endings. It’s weird and  ironic, but makes total sense that happiness and vulnerability are linked.

For me personally, if I really think about it… if I’m really honest… my “success”, my need to feel fulfilled by being busy, by trying to live an ‘extraordinary’ life is linked to my fears of being vulnerable. I am afraid of the unknown. I keep myself busy, I keep myself invested in so many orgs, volunteer positions  projects., etc. I’ve mentioned this before Dear Reader, but I am a planner. I like control. I set a goal and I go for it. But, I’ve never just surrendered. If I think about my writing, I just don’t have time for it these days. Sure I am writing to you, but the real-tough-sit down-spend hours-reading-re-reading-revising-re-visioning my manuscript hasn’t happened. I honestly don’t have the time unless I seriously re-prioritize and let some areas of commitment go. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just surrender , go all in, and see what happens on the other side. By this I mean, why am I so driven by my ideas and hopes of success or making an impact that I couldn’t just let it go, move somewhere less expensive, be a starving artist, work at Starbucks or Target and just commit to my writing for a year.

These fleeting thoughts have been on my mind a lot lately and maybe it’s because this May it’ll have been a year since I finished the MFA. My once again driven by success mind thinks “I have no new publications, no agent, no book deal to show for it.” So I’m trying to rewire my brain for happiness and be open to vulnerability  In following the TED Talk advice, here is an alteration on the gratitude thing (b/c I honestly do give thanks everyday) and so I wanted to share a combination of hopes & dreams:

• We dreamed of starting our own literary magazine for Indigenous women and women of color. It’s happening. We’ve sold 100 copies on Amazon so far and 30 in person. We were thrilled with Issue 1 and the Vday issue. We’re getting some amazing submissions for the next issue (still open for subs until 4/15) and the online journal’s been viewed in 81 countries, say what?!?!
• I dreamed of making a difference…working with Native youth and hopefully inspiring some to pursue their own dreams. I’m thankful to have found a home and purpose working for this upward bound program that serves 22 diff high schools & 8 states in this country.
• I dreamed of teaching and have been blessed to have had the opportunity to teach from the high school, community, to University level.

I am thankful. Many of the things I dreamt of have/are happening. And I still dream…

• I dream of one day writing something others will need… to read to feel less alone in this world, to heal, to feel that each of us has a voice, and that that voice matters.
• I dream of bringing people together whether it’s the voices / experiences / words in the journal or joining people to support causes, or connecting people I know who can help each other.

and there are even things I never even imagined that could happen, that are now unfolding. One week from today I travel to Chicago for the American Indian Speakers Bureau to speak, lead a writing workshop, and perform some of my poetry. I cannot contain my excitement! I feel blessed, excited, and you know what… happy!

In terms of my personal life, I’m making some new connections and meeting new people, good people, who I feel blessed, thankful, and grateful for. Although the reason some of these people have come into my life (or the reason I came into theirs) has yet to be revealed, I am happy and enjoying the journey. Though I am still struggling to embrace the shuffle I am open and excited for the challenge to let go of my constant need for control.

It’s always a mixed bag and being happy takes a conscious effort during the days when I get a rejection and I’m feeling down on myself. When the self-doubt sets in I try to remember what Jennifer said, “I need to remind myself everyday that I am good enough.” But I also know the fear with surrender and vulnerability is always there somewhere lurking behind the shadows of my happiness. So I am following Andrea’s words too, and telling myself “It takes grace to face fear”  because if you’re pursuing anything (or anyone) you are passionate about, of course it’s going to be scary, you’re going to have to face your insecurities and fears, but if it’s worth it – you go all in because without being vulnerable…without leaving yourself open, you’ll never get there.

So here’s to embracing vulnerability, fear, and (hopefully) doing it with grace. Here’s to going all in!

Getting Your Hands Dirty

Dear Reader:

Let me begin by apologizing for taking so long to write to you as it has been months since I last sat down to do this. I could spout off a list of obligations, things I’ve been preoccupied with but I suppose that would bore you. We are after all here to talk about deeper and hopefully more meaningful things.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about “the writer situation.” Many of my friends (who happen to be writers) have been struggling with their writer selves as well, the parts of us that we must leave open, exposed and vulnerable. I think of an orange, the way you have to dig into it with your thumbs and fingertips to get to the meat, the edible part of the fruit. In this way, we writers must peel off that protective layer, that skin that covers what’s underneath. We must do this to expose ourselves because it is only when we are open that we can empathize with the world, our readers, each other, other humans. It is only then when we are raw that we can write what we feel we need to put out into the world.

But, sometimes being open and vulnerable in this way leads to getting dirty in the sense that dealing with the inevitable growing pains and heartaches can be quite messy. We are so used to creating characters or writing scenarios, calling it like we see it, that this conditioned honesty can often come back to bite us.

As writers we are trained to think about beginnings, middles, endings, but also moments of connection and disconnection, possibilities and plotlines. I’ll admit I can get lost in my imagination thinking about all of these things with any new person who enters into my life. More recently I met someone whom I’ll call A. While I haven’t known A long and our friendship is still in the beginning stages, I feel an odd closeness and familiarity with this person. After a phone conversation with A, I had to call one of my close writer friends. I had to tell her how silly I felt feeling so close and connected to someone I still barely knew. I asked her: Is it in our writer/artist nature to just invent these connections or make more ‘meaning’ out of something that isn’t really there? She, like many of our writer friends, could relate. Perhaps, we are all guilty of such things.

As humans we need and crave connections, connecting, to be seen, heard, acknowledged in our presence.  I think Emily Rapp says it quite well in her essay Dirty or Clean? published in The Rumpus the day after my most recent birthday. She wrote: “I want to live. I want to be, quite simply, accepted and desired for the sum total of who I am, and who I might become, and for the experiences that have contributed to both.” I wholeheartedly agree.

Recently, my dear Reader you commented on how appreciative you were of my writing, how vulnerable it was. Rather, how vulnerable I was. Oddly enough I hadn’t conceptualized it this way before, in that word vulnerable. I know I am the type of person who wears her heart on her sleeve. I say what I am feeling when I am feeling it and sometimes this scares (or intimidates) people. (Sometimes this honesty gets me in trouble, too) I know other writers and artists may relate when I say some people think we are just plain crazy because we ‘tell all’, share secrets, and leap into the oceans of our emotions to write hoping someone out there will feel less alone in the world reading those words. Sometimes I still do not understand why people just don’t say what they are really thinking, feeling. Why is it that we have become so afraid to open ourselves up to that raw exposure, especially when it comes to finding connections with other people?

From our previous letters dear Reader you know my experiences with loss and grieving have affected me quite strongly and those experiences often surface in my writing.  When people ask why I write about sad things I think, someone has to not be afraid to get their hands dirty in grief, loss, struggles, all the things society avoids talking about. Part of the artist’s call is to turn past traumas on their heads, upside down, inside out, then put it back down as something changed, transformed, so that everyone else can see something beautiful or hopeful in it. But in order for that beauty or hope to come about someone had to dive head first into the muck, ugliness, stark darkness of the wreck. That is what we writers do – we recast wounds in unending light. We make re-membering revolutionary.

Re-membering….

Some memories gather dust and soil, become so heavily covered that you can no longer see them. Recently I unearthed a memory with my friend M, how after he passed away I listened to his voicemail over and over all the way up until his phone was shut off. Even then I thought about continuing to call when the number got reassigned. I thought maybe if I asked or begged the voice on the other line to say my name, coach them to say it with the drawled out “a” he used to give it then maybe I’d find some momentary comfort in the sound. I could have kept him alive that way. Instead the computer guy in our dorm figured out a way to save his voicemail recording and turned it into an MP3 that I saved in my iTunes library. I never told anyone that some nights I’d listen to it on repeat, never told anyone that I listened to that 30 second riff “Hey this is….” over and over until it became part of the background, a constant series of tones that soon lost meaning. Then I felt some sense of normalcy when his voice became part of the air, part of the sound in the room naturally echoing off the walls. Then I could finally fall asleep.

I remembered how much my presence hurt then. How guilty I felt to be living when my friend was not. I think of how so much can change in a minute, month, and now…6 years later I am most willing to take a gamble with my words now because of so many things I’ve left unsaid in the past. Even in terms of my writing I’ve changed so much. I used to write the raw emotion of it. I used to think that was perhaps the best writing and never believed my instructor’s when they spoke about the importance of psychic distance. Sure it made sense mentally and intellectually but emotionally it didn’t feel right. It is only now that it makes sense – the process of processing.

I won’t lie and say that sometimes living “the writer situation” as I’ve described it, isn’t easy. Sure I laugh, I love, I am happy, but I can be sad, overflow with tears, and obsess over fears I have. But when I process the way I process things in my writer mind I think – no matter how raw, open, and exposed I leave myself to the hurts or pains, I hope I never close myself off because when you close yourself off to the possibility of heartache, you lose the chances of happiness and connection too.

Dear Reader, I hope you remain unafraid of getting your hands dirty because heart is what drives and determines our fate. Ask yourself what kind of heart you have? Mine is a brave and passionate one. It is one I hope I am always brave enough to break whenever I need to let go, move on, or open myself up to possibilities.

May we all be brave enough to live passionately. Be brave enough to break our own hearts.

 

 

 

I Say A Little Prayer for You

Dear Reader,

Not to jump on the “Thankful” bandwagon that happens every time this year, but hey, why not. It’s good to jump, make those leaps, and reflect. Sharing what we are thankful for helps others to remember to be thankful too.

If you are reading this post you are blessed – you either have a phone or laptop or desktop to access it. Maybe you’re at a library reading it and even then, are we not blessed to have libraries? We can read, we have outlets – creative ones – for motivation, inspiration, to jolt, provoke, and give us what we need.

We, dear reader, are blessed –

Last week I taught on behalf of Café Cultura at a second chance school for students who were kicked out of their schools for behavioral problems or bringing guns, knives, and drugs to school. I’ll admit as I sat outside in my car before I went in that part of me was afraid thinking what did I get myself into? What kind of neighborhood am I in? What if these kids are rugged? I had to stop and think why am I even thinking these ridiculous thoughts? Why am I judging these kids when I grew up on a reservation and have worked with youth from so many different backgrounds and home lives that are similar to these students. Even in my limited-still-learning experiences working with youth I know that behavior is tied to other circumstances, that sometimes people just make mistakes, get caught up in the wrong crowd, and most of the time… their behavior is just them reaching out, to be seen, acknowledged. They, like many of us, just want to be heard.

So rather than be afraid, I remember how I was raised. I prayed. I prayed that the students would have open hearts and minds and be receptive to what I was going to teach. I prayed that someone would hear the words they needed to hear that day. I must say all my teaching experience at the University of New Mexico and from working with my Upward Bound program kids helped me stay on my toes and keep the students engaged. Who would’ve thought years of teaching gave you prompts in your back pocket to pull out when students seemed to be losing interest. It’s amazing how things just come to you in the moment. Some students weren’t as serious about writing as others but I could tell most of the students were hungry for writing and words. I’d seen that hunger before working with people, recognized the desire to put pen to paper in my own life.

I wanted to teach them about image. A former professor of mine used “a wedding cake in the middle of the road” as a prompt for a central image, one where some object was out of place, an image that begged for a story to be given to it. So I told the students to write the story to go with the cake. Some students wrote stories meant to be funny about prostitutes causing a wreck and the cake came out of the van, or someone running late and hitting a pothole, or crazy bridesmaids fighting over it. But, one student wrote about a crack addict who stole the cake from a delivery van and was so shaky from withdrawals that he dropped it. He sat in the middle of the street and ate the cake anyway.

Part of me knows students will test you with their behavior or even subject matter in things they bring up. But I didn’t want to dismiss anything any student said; as teachers our job is to help build students up not bring them down, especially at that age. So…I just rolled with it and was surprised that the words came to me. I said something constructive and something positive about each story, but I remember most strongly my response to the crack addict story. As the class giggled when he read aloud, I let him finish then said, “you know, that is an excellent example of a character driven story in the making. I mean, what kind of person would sit there and eat a cake in the middle of the road besides a crack addict? Good job.”

After an hour long workshop, I left. Who knows if that one time experience made any difference in anyone’s lives. Honestly, it probably didn’t. Change takes time and forming bonds with students so they’ll open up about the real gritty tough stuff that writing is made of sometimes…takes time. There are no quick fixes and when it comes to writing and making an impact, it definitely takes more than one class visit.

Café Cultura does good work by teaching at schools like this and others. They don’t get paid much if anything and in order for more of the programming the organization does like open mics, workshops, community performances, etc., they need funds. So I am reaching out to you, dear Reader because this is so important to me and working with youth is a vital part of my life. I am passionate about youth who need words they way we all may have needed (and perhaps still do) in our lives. We are blessed with words and should share those gifts with others who may not have the same access we do.

I’m hoping I can raise at least $1,000 for the organization. I know many of you don’t have a lot or even anything to spare, but even if its just $5-$10, it adds up. Every bit helps, so you have until December 31st to donate. Here is the link and click on the DONATE next to my name   

I hope we can keep teaching writing because I do and will always believe, writing saves lives. If you learn about craft you learn about character. You’ll learn about the difference between a plot-driven story and a character-driven story, and once you have that maybe you can realize you are the protagonist in your own life. You are the good guy, the one being rooted for, the one we all want to succeed in your own life story. Yes, writing teaches character, you are a flawed, beautiful, and relatable person who desires something in life. But like any story there will be moments of connection and disconnection, there will be rises and falls in action and when you feel off-track you’ll know your character strengths to change the course of your story.

We, dear reader, are blessed – so, please, make the jump, be thankful, and donate. I have no way of thanking those of you who do, maybe I can write a poem for or about you, but either way, at the end of the day – I’ll say a little prayer for you.

http://www.empowered.org/tanaya.winder-/initiatives

Somehow it all works out

Dear Reader:

Fate has a way of working things out.

Or at least bringing people together. Learning how to navigate literary journals is all a part of the publishing / MFA process. Inundated with all types of journals it’s quite common for one to daydream about starting a literary journal of his or her own. I know I always had this thought in the back of my mind and even joked about it with friends one day when we’re ‘famous’ we’ll start our own journal…

Well, writers rarely become famous unless it’s with other writers. Post-MFA my fellow writer friends and I are, indeed, not famous. We are anything but; some of us are lucky enough to have jobs while others are struggling on the job market, applying to any and all fellowships, residencies, and teaching jobs (including comp). It can be frustrating and you wonder maybe my parents, family, friends, advisors, society, whoever were all right; like it says in the Avenue Q Broadway play “What do you do with a BA in English?” and on top of that, an MFA in creative writing? There are nights I stay up wondering what kind of life have I created for myself by choosing my passion over something more responsible with a direct career path laid out like med or law school…

But those nights are rare because I know I am living a life doing what makes me happy. Being able to find a unique combination of words that generate an emotion or thought in the mind of another human being and being able to stir something in his/her memory is a gift. And if you’ve been reading my letters to you Dear Reader, you know that honoring the gifts the Creator has given you is one of the tenets I live my life by.

In my last letter I talked about embracing the shuffle and being ok with things not going exactly as planned. I’d have to say that more recently this lesson of your unplanned actually is part of the Creator’s plan has held true.

The older (haha one day I will no longer be such a “young” poet) I get the more I understand that through the muck and mess of it all, life has a way of sorting things out. It is through things – jobs, careers, relationships, etc – falling apart that our paths inevitably come together as higher powers intended. At least they seem to and it’s only years (or in this case months later) you are blessed with the gift of hindsight and can see why things happened the way they did. It all seems to be for a reason. Yes, my dear Reader, Life unfolds as it needs to and things have a way of working out.

A recent example comes from this past summer. One of my program’s instructors quit last minute. A friend of mine who had been job searching and applying to fellowships unfortunately did not have anything lined up for the summer. But, fortunate for us and we were able to get her a position teaching for the class we needed. For seven weeks Casandra would sleep on my couch and we’d spend a summer together in Boulder both working for a program I am passion about.

A summer in Boulder for Naropa means their Summer Writing Program. One week they brought out a Native American writer I knew, he invited me out with him and a few other writers. During this outing I met Christine Trudeau, a student at the Institute for American Indian Arts; then I didn’t know that Christine would become a friend and also fellow co-founder for a new journal.

Two days later Casandra, Christine, and I were out and about in Boulder, talking poetry, writing, and how do/will we make it (publishing, writing, life, work, paying the bills while balancing our ambitions, etc.) work. Then, the idea of starting our own literary journal, specifically for indigenous women writer’s came up. Eagerly, Christine, Casandra, and I (with the encouragement of my unnamed Native writer male friend) decided this wasn’t just a pipe dream – no, this was not only good, but needed in our society and for this generation.

In this typically white male-dominated realm of publishing we wanted to create a new space, a space for women writers like us. As us, there are other women in the world who feel writing’s calling, women who render their worlds with words. As women writers we have a responsibility to honor the gifts we’ve been given and in our case, that is the gift of words. And it’s not enough to just write our demons, our ambitions, our hopes, and whatever messages we feel we’ve been charged with. No – we have to create spaces for each other to help open doors and gateways that allow access to each other and others who may want to read our work. I was raised with the belief that it is never about you, it’s about honoring those who came before you that made it possible for you to be where you are and it’s about those who will come after…because of you.

Less than a month after our initial meeting as three indigenous writers who (because of connections, because of ‘fate’, because of our fabulously blessed broken paths) met at the Boulderado in Boulder, CO, we started our journal As/Us: A Literary Space for Women of the World.

We are currently open for submissions and we seek to publish both emerging and established women writers. It is our hope that As/Us will be a convergence of international voices that speak to both diverse and shared experiences. We want work with purpose, vision, and something at stake, work that deserves a space in the world.

While we haven’t put out our first issue yet (our submission deadline is November 2^nd with our 1^st issue slated for a late December publication), I am hopeful. We are getting good submissions and something deep in my gut tells me this is right, this is needed. We don’t have to be “famous” to follow our dreams, this is happening and it will continue.

So wherever you are Dear Reader, with whatever your struggling with I hope you know that it all serves a purpose that we cannot always readily see. Look back at all of your successes and I’m sure you’ll see… all of the things that didn’t work out exactly how you planned all helped get to where you are now. If I hadn’t lost a friend, I wouldn’t have been plan less or needed poetry like I do, if I hadn’t come to UNM over Columbia I wouldn’t have met Casandra, if I hadn’t been in Boulder that summer we wouldn’t have met Christine and this wouldn’t be happening. I’m sure we all have so many stories like this…our own unfolding causing us to figure out our stories and who we are meant to have (and who isn’t meant to stay ) in our lives.

So remember Dear Reader to give peace in your heart, faith at your side, and follow the paths of those gifts you were given. We are, we will, all see our dreams come to pass.

On Embracing the Shuffle

Dear Reader,

It’s been awhile – 3 months in fact, an absence that has provided its own insights and lessons. After healing from a foot injury and taking time off from running as long or far as I usually do, I’ve come to a point where I’m back at it. I know I know you’re probably thinking to yourself why does she always write about running and writing?

Confession: Running teaches me about life.

In one of my previous posts featured on Substance, Style, Soul I talked about running to respect the bodies we have, running to calm me when I need mental space and clarity. Now that I’m training for my 5th half-marathon  running still provides me much needed clarity and reflection. Recently in a conversation with a friend of mine he said that at least once a week he probes to see how far he can run, he just goes how far his body will take him in the moment. Immediately this grabbed my attention. He doesn’t plan it out??? Doesn’t plan out how far he’s going to run or how fast???  No, he just goes.

If you know me (or if you’ve been reading the blog) I’m sure you have a sense of how I observe things, what my personality is. If not, I’ll tell you this one thing – probing just to see how far I can go (just going with the flow)….is not me.

I plan.

I plan everything. It probably makes me sound crazy but an example is when I first started my current job I made a 5 year plan. (Kind of ridiculous, I know) I came up with different permutations if I stayed at the job, how long it would take me to get certified as a counselor, if I studied for the LSAT and went to law school, or PhD programs, how old would I be when I finished, etc. In 5 years, where would I be? I even plan in running (my first 4 half-marathons anyway) I planned out a playlist. The first 15 minutes of songs were slower beats per minute, ones I know I’d run at a comfortable conversational pace. I even planned where I knew I’d probably want to give in, give up, and I’d purposefully put in songs I knew would pump me up.

In my time away from you dear Reader, away from writing these letters from a young poet, I’ve come to realize just how young I am indeed. While I’m certainly no longer a teenager anymore and the years do seem to keep coming faster and faster, I still know that when it comes to things like love, I am still a young, flailing, learner.

Last month I received a letter (old school in the postal mail) from a friend of mine. She was starting a new self-improvement project where (at least once a week) she would write a letter to a friend and reflect on the friendship, i.e. what she learned from being friends with that particular person. Surprising to me, this friend said that out of all the things I taught her, I taught her most about love. For someone who is constantly searching, yearning, falling (maybe not for real) too fast, and stretching out my hands ready to catch anything that looks even a little like love, I was shocked.

Maybe you’re wondering how any of these relate. But this is part of Why I Write, to help myself (and those who care to read) make connections in my own life and hopefully your own. It’s true, timing is everything. The timing of the letter’s arrival, my reemergence into running, my friend’s running comment, and where I am now on my own personal journey to be better, physically, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally.

I love running, perhaps mostly because it is when I feel most alive. My heart pounds in my chest, my chest heaves for breath, and I am absolutely present in my body. A few days ago I was running and as I ran, my body wanted to give in, I wanted to quit, and give up. Then it hit me. I treat relationships like I run. When I run I always know how far I’m going to run, unlike my friend who just goes with it, I set my distance and go for it. Perhaps in this way I don’t have to be vulnerable. I don’t ever push myself as hard as I probably could. In relationships, it’s the same. Before something even fully becomes grounded in definitions I think of all the things that could go wrong, I think of all the things that are wrong with the guy I’m seeing, his faults. I assess the route. I find all the places, values, situations where he and I would trip up. I don’t ever just ‘go with it’ in a relationship or in a run. I think this is part of my problem perhaps with both things in my life. I am uncomfortable in the unknowing of it all.

So I’ve been making changes, small ones here and there. I no longer run with my pre-programmed playlist set in specific order to the times I want to run to. I am embracing the shuffle. While this may not sound like anything major, for the control freak like me, it’s a significant step and hopefully one that can filter into other realms of my life.

As writers we sometimes can get so caught up in our heads and imaginative realms that experiences, like the kind I get from running, can be grounding. Maybe that’s what love is like. Something grounding with someone who allows you to feel absolutely present and I’m hoping with a little work and a little letting go, I’ll get there. My writer self knows all it takes to start is putting down the words, the first messy, shitty, unorganized draft is the first step, and to be ok with that unknowing what form or shape or direction the writing will take you. I think a lesson I need (and maybe you do too) is that love is the same, relationships are the same, and life… is the same, and I need to be ok with that. As I sit here and type I can’t help but feel hopeful as I think these thoughts as the setting sun comes through the clouds and fills my window with light.

You Can Read…For Inspiration

Dear Reader,

It’s that time of year for things to end, people graduating all across the country, but it’s also that time for moving on to new beginnings. I’m sure if you’ve had the pleasure of attending a graduation (either yours or of a loved one) you might have her some words you needed but you might also be over the whole speech thing.

I had the honor of being chosen to be the graduate speaker at my department convocation this past week. Someone who heard my speech asked me to post this. I hope you find something in it that you need dear reader, perhaps today I, too, need to read these words again as I grow anxious, excited, and fearful of what awaits me as well.

——

Good Afternoon,

We begin with thanks. Thank you to our families, friends, faculty, and esteemed colleagues for taking time out of your lives to be here to share this milestone with your loved ones. For my classmates, I would like to congratulate you all on your accomplishment in finishing your coursework, getting your degree, and being here today. For some of us the path to get here may have been carefully calculated, another planned step on a path we laid out for ourselves. For others our arrival at this day may have happened haphazardly, as if we fell into it. But, there are no coincidences and no accidents in life.

We are all here for a purpose.

As we have progressed on this journey of life many of us entered it with dreams of what we would like to happen. In our beginnings a seed of desire was planted, whether it was becoming a professor, a mentor, an academic, or a writer. But along our journeys, sometimes these dreams had to take different and often unexpected shapes such as a break from coursework or a program, years off from school, working in jobs we may have resented like Starbucks, waitressing, or Wal-Mart, or perhaps working in positions that just didn’t feel like quite the right fit. But, everything that has happened to us has happened for a reason, each scrape, scuffle, break has helped form us into the people we are today. All those twists and turns on our paths have gotten us here.

Somewhere along your journey you ended up in Albuquerque studying at The University of New Mexico where you’ve earned a degree and made lifelong friends, but we’ve reached the end of this part, this time, in our plans. Sometimes you have to leave things behind in order to embrace the new life the ahead of you.

We are blessed to be sitting here today, on the verge of new beginnings. Some of us have concrete plans on what follows, fellowships, finishing our books, or teaching positions, yet others may be asking: What’s next?

The answer is different for each of us, in terms of location, profession, and titles. But what is certain to come for us all are trials, obstacles, and struggles. These will be put in our paths for a reason, to make us into the people we need to become, to test our commitment to our dreams.

If anything the path you each took to get to where you are today has hopefully taught you that every dream that’s in your heart has taken root there for a reason.

My mother always says that words are seeds, and that the seeds you sow over your life need to be positive. And these seeds must be watered with other positive people around you, situations that will build you up. Today, I’d like to share this final message, these words with you, hoping to plant a seed you can turn back to as you continue your journey beyond UNM and your degree.

Remember, as you let go of the old move forward in faith believing that you are being lead you down the path you were meant to follow. The Creator has an appointed time to fulfill the visions, dreams, and desires in your heart. Just because it has taken a long time or because you’ve tried and failed with some plans doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen. My advice to you all today is: no matter what the future holds, no matter what’s next don’t give up on your dreams. Remember when you come against obstacles you can always change directions, but that doesn’t mean you change your destination. Don’t be complacent about pursuing what the Creator has placed in your heart. No matter how long it’s been, no matter how impossible things look, if you believe and have faith, then your time is coming.

When I thought of what message I wanted to leave you with, I thought of this: When it’s time for a young eagle to learn to fly, the mother eagle will push it from the nest and then fly underneath the young eagle to help it fly. This is how you need to be in your life. Surround yourself with people who will lift you up, just as the mother eagle lifts her baby.

Surround yourself with positive people, not people who are going to (or want you to) stay on the ground. Surround yourself with people who will help you fly because you each are meant to soar.

Finally, I turn to a quote my sister once told me: “When I stand before the Creator at the end of this life, I hope that I have not a single bit of talent left, and that I can say: ‘I used everything you gave me.’” My hopes and wishes for each of you is that you use all of your gifts, use everything you have been given. Keep believing in and remember: you are now a part of something bigger than yourself. May your sphere of influence continue to expand, may you be a great blessing to those around you, and may peace be with you.

—-

As always, thank you for your presence reader. Without you, we writer folk would be nothing.

 

Lessons From A Frequent Flyer

 

Dear Reader,

I believe you can learn most of what you need to know about people in an airport. Who uses the walking escalator? Who prefers to walk? Who is in a hurry and walks on the escalator? Some people’s children respectfully pull their miniature luggage alongside mom or pop while others run wildly up and down the walkways as if their parents didn’t bother to explain the difference between public and private spaces.

Now I don’t know if I’ve just been flying too much this year, but lately the majority of people I see in airports look worn out, tired, and sad in a way. Sure some people travel for vacations, reunions, tournaments, concerts and these rare occasions people laugh and look happy sitting by their gates. But I’ll venture to say that most people travel for business and even if it is for pleasure, the frustration of delayed flights, overpriced food, and the annoyance of inefficiency (everyone else’s of course) stretches faces down into frowns.

If you fly enough, like I do as indicated by my newly upgraded “A-List” status, you know that most gates remain the same if you travel at the same time to the same place each week. There are some benefits to being a frequent flyer – the quicker security line, you know where all the restrooms are, what concourse has the best food (If you’re flying at DIA Concourse B is a winner here and has the most ‘healthy’ options by far), and if you know how to work the system you’re golden.

What nobody tells you is if you have the time to do so, book an early flight! By this I don’t necessarily mean the 6 or 7AM ones, but a flight that’s a couple hours earlier than your ‘ideal’ flight. Why?? Because about 50% of the time I believe airlines overbook flights! Out of the 10+ times I’ve flown this semester the airline has asked for people to volunteer to take a later flight for a $300 voucher. So if you’re flight is about to board make sure you’re standing closest to the ticket counter because that voucher could be yours and there… you keep doing that every time you fly and you’ll have to pay for half as many flights as you would have otherwise. So there, that’s my advice.

Of course there are other ‘inside’ the airplane lessons where you also learn about people: the ones who pack lightly, the ones with small bags and even though they have two of them they still put them under the seat in front of them. Those are selfless people…unlike the ones you put both of their carry-ons in the overhead bins privileging their own comfort over others. Depending on how big ones bags are some people abide by the fairness in putting one below the seat and one above. And there are those who help others put their bags up, and for some reason this always makes me happy.

If you’re in the window seat, some are kind enough to help the flight attendant hand you your peanuts and complimentary beverage. Others refuse to tough your plastic cup at the risk of brushing against your hand. I also figure most people want to make connections. Not just their plane connections, but human connections. I have to say I don’t think I look all that friendly on airplanes but for one reason or another people usually end up talking to me. Whether or not you’re grading, have a book, or getting out your I-Pod you can tell there are just some people who don’t want to be bothered and there are some who are just craving conversation and a connection, even if just for a brief hour long plane ride I don’t necessarily think these people are lonely (though some may be) but maybe that’s just part of what makes us human, that longing to connect or help.

I’ve been lucky enough to be seated next to a fireman (some of you know that story), a speech therapist, an elocutionist, and an older lady who shared half her sandwich with me. For some reason flying reminds me why I get frustrated with people, but every now and then someone (in fact each trip), even if it’s just one person, reminds me why the journey, wherever you’re going, is always worth it. Reader, the next time to take to our friendly skies, remember it’s ok to smile walking down the aisle and to not be afraid of sticking yourself in that middle seat, you never know whom you’ll meet.

(Soon to be) Post MFA Blues

Dear Reader:

It’s been awhile since I’ve written to you. Life…sometimes takes over and commands your presence and attention to be placed in other areas. Since I left you I’ve finally finished, defended, and passed my dissertation with distinction. Stick a fork in me, I’m done, Book closed, in less than two weeks I will have my Masters of Fine Arts (MFA) in Creative Writing. Maybe it’s just post-partum blues (my dissertation is now “finished”) that have me down but I don’t feel as excited as I thought I would. Granted the MFA took four years to complete, just like my undergraduate degree but for some reason the time I spent at Stanford seemed longer, harder, full of more laughs, more tears and it was an honest struggle so much so that by the end I was happy, proud, and most of all, relieved that I have ‘made it.’

This isn’t all to say that my MFA wasn’t difficult. I was pushed in new ways, I’d never taught English composition or intro to creative writing before, I’d never even imagined what internal turmoil putting together a collection of poetry would be like, but for some reason it feels different. And that’s definitely not to say I didn’t meet and make great friends, I did. You might even make closer friends in grad school because the cohorts are smaller, everyone knows everyone, and you’re all going through pretty much the same struggles. You ‘get’ each other in ways others can’t fully understand. You know the same pains and gains of teaching, you know how much time and effort it takes to get a piece published whereas others think poems and prose fly straight out of our ……

I also know that there are different lessons to be learned. College is when you’re straight out of high school (for some of us, as it was for me anyway ) and you learn who you are without your parents, and if you go to college away from your hometown and with none of your HS friends, you learn who you are without them. It’s a process of discovery – about the world about yourself. My MFA experience has also been a process of learning what I like to read, how I write, what my habits, pitfalls, etc. are. I also learned harsher lessons like not everyone (even people you love, who love you) is going to like what you write. Literary magazines aren’t going to be the only thing or people to reject you.

But now that it’s finished, I worry – what’s next? I worry especially because as writers, post-MFAers, only some of us “make it”. Sure some of us might get fellowships or residencies or maybe even a Stegner or publish books, but it’s a hard life and for success to come (as in anything) one must remain committed. Committed to the process and not the project (according to one of our many writer tenets).

I sat in on many of my friends dissertation defenses and most got some sort of praise or affirmation – what you’re doing matters. Not to throw myself a pity party (which I can be pretty good at if you know me personally) but I didn’t feel that I got that (and maybe I did – my own defense is a blur since I was so excited and nervous as it took place). But, I hate to admit it but artists, writers, and yes, I, too, need affirmation time and again. It can be difficult sitting here on days or nights when I could be out with friends or doing other things ‘normal’ people do instead of sitting here typing, writing, putting these words down. I feel like I go through periods where I don’t think I need that and then I crave it so much it bothers me. Sometimes writing is such a solitary act it’s nice to have someone tell you what you do matters, that your words matter. But I suppose even then, one should realize that that affirmation and acknowledgement isn’t always going to happen, and so if you really want to ‘make it’ you have to make it yourself. YOU have to put in the time regardless of the praise or lack of it that you get. You have to truly love what you do. And sometimes I struggle with this. I do, indeed, love what I do but I also “do” a lot of things – I teach, I volunteer leading writing workshops for communities, I write, but I also help run a program. And I (for better and sometimes worse) have an addictive personality. When it comes to my job, love, running, life and everything in between I go in full force, heart on my sleeve, and will spend extra time doing what needs to be done, but this also leads to burn out and sometimes, heartache particularly when you’re a workaholic who has somehow managed to not give as much of yourself and your time to family and friends, especially when you don’t give yourself your “me” time.

I’m constantly in a state of flux as I am sure most of us are. I wonder if I am burnt out, if I need a break, but what would I do? Where would I go? And I certainly couldn’t go anywhere now. I am committing (for once in my life perhaps) to stay at this current job 2 more years if we get our grant back. This all probably sounds whiny or meaningless but I am having a quarter-life crisis. I always have a plan. I am a planner. Since kindergarten (and believe me there’s proof in an article on me as Bobcat of the week) I wanted and planned to go to Stanford. I worked my entire life to get there – every class, every extracurricular, etc. Then after Stanford I didn’t know what to do but I applied to the MFA and that was another 3 years planned. But even that got messy with the job opportunity that opened and I took and now at least I have a job post-MFA b/c of that little blip in the plan. So maybe that’s what I needed to get to in writing this… that the right paths will be shown to you at the right moments and you’ll fall into place where you need to be.

So while I have no clue what I’ll do next (if our grant doesn’t get renewed or even after I put in the 2 years I plan to stay) – maybe I’ll apply for PhD programs in Education, or maybe I’ll go to law school after all, maybe I’ll get lucky and be offered different writer fellowships or residencies, maybe I’ll even get a first book published, maybe… maybe if I just wait and try to live my life in a good way I’ll get to wherever it is I need to be.

Thanks for listening to my mini-rant, whine, etc. Dear Reader I have not forgotten you and hope you get to wherever it is you need to be and that hopefully that means you get what or who you need.

Making Connections

 

Dear Reader:

Last week I was invited to be a speaker for a high school graduation. It was a request I never expected to get, at least not at this young of an age, at least not at this time in my life when I still feel young. Immediately I was humbled. I felt happy and grateful: “really? they asked for me?” were some of the questions running through my head. After I hung up the phone and soaked in the news, the weight of it hit me. What would I say? What have I accomplished in the 26 years of my life that makes me someone worth sharing life knowledge with young people about to enter their adult lives?

So I made an internal list of possibilities:

• I came from a reservation and attended an Ivy league college (Stanford) and graduated.
• I co-edited a book with one of my mentors
• I teach freshman English and Intro to Creative Writing at UNM
• I am the Assistant Director for an Upward Bound program
• I’ve published poems

Sure these are accomplishments, many of which I’ll even venture to say deserve mention or respect at some level. But they are just roles I fulfill, things I’ve done that anyone can say they’ve done at one point or another. Looking at that list it sounds like a resume, a bio someone reads before you speak. The list doesn’t seem like the “meat” of anything substantial that could feed the souls of anyone for more than 5 minutes and even then, 15 minutes or so after the speech – would any of it seem memorable?

Probably not.

In one of my creative nonfiction workshops, our professor said that people are drawn to write and read memoir because it is about hurt, traumas, things we can relate to. One often turns to memoir for healing or some sort because something in our world doesn’t sit right with us and we too want to enter the unstable situation of the “story” and come out (while not completely healed and steady) but at least a little more stable than we started off.

As a writer I think, what do I share on the page that would hopefully stay with a reader? So I apply this same type of mentality to the graduation speech. What could I possibly say, what would I want to say that could resonate and stay with these students? What do I feel is important for them to carry with them as they enter the next phase of their lives?

I’d have to say that as you get older, things change you. All throughout your life things have changed you. We all have those experiences that have split us open from the inside and shattered the very being of us…we’ve all had to put ourselves back together at one point. We’d all like to hear that these things happen for a reason, that we are being molded and scraped and smoothed and chipped into the exact shapes of what we need to be to prepare us for our destinies. And this is true.

Looking back to that phone call and the request I can’t help but think “how did I get here?” And I know. I am here in this job that allowed me to work with and reach these students in the first place because of M. And that’s not to say I didn’t have any control in my “fate.” I took initiative in applying for a fellowship that first summer I worked with this program and I got the job. But losing M… well that changed me. Losing M broke me and my core and refocused my outlook on the world. If it hadn’t been for M I wouldn’t have looked at the students the same, I wouldn’t have undertaken my job with as much passion and empathy as I did then. And all of those things are the reasons why I stuck with the job for 5 more years, why I was able to impact the students in whatever way I did to get to where they are asking me to speak at this milestone in their lives.

I do not take this lightly. I will have to share that story because it is so much a part of who I am. And it’s not some Lifetime or Disney movie where I just came out on top. Every day was a struggle for the first two years. Every significant date was a struggle for the next two years after that. And here, nearly five years later after the loss of M, I have enough of the “psychic distance” we writers need to “make sense” of some of those experiences. What I learned (at least part of it) is that the things that break you, also make you. They make you more empathetic, they make you able to relate to and help others who have experienced some of the same hardships. They make you a survivor. They make you a re-memberer who can help put other people back together when they feel as if they are falling apart and they make you remember that there are “bigger” things in the world besides the things we let get to us, the petty angers or frustrations. And we remember that we never know what people are going through beneath the surface.

Life continues to amaze me just when I least expect it. Last week as I was traveling I thought of how much I am always traveling…caught in between here and there. I felt the need to feel grounded. Later at the airport and I thought of M. And for the life of me I couldn’t remember the date M died, the date of M’s birth, and I nearly stopped breathing. 2 days that held such significance and here I could not pull those details from my memory. I Googled M’s name and FB profile. And then I found it – the connection – I would’ve never been on this path that I am on. In that moment, under my breath, I thanked M. And I finally felt grounded in the love.

M taught me that you never know just how significant your life is to someone. You never know how much of a difference you make, the difference you CAN make in your lifetime, in one year, in one month, in ONE moment if you just be a blessing to others, a family member, a stranger, or a friend. And somehow, doesn’t that make the world a little less scary? Somehow doesn’t that make you feel full that you have the power to be someone’s blessing in the world.

I bet M didn’t have any idea back then how far his grasp and influence would reach, how many people are still being affected because of him. Luckily I have time to think more about all I want to say and how I want to say it, but these are just my initial thoughts. I do know I am grateful for this opportunity.

Be a blessing to someone today Reader. And when you are a blessing to others you will receive them as well and when you least expect it, when you’re about to lose your breath, you’ll make the connections you need.