Posted by Elizabeth

On Fridays at Life in Pencil, Anne and I like to highlight the different ways that other people are living their lives in pencil.  This week I’d like to introduce you to Annie Lambla, AKA “The Yogurt Pedaler.” Annie and I met nearly two years ago in Goreme, Turkey, a small town nestled in the heart of the country’s Cappadocia region, where otherworldly rock formations twist skyward to create a dreamy moonscape.  Maikael and I arrived, dusty and exhausted, at The Fairy Chimney Inn just as the sun was peeking over the craggy hills, our bones having been rattled within an inch of their life after a long overnight bus trip.  Annie, a fresh-faced recent college graduate, arrived that same morning, eager to start a part-time volunteer job at the Inn, having fallen in love with Cappadocia on a trip earlier that year.  She loved Turkey so much, in fact, that she moved to Istanbul just after college graduation to teach English, and was capping off her year of adventure with a serving stint.

Ten years her senior, I remember being struck by how comfortable she seemed in her own skin, how she jumped head first into breakfast service moments after her arrival, confidently balancing plates on her palm while taking orders for eggs.  Annie, Maikael, and I spent a memorable day together during our all-too-brief stay, hitchhiking (her idea) to nearby Avanos, where Annie assuredly translated to the driver of the Mercedes who eventually picked us up and wanted to spend the rest of afternoon with us.  “I told him we had friends to meet in Avanos,” she said simply, having effortlessly managed what could have been an awkward interaction at best (or a crazed killer at worst).  And although she’d never been to the town, Annie acted as our cultural tour guide, snaking us through pottery shops where we threw misshapen bowls, ducking into an ancient ice cream parlor, and breezing through the local market.

As we got to know Annie during the course of stay, usually over long afternoon talks in the inn’s sunny courtyard, I was impressed by what she had accomplished as a young adult just beginning to make her first tentative steps into the big bad world.  She had studied abroad in France and was planning on a return visit after her time in Turkey to intern with a dairy farm.  She was just as interested in anthropology as she was in architecture.  She had published academic papers and was considering graduate school.  I couldn’t help but think back to myself at 22, nervously navigating my way through life, second guessing every decision I made, wondering what I was interested in and where I belonged.  Needless to say, I was impressed by how Annie was truly embracing life, and couldn’t help but lament how I had frittered my 20s away.  Whereas I had been intent on furiously etching my half-baked plans in pen, Annie was happily making tentative pencil strokes and confidently wielding her eraser.  Although we were acquainted with each other only briefly, I knew in my soul that she was going to be a success, because she was already demonstrating the necessary skills to live a life in pencil:  curious, willing to forge her own path, unafraid to take risks, and able to move forward without a plan penned in permanent marker.

Since we parted paths, I’ve kept in touch with Annie through the magic of Facebook and email, and am always eager to learn what adventure she’s currently on.  In the intervening years there have been internships and jobs in Chicago, art exhibitions in Istanbul (she’s a terrific photographer), and plenty of foreign travel.  She has rewritten her life many, many times over the past two years, but her current undertaking intrigues me the most.

As The Yogurt Pedaler, Annie is launching a grassroots effort to connect yogurt-making to local dairy farms and their communities, getting people together on the street and in their kitchens.  Peddling through Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio by bicycle this August and September, Annie will pull a cart behind her bicycle, where she will meet with local dairy farmers, take their milk to nearby towns, schools, and summer camps, and teach people how to make yogurt.  As a self-described “urban anthropologist,” Annie says that The Yogurt Pedaler combines her “passion for bikes, hand-made food, and street life.”  Maybe it’s my love of local food culture (no pun intended), but this seems like such an exciting and innovative project, one I never would have had the guts to attempt in my early 20s.

If you’d like to read more about Annie and The Yogurt Pedaler project, I encourage you to visit her website.  She has a month to raise $1,800 to get her endeavor off the ground, so if you are a fellow yogurt enthusiast – or just someone who wants to help a bright, interesting, and interested young woman live out her dream (in pencil) – consider donating via the link on her website.  Nothing inspires me to live my life in pencil more than helping something else do the same.

Thanks, Annie, for being a great Life in Pencil Role Model, and good luck in your new job as The Yogurt Pedaler!

Life in Pencil has made a few appearances lately amongst our supportive blog community.  Gale at Ten Dollar Thoughts wrote a great piece about vacationing “in pencil,” and Lindsey at A Design So Fast reprised a post about her own birthing experience after reading my recent piece about Birth Plans, Life Plans.  Thanks, ladies!

Life in Pencil is delighted and honored to feature author Aidan Donnelley Rowley as part of our ongoing project to highlight people we believe exemplify a Life in Pencil.  We were introduced to Aidan’s blog, Ivy League Insecurities, nearly a year ago, and have since enjoyed her honest, clever, and heartfelt writing.  We’ve followed her journey to the publication of her debut novel, Life After Yes—a novel with rich characters whose lives are full of choices and uncertainty, as well as joy.  A novel that speaks to Life in Pencil, just as Aidan does.  Enjoy our Q&A, and be sure to check out Aidan Donnelley Rowley’s work—on the shelves, and on the web. 

1.  Our blog, Life in Pencil, is interested in exploring how we “rewrite” life one day at time.  In what ways has your life turned out like you expected, and how has it surprised you?

First of all, I love – and believe in – the idea of living a Life in Pencil. What is existence but an ever-changing draft of our story? I also love the very concept of rewriting when it comes to life and literature; I spend far more time editing my words than I do writing them. Now, for your question! In important ways, my life has turned out how I expected. I always assumed I would marry and have children. And I have done both. Beyond this family aspect, I never once predicted that I would be spending my days in jeans squinting at a bright screen between birthday parties and soccer classes. I never thought I would have a book published. Alas, there have been some exquisite surprises so far.

2.  What are some of the small ways in which you rewrite your life on a daily basis?

For better or worse (and it’s likely for worse), I am a major perfectionist. I am prone to doubt and self-criticism, so every day I tend to go through a litany of things I would like to change about myself, my work, and my life. Essentially, it is as if I am sitting down with a stack of life’s pages with that proverbial red pen. This can be problematic, yes. But often it is a good thing because I am constantly finding ways to tweak the story I am attempting to live.

3.  As career counselors, we’re very interested in the process of how people choose their career paths, especially when their paths are nontraditional. Has your career path emerged according to your plan or in spite of a plan?

This is a very good question and I am not sure I can answer it. Because I don’t really know. Was there some grand plan for me, for where I’d end up? Perhaps. Was it my plan or my parents’ plan or society’s plan? I’m not sure. Probably all of the above. Leaving the corporate law firm at which I practiced briefly was certainly a big risk. The first real risk I’ve ever taken. At the time, the move felt sudden and spicy. But looking back now, with the cool benefit of hindsight, I wonder if I knew all along that I would jump? Maybe the jump was part of the plan? (Told you I can’t answer this one, but I do love trying.)

4.  Life in pencil is all about living our life in the now.  In your own life, do you spend more time thinking about your past, living your present, or planning your future?

I split the vast majority of my time thinking about the past and the future. And I’m not proud of this, but at the moment, I’m not sure how to avoid it. As a writer, I find that I’m constantly mining my past experiences for material and imagining what will happen in the future to me and the other characters in my life. As a mother, I find that I frequently reminisce about my own childhood, using it as a roadmap in my own mothering. I also can’t help but daydream about what’s to come; what kind of people will my girls be? I wish that I were able to focus more intently and organically on the present. Intellectually, I know that Now is everything. Practically, I don’t know how to stay there too long. I would like to work on this.

 5.  What’s something you do that gets in way of living your life in pencil?

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Should. This word creeps into my head and heart and home way too often. I fashion unruly expectations for myself – as a writer and mother and wife and person – and I do this all the time. These are expectations which are not possible to meet and when I do not meet them, I feel bad. I waste time beating myself up. I so often think of how many wonderful things I could be doing instead of chiding myself for what boils down to being human.

6.  Are there times in your life that it’s been easier to live your life in pencil than others?

Of course. We’ve all heard of Writer’s Block and I think there’s something akin to that when it comes to simply living. Life Block. There are soggier times when – often for no good reason – I feel stuck in the metaphorical mud. Times when the air feels damp and ominous and uncertain. Times when I feel like I have little control over life’s pen. But, oddly, I treasure these times even though they can be miserable while I am experiencing them. I treasure them because they are fleeting and because they are raw reminders for me of the texture of existence, of the hard questions, of the rough edges. Without these things, life’s story would lack depth.

7.  How are you striving to live your life in pencil right now?

This is an interesting and surreal time for me. My first novel was just released and I am riding those profound post-publication waves. I am seeing just why so many people compare publication to birth because, in so many ways, I do feel sleep-deprived and like I am at the mercy of raging hormones. At this point, I am very contemplative and am thinking about how I want the pages of my life going forward to read. Do I want to keep going full-steam with the blogging and booking? Do I want to refocus my creative energy on my girls for a while? I’m not sure. But the mere asking, the mere possibility of rewriting Now is critically important to me. Maybe just maybe, there are important and quiet times before that pencil is put to that paper, before those words and worries are crossed out or corrected, that matter more than we think and know?

We hope this Q&A tells you something of the thoughtful writing you’ll find in Aidan’s debut novel, Life After Yes.  Click HERE, and treat yourself to your own copy today.    

We were excited to be approached to host New York Times best-selling author Allison Winn Scotch at Life in Pencil today, whose third novel, The One That I Want, was recently published.  Telling the story of 32 year-old Tilly, a woman who, at a crossroads in her life, is convinced that external circumstances will provide the missing puzzle piece, we knew this book would be up our readers’ alley.  Ms. Winn Scotch’s writing, though fiction, grapples with many “life in pencil” themes, including letting go of carefully mapped plans, questioning life choices, and entertaining the possibility of alternative paths.  The One That I Want even features a fortune teller – and how many times have Anne and I written of our search for answers amongst Magic 8 Balls and astrologers?  Enjoy this interview with Allison Winn Scotch!

Our blog, Life in Pencil, is interested in exploring how we “rewrite” life one day at time.  The One That I Want is very much in keeping with this theme.  In what ways has your life turned out like you expected, and how has it surprised you?

Wow, what a great question! I think the big surprise for me, to be honest, is that I earn my keep as a writer. As a kid and a young adult, I always hoped to do something in the creative field, but to be honest, writing just seemed…outrageous, unattainable. So that I genuinely earn my living this way is a wonderful, wonderful surprise. I also don’t think I ever anticipated living in NYC for as long as I have and do, though I’d like to leave at some point in the future. In terms of the rest of it, I, of course, always hoped to have a happy home life, and I’m fortunate that I do. One thing that I think I’ve always done that has helped steer me toward what I wanted out of life is that I’ve always been fairly clear on what I would and wouldn’t compromise on. When I didn’t like the “real” job I got out of college, I reassessed and quit. When relationships weren’t what I anticipated, I found a way to untangle myself. Whatever the circumstances, I’ve always been pretty bullheaded about staying true to myself (not, you know, to sound like an American Idol contestant or anything!), and I think that’s certainly helped me shape my overall picture.

Living life “in pencil” often means taking a leap into the unknown and not being able to plan your path.  Did you know how the novel was going to end when you started writing it?

No…I wish I did, that would probably make the process a lot easier! But I write where my characters take me, which sounds kind of silly, I know, but it’s true. As the author, I do throw obstacles and whatnot in their way, but mostly, I feel like I just let them lead…I have an understanding of who they are, and then they make organic choices that suit the situations I’ve put them in. I think if I knew how everything was going to end, their journeys would likely be pretty different over the course of the book, and, I think, likely less honest.

How you approach the writing process – letting things flow naturally, making organic choices in response to circumstances – sounds like good advice for living life.  In what ways do you feel you are living your life “in pencil” right now?

I feel like I’m always sort of in a constant state of tweaking. Like, if my husband and I aren’t doing as well at, say, communicating, as I’d like us to be, I sort of place myself as a bystander to our situation and assess how we could improve. I think temperature checks are important because, to be honest, I also think it’s really easy for life to go completely off the rails if you don’t make these little tweaks. They help realign everything. So definitely, life is a moving, breathing form that is always being adjusted – it’s part action, part reaction. I’m also a mother to a 5 year old and 3 year old, and I think most parents will tell you that you have no other choice than to “parent in pencil!” It’s very learn-on-the-job! And what worked a year ago might not work now. So, again, reassessing, checking in, tweaking and moving forward.

In your books you take on life choices as a theme, the what-if questions that are fun to ask and answer, but would be far more challenging to actually have to live with the consequences in real life. How do you come up with these questions?

Great question. To be honest, I start with a mundane idea: what if a woman thinks her life is wonderful but, in fact, it’s anything but? Or what if a woman had the chance to have a redo on her life? Those are everyday, normal, human questions that I think we’ve all wrestled with to a certain extent at some point. I also just think about what is going on in my own life, as well as homing in on what’s happening with my friends: what we’re talking about at our girls’ dinners, our complaints, our joys, our frustrations. I do fairly frequent temperature checks with myself and try to make little adjustments so I don’t get thrown totally off track. So I guess these questions come from the place of where I might be if I didn’t do these check-ins. It’s pretty easy to really go off the rails if you don’t pay attention. And from there, I add in the more fantastical elements. They just heighten the stakes, but if I do my job well, the books are still pretty grounded and about my characters’ humanity, not the supernatural elements involved.

As professionally trained career counselors and aspiring writers ourselves, we’re very interested in the process of how people choose their careers, especially when their paths are nontraditional. When did you know that you wanted to be a writer?

I think I always wanted to be a writer but realistically didn’t think – or realize – that it was possible until my mid-20s. I’d grown up writing, in journals, for my school paper, and later in college, a fairly prestigious op-ed column in the campus paper, but…I mean..really? Getting paid for it? It just seemed outlandish even though a lot of people suggested I pursue it! I wasn’t until I was, I think, 26, and was starting to take on freelance PR clients that I realized it might be feasible – I started doing a lot of web copy and eventually magazine articles, and one thing led to another and I tried my hand at fiction. Three books later, I sincerely still can’t believe how fortunate I am.

The One That I Want is about looking forward in time as opposed to backward (as with your previous novel, Time of My Life). In your own life, do you spend more time thinking about your past, living your present, or planning your future?

Hmmm, I suppose that the optimal answer is that I spend the most time living in the present, and I think for the most part, I do. I’m pretty aware of how fortunate I am to be living the life I am – I sincerely appreciate it almost every single day. But that said, I’m certainly one to pull out photos of my college years or whenever and wax nostalgic. I just had my college reunion, and I think a lot of us felt that way! As far as looking to the future, that’s probably the one I do the least. I guess I do so in terms of goal-setting, but mostly, I’m content with the idea that if I work hard in the moment and the here and now, the future will take care of itself.

Are you a planner by nature, or more spontaneous?

I’m both! I’m pretty anal about things that have to do with my career…at least as far as what I can control, which, to be honest, isn’t that much in this industry. But when it comes to everything outside of work, I’m pretty flexible and spontaneous. I grew up in Seattle, where I think it was just understood that you had to be mellow and laid-back! So overall, I’d say I’m spontaneous but there are some things that you do have to assert control over, and my career is really the biggie for me.

Most of your books question the paths that your characters have taken in their lives and explore alternate paths. Have you pondered that for yourself?

Yes and no. I do feel like I do pretty consistent temperature checks with myself, along the lines of, “Okay, are you satisfied with XYZ and if not, what can you do to increase your satisfaction,” and part of that is undoubtedly considering the road not taken. But I don’t really have any lingering “what ifs,” in my life. Sure, I might think about them from time to time, but I really am the type of person who takes her current reality and tries to improve upon it. I think this is definitely one of the underlying themes in my books: if you’re not living the life you want, then what?

Why do your books tackle the “what if?”

Asking those big, life-changing questions allows me to take the heroine’s journeys and up the stakes, just as those questions do the same thing in real life. What if you’re not living the life you want? Then what?

What’s the biggest “what if” in your own life?

Such a great question! I met my husband almost by fluke – I’d taken a gamble and given up an acting career in LA to move back to NYC to pursue an internet opportunity with a college friend. I found an apartment and got settled and joined a gym…where, a few months later, I met my husband. (Yes, really.) So I do wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t moved into that neighborhood or if I’d joined a different gym OR, if I hadn’t made a point to introduce myself to him. (What can I say? I thought he was cute.) And, going back a little further, what if I hadn’t taken that leap and abandoned my hopes of becoming an actress and leaving LA? So hard to imagine, and I’m one of those people who usually believes that life plays out how it’s supposed to (though I don’t believe this in all circumstances), so I don’t weigh myself down with this questions too often. Sometimes though, for sure!

For a full synopsis of this great “life in pencil” read, click here, and if you’re interested in ordering a copy of Ms. Winn Scotch’s book, click here.  Her website has lots of great information (her second novel, Time of My Life, is being made into a movie!), and you can follow her on Facebook and Twitter.  Further, today is the LAST DAY to enter a contest that Ms. Winn Scotch is hosting, which includes such fabulous prizes as a one-year subscription to Entertainment Weekly (Anne is already salivating).  Click here for more details.  You must buy a copy of the book by TODAY to be eligible.

Posted by Anne

“Am I in the right place?” I ask.

“Well, are you a writer?” she replies.  The instructor is perky and petite, with bright eyes and a blond bob.

“Uh, well, I don’t know.  Not really.  Maybe?  We’ll see,” I respond, already making an ass of myself.

This is how my weekend writing workshop began.  On this blog, I tell my stories, and the stories of my Life in Pencil triumphs and failures.  But I crave the opportunity to tell other stories too—fictional stories.  And more specifically, the stories that involve people ages 14 to 19.  And so I signed up for a 2-day workshop focused on Young Adult fiction, when I’ve never written much more than a few (highly autobiographical) short stories.   Yet there I was, fanatically taking notes on a craft I want to call my own.

In typical fashion, I was the first to arrive, which gave me time to watch my fellow workshop attendees file into the room.  We met at a small, funky manufactured home on the outskirts of the city, with coffee and an impressive array of fattening muffins for our consumption. A balding man in his 60’s(?) asked to borrow a pen.  A couple of people talked about health issues—weight loss, cancer, and ailing spouses.  Another woman began joking about her inability to operate her cell phone.  It didn’t take long to realize I would be the only 30-year-old at this workshop.  As is so often the case in my life, I was the youngest in the room.

It didn’t surprise me.  I’m accustomed to being the youngest person in a room.  I often joke about ending up in these situations—all of which are of my own choosing.  My women’s fly-fishing club.  Community cooking classes.  Church retreats.  Where, exactly, are the women my age?  It’s always been a mystery to me.

Nevertheless, I settled into my chair, and carefully penciled Young Adult Workshop, Day 1 at the top of my legal pad.  And I listened as the folks around me introduced themselves, stating their reason for attendance.  They ALL described fairly active writing lives, and I immediately felt inadequate.  I stared at the blank lines of my legal pad, wondering how on earth to describe my purpose there.  Well, you see, I love to write and have always dreamed of writing fiction, and have an age-inappropriate affection for teenage books and films.  So here I am. I imagined this off-beat group of writers staring right back at me, perplexed by my lack of focus.

But, as is often the case, first impressions aren’t everything.  Sure, some of the participants had written entire books—but some had not.  And nobody seemed quite as passionate about writing for teenagers as I did. Few (if any?) of them said they wrote for a living. None seemed to have majored in creative writing, journalism, or communications in college.   But they were there—engaged and enthusiastic, calling themselves “writers”, and showing me great kindness.  I munched my banana nut muffin and recited the clichéd phrase in my head, “It’s never too late to pursue a passion.”   And then I scanned the room again and decided…But I don’t want to wait THAT long.

On a recent telephone conversation with my sister, I bemoaned the fact that I hadn’t pursued my love of writing much earlier in life.  And she, so wise and so blessedly blunt, said, “Anne—you’re 30.  It’s not like your ship has sailed.  You can still write.”   The truth of this statement came charging back at me during that two-day workshop.  Something gave those people in my workshop the courage to call themselves writers.  A sister, a mentor, or simply the growing need to rewrite a part of their own lives.  That realization may have hit them 5 years ago, or 5 months ago.  It didn’t matter.  They were writing.

Whatever our reason for being there, it was endearing to see all of us—age 30 or age 60—spending 2 days discussing how to reach 15-year-olds through our writing.  We talked character, voice, and plot.  We scribbled novel premises, chugged coffee, and tried to unravel the secret to Twilight’s success.  And very soon, my age was irrelevant.  I may have been the youngest in the room, but my goals were no different.

My ship hasn’t sailed, and neither has theirs.

Do you run into this experience in your extra-curricular activities?  Are you the youngest?  If you write, when is it okay to call yourself a writer?

March’s theme at Life in Pencil is Beginnings.

Posted by Anne

In counseling, the use of metaphor is a crucial tool in a therapist’s toolbox.  When working with my students, I adore the use of a metaphor that resonates and captures the point I’m attempting (sometimes ungracefully) to make with my own words.  Even better is when a student uses their own metaphor—one that comes from their own imagination.  When they toss out these nuggets of brilliance, I latch on quickly; using their words is much more powerful.  I believe in the healing potential of a really great metaphor.

When Elizabeth and I first developed Life in Pencil—9 months ago on a sunny weekend in the Northwest—we clung to writing as the metaphor for how we wanted to live our lives.  For two women whose friendship revolves around the written page, this made sense.  We loved the idea of “rewriting” our lives, and allowing the sequence of daily, monthly, or even yearly events to be sketched tentatively in pencil, rather than pen.  It’s a rich metaphor for us, and has so much to say in a month where a theme of “beginnings” has guided our posts.  Starting over and beginning again—whether it’s a day, a week, or a life that you need to begin again—is a process of erasing, rewriting, and revising. 

While writing is the metaphor that suits us, I’m always amazed at how often in a day I notice another way of seeing Life in Pencil.  The metaphors are endless for the philosophy we advocate on this blog.  I notice the metaphors when I cook, when I run, and when I travel.  And this weekend, I noticed an especially fitting metaphor when I spent four hours sewing.   

Side note:  If you don’t know me well, the fact that I spent an afternoon sewing is a fairly major deal.  I come from a family of talented seamstresses (my late Grandmother, my Mom, my Aunt B), and yet I’ve never learned to do anything more than sew a button onto a shirt. So when my extremely talented sister-in-law told me she was teaching a sewing class for beginners, I decided to take the plunge. 

It was a blissful afternoon.  Time flew.  My patient sister-in-law walked us through the steps, and somehow I managed to produce TWO pillowcases!!  I developed a deep yearning to buy sewing gadgets and fabric.  But because this blog is forever in my mind, I saw metaphors.  We sewed lines that sometimes looked straight, and sometimes inched crookedly off their path.  We used pins and a special gadget to guide our line, but with our own hand still ultimately creating the path.  We learned when to be okay with imperfection, and when to fix our mistakes.  We learned to strengthen our stitches, and move forward confidently, even when we felt incompetent.  We learned how to rip those crooked seams, and start over.  Like I said, the metaphors were endless. 

The richest metaphors are the ones we develop ourselves.  Of course we want you to hang in there with us—with our metaphors too.  But what metaphor comes to mind when you think of living a “life in pencil”?  (Particularly the idea of starting over and beginning again when life doesn’t unfold according to your plans…)

Cooking?
Running?
Painting? 
Reading/novels?
School?

What else??  And do you sew?

Posted by Anne

March’s theme at Life in Pencil is Beginnings.

I love the phrase, “I’m a Beginner.”  Since I tend to acquire hobbies the way a collector acquires trinkets, I’m accustomed to my “beginner” status.  And actually, I kinda like it.  When you call yourself a “beginner”—be it cooking or fly-fishing—the expectations are low.  This means my soufflé can fall without much notice.  I can walk away from a river with nary a fish to my name, and nobody bats an eye.  Being a beginner is all about dabbling in the fun, with none of the pressure.

As familiar as I am with the “beginner” routine, I have to say…it’s been awhile since I tackled something totally new.  Thus, my beginner status is starting to wane.  Cooking, for example?  The jig is up.  I’m not a beginner, even if I were to attend a more advanced cooking class.  And so I’ve grown a wee bit accustomed to my foray into the world of “intermediate”.  Perhaps this is why I’m both excited and terrified to add a new chapter to my long book o’ hobbies.  Excited to try something new, and reclaim my beginner status.  But terrified to try something new and totally tank. So here it is…

As I mentioned in Wednesday’s post, I plan to attend a writing workshop this spring.  And I’m nervous.  Now, if this workshop were entitled “How to Write a Creative Non-Fiction Blog Post”, I’d feel a tad better.  I might not have my cherished excuse of being a total beginner, but at least I could conceivably avoid making a fool out of myself.  But that’s not the workshop.  The actual focus?

Writing for Young Adults.   Fiction.

I’m not sure what possessed me to sign up for this class.  Perhaps it has something to do with fulfilling a long-time fantasy of mine–writing a young adult novel.  We all have fantasies, and we reach the point where we finally say:  I’m not willing to not try this.  So yesterday I took the final step—I wrote a check, and sent it along with my much-too-easy registration form.  My writing dreams and anxieties—sign, sealed, delivered.

From the second I mailed that form, my status as a “beginner” has been haunting me.  (As far as young adult fiction goes, I’m definitely a beginner.) For some reason, I don’t want to cop out this time.  I don’t want to have to say, “Well, no biggie…I’m a beginner.” If my writing stinks, I’ll be sad.  I’ll be embarrassed.  And if my writing doesn’t stink?  I’ll still be self-conscious and anxious.  I’ll have the beginner façade to hide behind, and this time I don’t want to hide.  I want to be good.

Sometimes, it’s no fun to be a beginner.  But if we want to grow, we have to begin.

So I’m going to go through with this new goal, armed with nothing but my imagined story fragments and the words in my vocabulary.  And, I suppose, some guts.

I need to reclaim my love of beginning. And since my anxiety is only apt to increase over the next two months before the workshop, I have time to develop a game plan.  It’s a game plan I believe can be adapted to any new beginning–any time we’re scared of the consequences of trying something new.

My game plan:

1.  Acknowledge my anxiety and nerves, but avoid overanalyzing.

2.  When I arrive at the workshop (of 12 people total), immediately attempt to charm and befriend my fellow writers so they’ll like me, even if they hate my writing.  (Adapt this one to any new group–running, painting, etc.)

3.  Recite an array of platitudes in my head, such as “practice makes perfect” and “you have to start somewhere.”

4.  Let go, and just write. And listen.

5.  Indulge my inner student, and remind myself that I’m there to learn, not teach.

6.  Remind myself that it’s okay to be exactly what I am…a beginner.  Intermediate can wait.

When was the last time you felt like a beginner?  When you start something new, do you enjoy the learning process, or struggle until you achieve mastery?  Has anyone been to a writing workshop like this?  Is it totally terrifying?

March’s theme at Life in Pencil is Beginnings.

Posted by Anne

“What did you want to be when you were a little kid? What were your daydreams?”

This is a question I ask frequently in my work as a career counselor.  When people hit a professional wall, or lose themselves in all the “shoulds” of adulthood, I take them back to age 8 or 10, seeking pieces of themselves they’ve left behind.  No, rarely do we live the dreams of our childhood, but often there are glimmers of truth at those young ages—a love of science, or art, or music.  Lately, I’ve been asking myself this same question I ask my students.  Not because I’m unhappy with my work, but because I feel there might be a teeny piece missing from my work.  Art.

When I was 9 years old, I wanted to be an actress.  This isn’t particularly unique, but it did go beyond a passing phase. I took acting classes, auditioned for community theater, and even scored a part or two.  I was comfortable on the stage, and eager to act the emotions I imagined others felt.  And it wasn’t just acting.  I wrote stories in my head, and acted them in our backyard.  I listened to music non-stop.  And yet…I’ve never considered myself “artsy”.  I was studious, smart, hard-working, and good with people.  And because those are infinitely more “practical” qualities with which to pursue a career, those are the qualities that formed my professional identity.  Somewhere in life, I lost my inner artist.   

These days, I don’t want to become an actress, a painter, or a musician.  But sometimes I wonder where to put that creative energy.  Sure, there are aspects of my work that are incredibly creative…but artistic?  I’m just not sure.  I write because I miss that part of myself, but still—what about the other writing I want to do?  The writing that captures the worlds inside my head, complete with adolescent heroines, adventures, introspection, and fantasy?  Those stories float around in my head, never quite making it to paper or computer screen.  But should they?

When it comes to our professions, how much do we let the aspirations of our youth—our origins—speak to us when we develop the aspirations of adulthood?

I don’t know what to do with that lost artist of mine…partly because I really like the “grown-up” job I have.  But I do wonder when or how we should allow those lost dreams to creep into our current goals.  Last Friday, I found one answer.  I helped organize a “professional development day” for career professionals in my region.  We were lucky to have Richard Bolles, author of the What Color is Your Parachute series as our keynote.  He shared numerous nuggets of wisdom, but there was one statement that’s been haunting me since Friday…

When we’re developing our goals, it’s important that we avoid the trap of saying, “I can’t do that in this economy,” and sacrificing half our dream.  Because when you sacrifice half of your ideal work, you sacrifice the motivation that comes from pursuing what you really want.  And we need all the motivation we can get…ESPECIALLY in this economy.

A rational argument for following your career dreams.  This was new.  This wasn’t a cheesy motivational speaker (unconvincing), or a winner on Oscar night telling us we can all be whatever we want to be if we just believe in ourselves (bogus).  This was an honest and rational statement from an 83-year-old career development professional.  And it left me slack-jawed.

No, I haven’t decided to become an artist, an actress, or a full-time author.  I’m still that studious, practical helper—and much more so than the little girl who craved the spotlight.  But I’m toying with the idea of nurturing my career “origins”—my artistic beginnings–my FULL dream.  If I let myself believe I can pursue it, will I become more motivated?  Who knows, but I’m going to give it a try.  First up?  A writing workshop.  My first ever.  I hope to capture just a small piece of the worlds inside my head, putting them to paper for the first time. 

Exercise:

What did you want to be when you were a kid?  (List them all.)  Why?  What was appealing about these careers?
Then ask yourself if there are any pieces of that career goal that you’ve found in your current work OR hobbies—inside or outside the home. 

**No answer is too silly—if you wanted to be the President when you were a child, is there an element of your work that is persuasive?  Civic-minded?

Posted by Anne

Life in Pencil is getting ready to go in a new direction.  We’re not quite yet ready to unveil our new plans, but, beginning this month, we’ll focus on a new topic every month.  Since March is the beginning of spring, a time of new life, this month’s theme will be Beginnings.  How do we live our lives in pencil during that tenuous time when there is new life on the horizon?

Last week, you made me think.  I wrote this post on my life-to-do-list, and several of you admitted similar moments of panic, and asked this question:

What happens when we’ve checked off the items?  What next?

A great question.  A particularly great question when glimmers of spring appear—when daffodils begin peeking through the dirt, and we (or at least I) feel called to begin any one of a jillion different projects. And just as I can generate lists and lists of projects to go along with my new Spring swagger, I can likewise think of about a million (or at least 10) things I’d like to do with my life.  When I truly consider the options for my future, there is no shortage of ideas.  Rather, an overwhelming abundance.  “Beginnings” are everywhere.  I’m sure many of you can relate, and there are probably many reasons I struggle with this unending array of interests.  But there’s one root cause that came to mind last week, after a particularly stimulating counseling session with an adorably enthused student.  As I walked him through the results of his personality assessment, I found myself resonating deeply.  And this is the part where I get all career counselor-y on you, but it’s relevant…I swear.

Remember the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator?  If you weren’t around when I did my previous post on this ubiquitous personality test, then check this out—it’ll provide a little recap.  In that post, I wrote about that pesky part of my personality that’s very addicted to planning.  But last week, as I read your comments and listened to this young student, I realized there’s another part of my “type” (ENFJ to those of you who care) that’s becoming very Life in Pencil relevant these days.  So without further ado…

I’m an Extravert.

Now, pop culture totally screws up the whole “introvert/extravert” dichotomy.  Introverts are not necessarily shy (but sometimes are).  Extraverts are not necessarily loquacious social butterflies (but sometimes are…I’ve definitely got the loquacious part down.)  In actuality, a major difference between the types is where they get their energy.  Warning:  Massive overgeneralization of Myers Briggs Typology coming…Do you feel jazzed and refreshed after a stimulating presentation or conversation?  Extravert.  Do you feel exhausted and crave some major alone-time after you’ve been interacting with others all day?  Introvert.

But there’s another common quality of these types.  Introverts often have fewer interests, and even fewer friends…but really deep ones.  Extraverts?  We like to dabble in many interests, hobbies, and even relationships.  We’re broad.  And sometimes a little more shallow…at least when it comes to how deep we dive into these pursuits.

So…all those multiple interests of mine?  The fact that I can truly see myself pursuing several different options?  The part that’s a fan of beginning new projects?  It’s there—part of my personality.  Of course, maybe it has nothing to do with my personality, but it’s at least a theory.  And in some ways, I like this part of myself.  I believe there’s value in being a “Renaissance Woman”.  But I have to admit…when you’re obsessively calmly trying to craft a new “life-to-do-list”, this trait is also sort of a pain in the ass.  My broad interests regularly collide with the part of myself that’s craving sameness.  My quest for “beginnings” battles my internal need for stability.

I don’t have answers.  But I do have deep thoughts.  Here’s what I’ve realized…

Epiphany #1: This whole “planning your life” thing?  It’s hard when your interests veer in twenty different directions in the course of a single day.

Epiphany #2: Attempting to stick to one vocation is not only uncommon these days, the linear “path” may not fit me as well as I thought it would.

Epiphany #3: When I’m done checking off those massive items on my life to-do-list?  I’m never going to hurt for other options, other hobbies, other interests.  My extraverted personality will see to that.

Epiphany #4: Beginnings are a natural part of our life course, and they appear all the time.  The key is to embrace them, and let them work their magic.

How about you?  Regardless of the introvert/extravert piece of it, are you someone who dabbles in a lot of things?  Or do you maintain a steady few interests/pursuits?  Do you feel overwhelmed by options, or starving for them? Do you get a literal “spring” in your step when March rolls around?

Posted by Elizabeth

When I heard that Elizabeth Gilbert had written a new book, I was nervous.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to read Committed, which picks up where Eat Pray Love leaves off, chronicling her difficult decision to marry Felipe, the man she literally sails off into the sunset with at the end of the story.  There was no way this book could ever live up to EPL, for I am one of those women – and I know there are many of us – for whom EPL changed my life.  Although Maikael and I had already been toying with the idea of taking eight months out of our life to embark on a journey of self-discovery around the world, EPL sealed the deal for me.  Inspired by her tale, we even spent two weeks lapping up life and culture in Ubud, Bali, which she details in such a mesmerizing way.  For me, Gilbert’s prose captured what I was feeling but was unable to put into words at that time in my life, feelings about being caught between a conventional and unconventional life, about being unsure what I wanted from life, about not knowing who I was or what made me happy in the slightest.  As different as our lives were – I was ten years her junior and not considering divorce – I identified with Liz Gilbert.

But I know not everyone felt this way.  When my former bookclub read Eat Pray Love, our group was fiercely divided by equal amounts of adoration and dislike of the book.  Some felt her journey was trite, her head inflated, her love story too tidy and saccharine.  Other just simply didn’t “get it,” which was unfathomable to me, who had found such connection and solace in the book.  As I traveled around the globe, the subject of the book often came up in conversations with fellow explorers (it really was a worldwide phenomenon), and, even amongst the highly self-selecting group of long-term travelers, the division of opinions was just as acute.  Love it or hate it, the book clearly made people feel something.

However, when I learned that Elizabeth Gilbert was coming to town – and that $35 could buy me two tickets and a hardback copy of the book – I was Committed.  So last Wednesday night, me and 500 fellow Liz Gilbert fans, including my former therapist, filed into an expansive ballroom at the University of New Mexico, which was stuffed to the gills with conference seating and estrogen.  The audience was one loud hum, buzzing with the anticipation of a cultural icon about to speak.  But a loud hush fell over the room as soon as Elizabeth Gilbert stepped to the stage, a flowy grey cardigan draped over her thin frame, her tousled blond hair pulled away from her face in a messy twist, a genuine smile etched on her face.

For the next 30 minutes she talked about the process of writing Committed, which represents the fruits of her second attempt to write a follow-up book to EPL. She spent two years writing a 500-page manuscript…and then threw the entire thing away. As she spoke these words, I’m pretty sure I heard myself groan audibly.  I’ve never written anything 500 pages in length, but I’ve written something a tenth of the size, and even throwing that away is vomit-inducing.  Gilbert discussed how difficult it was to ditch the manuscript, one in which she had received a considerable advance from her publisher and who, after two years of work, was soon expecting a publishable book.  “But the book was horrible,” she said.  “It wasn’t ‘me.’  It wasn’t written in my voice.  It was written in the voice of who I thought I should be after the success of Eat Pray Love.”  Her best bet, she reasoned, was to take six months off to figure out the follow-up book she was meant to write.  In the meantime she gardened.  And one day, with her fingers dug hard into the soft earth, a single sentence – the sentence that was to become the opening line to the book – simply came to her.

Late one afternoon in the summer of 2006, I found myself in a small village in northern Vietnam, sitting around a sooty kitchen fire with a number of local women whose language I did not speak, trying to ask them questions about marriage.

From there she “took the sentence for a walk across the page,” and proceeded to pen Committed in a mere two months.

While not all of us have the luxury of time or literary advances, as I sat in that overheated ballroom, surrounded by a sea of like-minded New Mexicans, it dawned me on me what a powerful lesson her process presented for living a life in pencil.   There is nothing more important in this life than learning to be YOU – whoever you are.  In fact, is it even something we should have to learn? If we are skilled and equipped to be anything, it’s to be ourselves.  And yet, how difficult it can be to discover and then speak our voice, whether we are writers or not.  It shouldn’t be easier to be someone else, but that is often the case.  Borrowing someone else’s tastes, pleasures, preferences, and aversions is a simple game of mimicry; to truly face who we are, and not who we think we should be, is a lifelong project.

When we are living a life that isn’t attuned to who we are, it’s been my experience that things take forever to manifest themselves.  Everything feels like a Sisyphean task, making it difficult to differentiate between sheer hard work towards a difficult goal and being engaged in the “wrong” thing.  The difference, I think, is that when we are living a life attuned to who we are, things come more easily, more quickly.  While there are bumps in the road, setbacks, and hard uphill battles, the effort feels purposeful.  We feel a deep sense that, while the path is bumpy, it’s the right path to be traveling down.  No amount of construction can reshape the wrong path.

While we talk often here at Life in Pencil about making changes within the parameters of our existing lives, Gilbert’s story teaches us that sometimes life requires us to start over.  If a plan is born from a place that doesn’t feel true or authentic, no amount of “editing” is going to make it right.  Sometimes, major revisions are required.  Sometimes, we have to throw the baby out with the bathwater.  Sometimes, we have to start from scratch.  When Gilbert threw away that first draft, without another story idea in sight, she was facing a problem that needed to be solved, a puzzle of the highest order.  “A puzzle,” she said, “is just a crisis with the volume knob turned down.”  But rather than panicking, she trusted that time – and a vegetable garden – would eventually bring order to the puzzle.  “Problems are like cheap underwear,” a Buddhist monk friend once told her.  “Eventually they wear themselves out.”

And it’s true, isn’t it?  Over time, even the most pernicious problems wear themselves dull and raw, until we genuinely wonder what we were ever worried about in the first place.  Such was the case with Gilbert’s book, and such may be the case with any dilemma, crisis, or life change that you might be facing.  Sometimes, the best thing we can do is take a break and trust that the process will work itself out.  I have always believed that the only way out is through.  Whether we are talking about a failed book project, a career crisis, or a relationship gone awry, there is no easy shortcut or “work around” (as my computer programming husband would say).  We need those seemingly impossible puzzles, those failed attempts, to push us through to the other side.

Just last week I was cleaning out my office, and I discovered a draft of the first essay I had ever written nearly six years ago.  Back then, I was a graduate student in counseling psychology, and a career in writing was the furthest thing from my mind.  And yet, much like Elizabeth Gilbert, I was drying my hair one morning before school when a single line popped into my head.  I immediately scrambled to write it down, and proceeded to skip my morning classes – which I never did – to write an entire essay, which tumbled forth from that one line.  I wasn’t sure where this line had come from, or where it was going, but two years later I submitted that essay to a local writers’ conference.  I remember feeling very proud of my effort, a reflection of the best I could produce at the time.  But reading this essay six years later, while there are lines that are still gems, it struck me that it just wasn’t very good!  The ideas are there, but the execution is sloppy, amateur.  It dawned on me how much I have grown as a writer in that time span, but how necessary it was to write those first stumbling drafts on my way through to becoming a writer.  And when I read this post in another six years, I’m sure I’ll be struck by the same thought.

Gilbert’s friend, an artist, often reminds her, “The creative product is the unidentical twin of the dream you had in your head.”  In other words, what we produce while pursuing the creative process – be it writing a book, baking a pie, or even living life itself – is often a flawed copy of the perfect image we held in our head when we conceived the idea.  It seems to me that the purpose isn’t to create a facsimile but to simply chase after that image to the best of our abilities.  Whatever we produce will never be as perfect as we’d hoped.  But with time and experience, I think our image and the real thing grow closer together.  Just like Gilbert’s book, this blog, as imperfect as it is, couldn’t exist without that first humble essay.  And whatever goal you are working towards in your life couldn’t be accomplished without whatever fumbling efforts you are making right now.

Are you a fan of Eat, Pray, Love (or not)? Have you read Committed?  What lessons do you take away from Gilbert’s process that I have missed?  Do you think that sometimes starting over is the best thing?

Posted by Anne

A Life in Pencil strawberry tart...created the weekend Elizabeth and I planned to start our blog.

If you’ve read this blog for very long, you’ve probably deduced that both Elizabeth and I are avid cooks.  We tinker in the kitchen, swap recipes, and drool over food blogs.  When Elizabeth visited me last summer, we spent a chipper afternoon in my teeny kitchen, creating a strawberry tart from farm-fresh Northwestern berries.  I left the custard up to Liz, knowing she’d manage just fine, while I rolled out a crust and eased it into the tart pan.  We cook.  I’d like to humbly (or not-so-humbly?) submit that we both cook pretty well.  And we cook from scratch.

From Scratch. I wonder about this phrase.  There’s value in this phrase…and pride.  It’s the barometer for “real cooking.”  Go to a party bearing a homemade pie or batch of zucchini bread, and you just might be asked, “Did you make this from scratch?”  99% of the time, my answer is “yes”.  And part of the reason I cook from scratch is because it’s simply what I know…it runs in the family.  One need look no further than my sister or mother.  My mother is notorious for only buying the makings of a tasty meal.  I had a friend in high school—he’d enter our kitchen, open the fridge, and groan.  “Don’t you have any food?” This was always odd to me, since my Mom’s fridge is generally stuffed to the gills with…food. When I’d point this out, my friend would reply, “No, I mean SNACKS.  You always have very fine looking ingredients with which someone might make something.  But that’s not the same.” And my Mom has passed this on.  I can confidently say Elizabeth is the same—her culinary gifts were handed down by her equally gifted mother, and then honed to a talent by her own curiosity.

But there’s another reason I cook from scratch—beyond the influence of my mother. I love the process.  I love starting with a few raw ingredients, and crafting them into a whole.  I love beginning—pulling bottles of spices from my cabinet, and veggies from the drawers of my fridge.  I love stirring, whisking, and wondering how the finished product will look and taste.  And despite my love of lists, I often find myself tampering with recipes, or ditching them altogether.  Cooking—from scratch—is part of my routine, and my life.

My cookbook shelf. (Or at least one of them...)

From scratch. It’s an integral part of my culinary self, but I’m afraid it ends there.  If there’s one thing I avoid in my life, it’s starting over again…from scratch.  It’s puzzling to me, because I have the ingredients to start from scratch.  I am resilient.  I can even be tough.  I’m an extrovert who loves meeting new people.  And at times, I’m even creative.  The raw material is there.  But new beginnings still exhaust me—making me wish for the brownie-mix version of a head start when it comes to planting myself in a new situation, new job, new community, or new life.

We often need to start from scratch.  For good reasons and difficult reasons.  Marriage.  Divorce.  Loss.  Birth.  We need to know how to start over, and use the gifts (ingredients) we’ve inherited and developed.  We need to know how to blend them together, into a new and satisfying version of ourselves.  We need to adapt to change.

If only it was easier.  Like baking a cake…from scratch.

How about you?  Are you better at working from scratch when it comes to your life, or your kitchen?