Stories Come Before the Sunrise, #365StrongStories 5

Before my eyes were open and before the sun made it over the horizon, it was time to discuss when my six-year-old’s doll had been born. “I think that Margaret’s birthday is in May.”

Clearly, this had us thinking about the calendar.

“Mama, why do we celebrate the fourth of July?”

Brief description of Revolutionary War. Disambiguation: no, the Pilgrims didn’t fight.

“Did they wear armor in that war?”

Discussion of wigs as seen in most recent Magic Tree House book.

Interspersed throughout the Q & A period in which I mumbled and Moira mused, Mairead began her own interrogation.

“Mama! Hello!”

Hi.

“Milkies?”

No.

“All gone?”

Yes.

She accepts this and knocks me in the face with her water bottle. Really, she is being quite reasonable for a 23-month-old. I’m able to yank my shirt down and tickle her ‘til she giggles. It beats the screaming.

Everything beats the screaming.

But Mairead is persistent. “Hungry?”

We are on the precipice of the hysterical screaming danger zone.

“Eggies?”

I assume you hear the plaintive desperation in the toddler’s voice.

Finally, I  clamor through the tangle of sheets and dolls and little girl limbs to reach for the phone. Must be sure it’s dawn and not my neighbor’s ever-present flood lights casting a cold glow to the curtains.

“Clock. Time. Eighteen. Ladybug?”

This is Mairead’s first of 187 attempts to steal my phone and find the app about bugs.

I stumble out of bed as the whining begins. I am going to the bathroom before I answer another damn question or scare up a single morsel of food. They resent my selfishness.

But there’s magic in this morning. There is hope in the air. A sliver of silver hangs in the steel blue sky.

“Lady moon! Quick, everyone out of bed!”

And they listen. They’re as excited as they’d be if they spotted Santa’s sleigh.

Clearly I’m doing something right in spite of it all. 

There are stories being made before the sun is up and before your eyes are open. Can you see them?

The Plenty of the Marketplace, #365StrongStories 4

The sound of chimes and the hum of several languages fill the perfumed air. She breathes deeply and her senses dance with the warmth of vanilla and the tang of lemon balm. With a sure hand, she strokes the luxurious fabrics the weaver has set before her - fine wool, brocade shot with silver, and silk like angel wings. It’s a fine morning to browse the marketplace, greeting the merchants and sampling the delicacies in the food stalls. She is planning a gathering. Their friends will enjoy her rich hospitality, but they’re really there for the company and the after-dinner entertainment. As the finest storyteller in the city, her guests will forget the sweet wine and the perfectly spiced dishes when they lose themselves in the tale of the ill-fated lovers who may - or may not - escape the jealous duke and his sorceress companion.

These days, she has a satisfying purse of gold nestled in the folds of her skirts. The vendors in this marketplace have done well and so they have supported her husband, the master glassblower who makes vials for their potions and windows for their homes. And it’s not just his money she’s spending. Now that she is a celebrated teller of tales, she’s being paid handsomely to amuse and enchant at the wealthiest households in the region.

Everyone in the square seems to glow with the contentment of enough and even the glow of plenty. There is news of strife and famine abroad, and she knows she’d see hollow faces if she entered the shadowy alleyways. She’ll leave an offering with the priestesses at the temple - she trusts them to put the coins in the hands of those who need it. Next week she will stay a while and offer the needy her stories. For surely, a person needs a good story as much as he or she needs bread.

But today, There is enough in this little world of theirs to sustain every creative source and to leave some extra besides for those who haven’t yet found their way into the collective bounty of the marketplace.

Sunday Morning Supposed To's, #365StrongStories 3

Someone is sitting on my journal, so I'm writing this in my head. The babysitters are doing everything they can to amuse my daughter with their sweetly inappropriate ironies, but she's not having it. It's a great honor to be someone's safest place, but when I'm supposed to be someplace else, it's like being conscripted into impersonating a piece of furniture.

My lap, my journal, and I long to be alone together on the lumpy floral couch halfway between the nursery and the Sunday School classroom.

But wait... I've left that solitary existence behind.

I'm a wife and a mother, of course, so it's hard to even be solitary in the shower. But now we're thinking of joining a congregation - something I never thought I'd do - it's absurd to think I'd find time to myself in the midst of a Sunday morning community.

I'd left the church that claimed me from birth and wandered happily in the land of the faithfully unaffiliated. Moving now with this Unitarian Universalist Fellowship isn't the path to the gods I was supposed to take either.

The Ache of Forbidden Stories, #365StrongStories 2

The girl stands at the top of the stairs. She hears gunshots. She hears screams. There’s a lot of talking and then she hears gasps and groans and nice, gentle music. It’s getting cold (she told Dada she didn’t want to wear her footie pajamas that night), but still she crouches there. Listening.

Intrigued. Confused. More than a little frightened.

Eventually, the blare of the television cuts off and Mama mutters, “Did you hear something…?” In a louder voice, “Moira?”

It amazes me that this scene doesn’t repeat every night that my husband and I ignore our grownup responsibilities and lose ourselves in the binge-worthy show of the moment. Clearly we prioritize a damn good story over much-needed sleep. How can we expect a six-year-old resist what we cannot?

This holiday break, my daughter has been pushing at the limits of story.

She was intrigued by the intricate packaging and lush images in the Outlander boxset that waited for me under the tree. She can’t understand why she can listen to our vintage 70s record of The Hobbit but can’t stay up with Dada to see the movie. And she’ll be in mourning about the absolute “no” she’s getting about seeing Star Wars in the theater.

We tell her that we set these limits because we love her. We tell her how wonderful these stories will be when she’s ready. (Yes, husband and I are already having lots of debates about when she’s ready to read Outlander!) We go to her overflowing shelves and pick dozens of stories that are perfect for who she is right now.

Boundaries are blessings, but I feel every bit of her longing and her frustration.

Certainly, when it comes to stories, we have no self control. Humans are the storytelling animal. None of us can stop ourselves.

Writing page one of 2016's blank book, #365StrongStories 1

I’m staring at the empty book that is 2016 and I’m paralyzed by the promise of this new project, #365StrongStories. How can I tell 366 stories (it’s leap year, remember) when I can’t even tell one? The Christmas tree droops, crumbs and toys crunch under foot, and yet another “big game” dominates the family room. Unless your idea of drama is a toddler’s quest to steal your iPhone, I haven’t got a single story to enchant you.

But I’m forgetting everything I know about story because I’m frightened by the blank page.

The strength of a story doesn’t depend on high stakes and shocking plot twists. A story is made strong by the writer’s passion for the scene and the her desire to connect with the reader.

Motherhood is a story - a sprawling epic crowded with characters who transform from sentence to sentence. The narrative structure is messy and some chapters are agonizingly kind while others are painfully short. Much of the writing in the motherhood story is riddled with typos, but that's because the author hasn't had a good night's sleep since 2009.

There are stories to tell here. There are stories I must tell and stories I think you must hear.

#365strongstories, day 1

Would a #365project give you what you need in 2016?

Why I kept one #365project promise, broke another, and will make a new one in 2016

When you sign yourself up to make something every day for an entire year, you’re making a fabulous commitment to your creativity.

And when you decide to post about it every day on social media, you’re stepping up and saying “I’m ready to be seen” in a big way.

As both a #365project success story and a #365project drop out, I know plenty about what it takes to make it work and why it might not.

And I know what makes a project fulfilling and worthwhile… all year long.

First, ask yourself what kind of content you would want to share every day

Brené Brown makes it easy to decide what subjects to post about and talk about:

“I share what is vulnerable, not what is intimate.”

And how does our Daring Greatly/ Rising Strong sage recommend you make the distinction between the two?

Brené makes sure that she has fully explored everything before she brings it to the public arena. Her ability to heal and remain “wholehearted” does not depend on how her audience reacts to what she shares.

When I heard her describe this during a recent interview, it hit home because I’d learned this distinction myself - the hard way.  

I’m deeply grateful for one successful #365project and one abandoned attempt the following year. They taught me what it really means to share my story, create media, and be seen. And they taught me how to distinguish between intimate and vulnerable.

A #365project helps you find meaning in your own story

In 2014, I participated in the #365feministselfie project.

I cataloged the last month of pregnancy, the wonder of new motherhood, and lots of mundane moments throughout that year. Some of the Instagram shots were raw, some were posed pics to help bolster a bleary-eyed mama’s self esteem. All of them were me.

This daily practice helped me cope with the  isolation of being a work-at-home mom with an infant in the midst of the Polar Vortex winter. It was my chance to discover my own narrative thread when it was all too easy to lose myself.

I didn’t have the free hands to write, but I could snap a pic and use my thumbs to draft a quick caption that gave the moment some context in my bigger story.

A #365project that didn’t work

Giddy with the triumph of devoting a year to someone else’s project, I was excited to start my own project in 2015.

Boldly, I called it #365SovereignReality. The goal was to publicly explore my evolving “concept” that made so much sense inside my own head, but hadn’t made it into easy-to-tell story form.

It didn’t last for lots of reasons. The pressure to make an important discovery about my life’s work every day and post it online was too daunting. It took almost no creative energy to snap and post a selfie. My ill-defined sovereignty project demanded more creative energy than I had to give.

Intimate moments need to stay that way

My own pet project failed for another key reason - my kids.

Now that I had permission to take the camera off myself, it seemed logical to turn it on my constant companions. My little muses had been in plenty of the selfies with me, so it didn’t seem like a problem.

Truthfully, I’d always ignored the little voice that said “don’t start creating your kids’ digital footprint without their consent.” But somehow, when I was always in the frame with them, I could give it a pass. I told myself that my protective maternal gaze warded off predators and voyeurs.

But now that I was casting them in leading roles in my #365SovereignReality, it didn’t seem right. Without their mama in the frame to keep them safe, it didn’t seem authentic - it seemed like I was exposing them to stranger danger.

A new #365project that hits all the right notes

So, what are the ingredients of a sustainable #365project?

• It has a set form. You don’t have to expend extra creative energy figuring out the focus.
• It’s related to your professional or creative work.
• It’s about visibility, not ego.
• It’s a practice that helps you grow - not just another “should” or obligation.

Introducing #365StrongStories

Every day in 2016 I am going to write a story.

It will be less than 200 words. Sometimes, it may not look like much more than a metaphor. There will be days when I’m sharing someone else’s story and using a quote. Each story will be accompanied by a picture, so you'll find it on Instagram and Facebook and all the usual social spots.

It feels a little crazy to sign myself up for something so ambitious. After all, taking a picture is easy compared to promising to write an actual story every day. But I’m dedicating my professional life to helping people tell stories that matter… and I need to walk the talk about how it really can be easy.

My 2016 #365project why…

• I am a storyteller, but I want to get better
• I want to be a more concise, efficient writer
• I’ve been in retreat for a while and it’s time to be seen online again
• #365StrongStories is aligned with my work. In a week or two, I am launching an offer called 5 Strong Stories that helps emerging thought leaders write content that connects.

Would a #365project give you what you need in 2016?

Saundra Goldman, who created a brilliant community around her #continuouspractice project posted her reflections on 2015 and her plans for 2016. Check out her post for ideas for creating your own project and why it's totally valid to make a much shorter commitment than 365 days.

And I'm grateful to Saundra for another idea - who will you dedicate your practice to?

I am dedicating #365StrongStories to you, my dear reader. I am going to tell the stories that I must tell, but only because I think they are the stories that you must hear.