I spent this past weekend being human at the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Healing. That is, I spent this past weekend letting go and not giving a fuck with Jennifer Pastiloff. Yoga instructor, author, and founder of the online magazine The Manifest-Station, Jennifer is known for her workshop, On Being Human, where women from all over come together to dance, to sing out loud, to write whatever comes to the page, and to share their deepest pains and enduring dreams. If someone were to ask me to choose a single word to describe Jennifer, that word would be lovable. But she’s more than one thing. She is energy, a safe zone, a kick-ass hugger and hand-holder, a super-fun dance partner, a really good listener, an empath. The list could fill my bookshelf.

A friend of mine, who has attended Jennifer’s On Being Human workshop year after year at Kripalu, had told me all about her. I  had also read Jennifer’s posts on The Manifest-Station, followed her on social media, and devoured her book, On Being Human, A Memoir of Waking Up, Living Real, and Listening Hard. Much of what she had to share – her sense of shame and guilt, not feeling good enough, the need to be heard and told “I’ve got you” –  made me think she had written the book just for me. Which is why, after months of inventing one lame reason after the other for why I couldn’t go, I finally decided it was time to get off my scared ass and drive the three-and-a-half hours to Kripalu this past weekend. Why I was so afraid to take Jennifer’s On Being Human workshop I can’t explain. Wait, that’s a lie. The truth is this: The unknown scares the crap out of me sometimes. I had no idea what my experience would be like in Jennifer’s workshop. But we only know when we do, right? So I did. Yes, I thought I’d shit my pants on my way to Kripalu, wondering if I really had it in me to let go and be vulnerable in front of dozens of women I had never met.

I did not shit my pants, but I did sweat, a lot. If anything, the 95-degree heat made it easier to say, “Fuck you fear.” It took too much energy to think, I don’t belong here … I can’t dance … I can’t sing … I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. And the heat melted my body into a let-go puddle. So I had no choice but to dance like a dork, sing “Landslide” and “Don’t Stop Believin'” out of tune while doing Downward-Facing Dog, sing into an orange crayon-turned-microphone, play the air drums with a crayon, cry, and, as Jennifer says, “let snot fly.” It felt good, damn good.

At the end of the weekend, I left with a backpack full of what I call “Pastiloff Vitamins.” I take them everyday, with a large glass of “I am good enough, and don’t fucking forget that.”

I even have some samples of her vitamins for you:

“Ask. Don’t let ‘no’ stop you.”

“Daydream for five minutes every day.”

“Go ‘beauty hunting’. Make something beautiful.”

“Shoulds are assholes.”

“Everything has to be moment to moment, because that’s all we have.”

“Be a human thank you.”

“Say ‘yes’ to yourself.”

“Trust in the timing of your life.”

“Invite ease into your life.”

“Find joy for no reason.”

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As a writer, the hardest part for me is getting the words on the page, meaning this: my brain manages to arrange precisely what it is I want to write, but once I sit my butt in the chair, and face the screen, my brain slams its door shut. If only I had the key to that door, quick access to the words so beautifully aligned in my head. But, alas, I do not have such a key. Instead, I keep at it, and sometimes find myself sitting in front of the computer for an hour before coming up with a sentence I’m half-willing to share with the world.

Herein lies the problem: I fret way too much over every single word I write. I worry too much about what others will think of me and my writing once they read my work. Sure, there are days when my fingers dance a smooth Rumba across the keyboard, but those days are few and far between. What do I do about this? While it would be nice if I did have a key for the times my brain locks me out, I might lose it. Then what? What I need to do is build my own door, open it up all the way, and invite into my writing home whatever comes my way. What I need to do is loosen up a little more, to be a little more brave, a little more willing to do a Rumba.

If I’ve learned from anyone what it takes to do the narrative dance with abandon, it’s my brother-in-law Chris. Though he’s not a writer, he does know how to let go and be himself. What I admire the most about him is his so-what? attitude. He doesn’t empty his mental gas tank worrying about what others might think of him when he shares what he needs to share in the moment. In other words, he is as authentic as authentic gets. As long as I’ve known him (15 years), he has spoken his emotional truth, and has blown me away with how easily and calmly he speaks about all things real and human without censorship or self-judgement.

Because Chris is a self-described non-writer, and usually prefers to engage in live discussions with people, rather than texting, emailing, or sending letters, I was shocked and delighted when he texted his siblings and other close family a brief synopsis of his experience during his recent road-trip from Vermont to Florida. (For context: Chris was his mother’s caregiver for nearly two years, the reason why he did not hike the Appalachian Trail. She lived at OLP for a year, and passed away on November 21, 2018)

Let me write this down and share it, as time has a way of at least dulling my memories. On my adventure to Florida, I stopped at Johnson City, Tennessee. The next morning, I left and started south on Interstate 26. It’s difficult to describe on paper the majestic vistas I witnessed. The sheer power of the mountains as I traveled through the Smokies, Cherokee National Park, and the Appalachia Trail. I could not help have thoughts of regretting my decision in 2016 to not hike the AT. All the things I could have seen and experienced danced through my head. Daydreaming was definitely prevalent, but reality set in and navigating Atlanta was on my mind. South of Atlanta my mind once again drifted, but this time it was filled with visions of Mom. I will only try to describe one of the many that popped into my mind that afternoon. I am sitting with Mom – the place could be in Florida or OLP (Our Lady of Providence Residential Care Facility). Mom is eating a cookie, or could be candy, or ice-cream, that part doesn’t matter. I am cooking Mom some fish and a veggie. I mention to Mom to save room for dinner as she takes another bite of her goody of the day. Mom looks at me and tells me that she’s not hungry. I say nothing as she looks at me, daring me to contradict her. When I say nothing, she goes back to what she was doing, but I can’t help seeing an impish little smile that tells me she has won again, and is still in control. That night, as I fell asleep, my only thought was that I have no regrets. Majestic Mom and the real memories outweigh the majestic mountains and the wannabe memories. This will the last time I write something like this.

During a recent family gathering, I asked Chris what he meant by the last sentence in his text. To be honest, I was afraid of what he might say. You see, Chris has stage 4 lung cancer, and anytime he mentions the word “last” my overthinking brain raises its worry flag.

When he gave me a long goggle-eyed stare, I wanted to curl up and crawl inside myself.

Then he said, “Because it took me all day to write it. It was mentally exhausting.”

He smiled (thank goodness), which gave me permission to smile too, and we both nodded in agreement at one another.

But here’s the pearl of wisdom Chris so kindly offered, and which I quickly hung on a sturdy hook in my brain: “I wanted to write something during my trip,” he said, “but my head wasn’t in the mental space. Yesterday it was, so that’s when I wrote it.”

Because I’m a writer, I think I should write every day, seven days a week. But there are days when my “mental space” is closed, maybe because it’s out of town for a long-weekend, or it’s come down with a bad cold and needs a day or two on the couch, or maybe it simply needs a timeout. I think I just might do that: take a timeout the next time I’m sitting at the computer, and my brain slams its door on me. Yes, I think I will do that. And not regret it.

Chris’s cancer diagnosis has smacked him in the face with his own mortality, and it doesn’t take much to physically and mentally wear him down these days, but I know he has plenty of pearls left. And I can’t wait to open up his next serving of oysters.

Do you suffer from imposter syndrome, the belief that you’re not really a writer, a photographer, an inspirational speaker? And how often to you hear people say, “Just get over it” or “Stop feeling bad for yourself.” Do those responses make you want to scratch someone’s eyes out? Well, if so, you’re not alone. I get it, believe me. But that doesn’t mean self-doubt should be running your brain’s control tower. While I told myself this day after day, over too many years to count, I continued to let self-doubt into my mind’s home. Self-doubt followed me into the bedroom each night, into the kitchen while I waited for the teakettle to come to a boil, and sat next to me at the dinner table, at my desk.

But I recently kicked self-doubt out of my home, and double-locked the door, just in case it tries to break in with the slip of a credit card. I admit, though, I needed a lot of extra emotional muscle to help me follow-through with the eviction. The name behind the muscle is motivational powerhouse, best selling author, and award winning CNN commentator Mel Robbins. A writing peer introduced me to her work, and when I learned that she ran an online class called “How to break the habit of self-doubt and build confidence” I knew I had to sign up. I recently finished the last session (there are a total of 16), and I’m still energized by what I learned, by how much Mel’s class has changed how I think about myself. Believe me, if you take her class, I swear you’ll become a Mel addict.

Mel is honest from the get go, and shares her own difficulties with self-doubt and anxiety. At one point it became so debilitating for her she struggled to get out of bed most mornings. Finally, she came up with what she calls the “5 second rule.” From the moment she talked about her “5 second rule” as a solution to halt the self-doubt loop that plays like a skipping record through our brains, I was hooked. All you have to do is say “5-4-3-2-1” each time your mind is attacked by self-doubt, procrastination, anxious thoughts, worries. So if you can’t seem to drag yourself out of bed in the morning say, “5-4-3-2-1. Get up.” Say it every single morning. Say it each time you hesitate to send that email you’ve been wanting to send to your boss or friend or family member. Say “5-4-3-2-1” then get your butt in the chair, and write for five minutes (Mel quotes research that says most people will continue what they are working on for much longer; it’s the initiation part that slows us down.)

Along with her “5 second” solution to self-doubt, she has a lot more to offer, much of it backed my science: the traps that make us question ourselves, the connection between self-doubt, worry, and anxiety, the five steps toward self-confidence, and how to reframe anxiety into excitement. If finances are tight for you, no worries, you can meet Mel on YouTube  and watch some of her sessions on self-doubt for free. So no justifications, no saying “It won’t work for me” or “I don’t have time.”

One more thing from Mel: “No phone in your bedroom.” Why? Because she wants you to “engage in behaviors that put you in control of your thoughts.” When the phone is next to your bed, what is the first thing you’re going to do when you wake up? Look at your phone. “You’re dreams are not on your phone,” she says. “You’re priorities are not not on your phone. It’s other people’s garbage.”

If hard statistics are what you need to convince you to put the phone away, here it is: The average worker spends 6.3 hours a day on emails. According to a Time Magazine article, Americans collectively check their smart phones as much as 8 billion times a day. On average, individuals check their phones 46 times a day.

Let’s do this together: Put the phone away. Here, I’ll count with you: 5-4-3-2-1. Do it!

Do you let the mess surrounding you get in the way of your writing time? Maybe you see the dirty dishes in the sink and say, “I should wash those first before I sit down to write.” Or maybe the dirty laundry has piled up, and you can’t seem to let it be until after you write. Sound familiar? You’re not alone; we’re all prone to distraction. It must be in the water, or more likely on social media – the distraction devil – because I can’t tell you how many of my writing peers tell me that they must do this or that before they write. I admire those writers who get up at five in the morning, grab a cup of coffee then head directly for the chair. How do they do it? What’s in their water? Really, no amount of magic water will lure you to your writing chair (sorry if you thought this is where I was going – toward the water). But I do have an antidote to the distraction devil squatting in your head, and it’s better than even the cleanest, sweetest glass of water. I’ve taken the antidote myself, and I’m still here to talk about it. And I’m still writing. Here it is: 27 Wild Days. For more than 25 years, Laurie Wagner – writing teacher, writing coach, author of 7 books, mixed-media artist, and more – has used 27 Wild Days to help others “get to the heart of what they want to write about.” So what exactly is 27 Wild Days?

With 27 Wild Days, Laurie emails interested writers a series of brief videos every day for 27 days. In each video, she shares aspects of the writing practice that has served her for more than two decades. She then reads a poem, twice, and offers a prompt from that poem as a way to help you get your pen moving. She recommends writing for 12-15 minutes (I find 15 minutes works best, since it takes me a minute or two to get into a writing groove). That’s it! Fifteen minutes. Imagine 15 minutes every day for 27 days. That’s 405 minutes (feel free to check my math). During each fifteen-minute session, if you write three pages, (for me that’s seven-by-ten inch notebook pages, which equals a total of 362 words. Yes, I counted.), by the end of the 27 days you’ll have 9,774 words: an essay, 1/8th of a memoir, 1/6th of a novella.

Of course, life does get in the way, sometimes more than we’d like, so if you miss a day of Wild Writing, you can save the video for another time. It’s happened to me: I’m currently six days behind, but those videos are still in my inbox, labeled “Unread” so I can easily find them. The completed videos I save in a separate folder in my email account, waiting to rescue me from future bouts of writer’s block.

So, if you’re feeling stuck in your writing, or don’t know what to write about next, or think you have nothing to write about (not true, by the way), or you’re like me and find it hard to close your mind’s door on the “you-can-find-a-better-word” judge, try 27 Wild Days (it’s only $49). It’s freeing. It allows you to be intuitive, to let yourself go, write words that don’t make any sense, to get a little lost, to be stupid on the page.

That’s it. Now, as Cheryl Strayed would advise: “Write like a motherfucker.”

There’s less than a week remaining in January, which, for me anyway, means it’s still the New Year. Which means we’re still within the 2018-goal-setting window, if there’s such a window at all. When speaking of goals here, I mean writing goals. (I’m a writer, so what other goals are there to ponder?)

As 2017 came to a close, I thought long and hard about my goals for 2018: a large writing project to revise, essays to complete and submit to literary journals, and agents/publishers to whom to pitch my memoir.

Ten days before the New Year, when I was thinking about how to hone in on manageable, realistic writing goals, an email from Brevity, a journal of concise literary nonfiction, popped-up in my inbox. I clicked open the email, and there it was, the post that could not have come at a better time. In “The Year of the Writer,” Allison Williams starts out by first encouraging us to celebrate even our tiniest 2017 writing accomplishments. Maybe it’s a sentence you’re proud of, the essay you finally sent to a dream literary journal, the positive feedback you received from your writing group, or the rejection letter from an editor who took the time to offer specific suggestions and asked you to re-submit in the future. Allison’s mindful nudge for us to recognize each of our writing accomplishments, while examining what worked and didn’t work, was grounding for me. It gave me permission to pause, to take my time to mine the ever-growing list of writing goals I continue to compile and house in a somewhat large file on my computer’s desktop.

So how did I hone in on my 2018 writing goals? I listened to Allison and focused on the classic SMART formula: specific, measurable, attainable, relevant, timely. As Allison cautioned, I was careful to not set too many goals, and took into consideration my emotional/mental idiosyncrasies. (I become anxious when I have too much ahead of me, and end up spending more time thinking about how I wish I weren’t so anxious than getting as much work accomplished as I’d like.)

Here’s what I came up with (except for goal #1, the deadlines are self-imposed):

1) Apply for the 2018 Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference in Middlebury, Vermont. Deadline February 15, 2018.

2) Submit fifty query letters to agents by the end of March, which is in addition to the 125 I sent in 2017.

3) Each week, revise two chapters of a draft of a novel I wrote two years ago.

4) Revise an essay rejected by a mainstream newspaper, then submit to other publications. Deadline February 10, 2018.

5) Complete an essay about processing forgiveness and submit to literary journals. Deadline: still thinking about it.

6) Collect ideas/thoughts/questions regarding the structure of my next memoir. Deadline: March 1 2018.

Since I do well with visual reminders of things I need/want to accomplish, I typed my writing-goal list, printed it out, and taped it to the inside front cover of my 2018 date book. That way, when my mind gets over-excited about other writing projects, I have that list readily available to remind me, “Melissa, stay focused. Of course, if something else comes up that’s worthy of veering off my writing-goal course, like an offer from an agent to represent my memoir, who then quickly sells it to, say, Random House, and I’m too busy traveling for my book tour to complete those two essays or work on my novel, then I’m all good, really, really good.

So far, I’m ahead when it comes to goal #1: I hit the send button on January 6. Now I just have to wait until May to hear back from Bread Loaf. I’ve taken a small bite out of goal #2: six queries sent – forty-six remaining. As for goal #3, I begin the revisions of my novel during a five-day retreat in Point Reyes, California – what I call the kickoff event to making my next large project the best that it can be. Goal #4: I’m happy to share that I’m deep into revisions of the essay, and feel good about meeting my February 10 deadline. Goal #5: Well, there’s a reason why I didn’t set a deadline: I only recently started the first draft of this essay, and still need to think about a realistic time frame. For some reason (one of my idiosyncrasies), once I set a date, I feel as if I can’t change it. So I need to be sure before putting it out there in black and white. Goal #6: I’ve come out ahead here too; I’ve already decided on the structure of my second memoir, and have even written the first and last sentences of the book!

What writing-life experiences from 2017 have helped you to formulate your 2018 goals? What are your writing goals for 2018? How do you navigate distractions, keep your butt in the chair, keep your eyes on the page and your fingers on the keyboard?

The other day, while searching for ideas to jumpstart my writer’s brain, I decided to haul out from my file cabinet the library of journals fat with notes from lectures I attended as a Vermont College of Fine Arts graduate student. I thumbed through each page, scanning for a word, a phrase, anything that made my heart skip a beat. Aha, after several minutes, it finally happened, the one sentence I needed most to see, to hear, to touch, to taste: “The importance of wasting time.”I let out a long, calming breath, comforted by this affirmation: it’s okay to be idle.

Creative people do take time off from their projects to engage in completely different activities. Maybe a writer takes time to paint or doodle, to play music, to learn a new skill, or to take a nap – imagine that, taking a nap during the day. Such idleness allows time for “incubation,” says Connie May Fowler and Patrick Madden, prolific writers, authors, and VCFA faculty members. This incubation period works best when we first identity the problem with our manuscript, then step away from it, throw all the worrying over it in the trash – and live our lives. (Take that nap.)

Think of the incubation period as a time for “cooking your book,” Connie and Patrick say. Of course, to leave your book, or project, “cooking,” requires trust – trusting that you’ll eventually be served a heaping plate of creativity while you watch for the water to come to a boil, or the edges of your project to turn a sugary golden brown. But if you’re open to the process, if you are curious and interested in every cobwebbed moment, awake and responsive to every random swirl of a leaf, every sigh of a passing stranger, every intentional touch of a hand on the curve of your back, the creativity will come.

Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top. ~ Virginia Woolf