I'm going to share something personal with you, Dear Reader. I have an autoimmune condition. Well, technically two, but who's counting? I was first diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis when I was 22. I had been experiencing symptoms, painful swollen joints, since I was nineteen, which is a typical time for this condition to show up, but it took three years for my doctors to believe that there was something real happening in my body. When my first diagnosis came, after a week away at summer camp during which I had night sweats and my collarbone and toe started to swell, I realized that I needed to trust myself. I knew something was wrong, even when my doctor thought I was crazy. Fastforward ten plus years, when after the birth of second child, I took a job at my school as one of two chief administrators. Having recently given birth to my son, I spent the first six months of my new job as a Director waking up six times a night because I was still nursing little E. And as any rhuematologist or GP worth their salt will tell you, stress and particularly lack of sleep are two no-nos for those with auto-immune conditions. In the Spring of '14, I started having a flare. My eyes started to become inflamed, specifically my irises. I do a lot of functional medicine for my condition, but in this case, it wasn't working. Over the next year, I did a course of steroids, which helped, and then didn't. I started having other joints flare. My big toe grew twice its normal size. I went in for tests and got a new diagnosis added onto the old one: rheumatoid arthritis. Then my knees ballooned, first the left, then the right. My right elbow started to be so sore I couldn't close it. So this summer, I got clear I had to take my approach to a whole new level. I had forgotten what it meant to listen to my body. I made changes. I rearranged my schedule to have more down time. I started a more serious drug. Upon receiving some wonderful advice from a dear friend, I took a machete to the overfull areas of my life and started chopping away obligations that were not serving me. I spent more time with my wonderful husband and two kids. I stopped regulating everyone and everything around me (my tendency under stress) and stepped back into a smaller circle of influence, one that feels more authentic to me. Healing is a done in a circle, not a line. My auto-immune conditions offer opportunities to me that I would not otherwise have. I've done enough therapy to know that I somatize my emotional pain and frustration. I also prioritize others needs first. My body tells me when those tendencies get out of balance. So in the midst of a flare, I go back to the basics. I take my pharmaceutical medication when I need it. Every day I eat carefully. I do therapy. I do acupuncture. With an auto-immune condition, we are talking about continuums of health that have a series of causes; my response to my condition is systems thinking at its most basic. Maybe it's dramatic, but I want to suggest that the ability to be clued into what is triggering one's body in unhealthy ways is the single most important thing someone who has a challenging relationship with physical health should cultivate. At the school, our faculty teach students to be clued into their own emotions and thoughts and bodies every day (This is part of what the Integral model calls second-tier thinking. Specifically in this case, self-knowing) but I didn't learn body connection and awareness as a child. Now I am learning it as an adult. People sometimes ask me about less mainstream treatment choices I make, "Does that even work?" My answer is this: the interesting thing about the new paradigm of medicine is that I don't need a double-blind study to confirm the truth of my personal experience. I don't need an objective measurement to find real success. In order to heal, I have to listen to my body, pay attention, and make the choices that work best for me. This time around I've worked hard, and I've been blessed. In four months, I've gone from barely walking to being able to move around pretty freely. I've decreased my medication. I have little to no pain on most days. I am frequently thankful. I also don't eat a lot of starches, or at least not that frequently. I don't drink caffeine. I don't eat a lot of meat. I try to stay away from sugars, except for dark chocolate occasionally (my weakness!) I sleep more. And more than all of those dos or don'ts, I cultivate the ability to listen to my body. And you know--I'm terrible at it. But at least I'm learning. This Friday at the Grove House in downtown Asheville I am presenting on Integral Education at PechaKuchaAVL. Created in Tokyo in 2003 as a way for designers to meet and talk about what they were working on, the format employs a series of 20 slides shown for 20 seconds each (20x20). Curious readers can learn more at the PechaKucha international site, which showcases some of the best presentations from around the world. As a viewer, my experience was a kind of visual feast, enticing listeners to sit back, watch, and (best part) learn. Somehow, the style combines the intent of the ever popular Ted talks, to which I have lost whole days of my life, with the lithe intent of poetry. Pare down! - that's the message I consistently heard as I worked over my own presentation. Minimalism gives me shivers of excitement. I love a good challenge!
The theme for this Friday's event is wild card, so I'll be keeping company with engineers, software developers, and speech pathologists among others. The topics are diverse, fascinating, and at least a couple are immediately relevant to Asheville's future, so if you've got a free evening on Friday night, drop by and soak up the heady vibes. You won't be disappointed. And if you don't know what a shibboleth is now, I promise you will by the end of the night. For my new novel, I've been researching wildness and where it exists in our world. At the top of the list of wild places is the upper reaches of Canada and Siberia. Other spots include: Papua New Guinea, the Galapagos islands, the Seychelle islands, Antartica, the Amazon and the Sahara Desert. But the short answer is to the question, 'where are the wild things?' is that there aren't many spots left that are truly wild. Humanity, with our roads, power lines, and ubiquitous cell phone towers, has reached into the far reaches. Our handprint, physical and digital, is almost everywhere. The definition of wildness, from an ecological standpoint is "not domesticated or cultivated. In America, wilderness, or an area recognized as wild, as defined by the Wilderness Act of 1964 is "an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain." In a 2014 article on wild places in America, USA Today included Frank River Church, River of No Return in Idaho, Susquehannock State Forest in Pennsylvania, Gila National Forest, New Mexico. Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia and Florida and the Everglades are the only spots we Southerners can go to experience the wilderness according to that same list. I am surprised to find I have not been to any of these locations. My parents, both staunchly committed to national parks and the beauty of the outdoors, took my brother and I to more natural wonders than I could count: Mammoth caves, Cherokee, Joyce Kilmer National Park. But none of these places is true designated wilderness. None of them are, it seems, "wild."
Muir speaks directly to me in this last quote: a child of the Appalachians foothills, some of the oldest mountains in the world, I go home to east Tennessee as often as I can and find myself nourished by the slow deep presence of those mountains, despite the lack of a "wilderness" designation. When I add my small, tired presence to that of the sloping ancient peaks, I am made whole. And yet, I am not a naturalist. Though many of my college friends from Warren Wilson College (named most liberal college in the country and full of crunchy, self-titled environmentalists) may cringe to hear me say it, I have never been on a long backpacking trip. But the outdoors was my home as a child. My family's small parcel of land bordered Frozenhead Tennessee State Park, and I roamed the hills with my brother and little else, climbing trees and exploring the nooks and crannies of several of its forked and wandering creek tongues. I explored myself, as I explored the land around me, and it is the spaciousness of my childhood home that I carry inside me today. Like all parents, I worry for my sons, who have never known land without borders (27 acres is a lot to a child's body and soul) and who have not grown up with the magic of nature woven into their cells. Oh, they have moments: my eldest son loves the bright song of a nice, hot fire. My youngest roams the uncut grass of our rather large yard, picking blueberries and cherry tomatoes, finding apples that have fallen from our fertile trees. But neither of them has lived with the refrain that my mother always sang to me in childhood, "Go outdoors." Sometimes writing is remembering. These days when I write new words recalling the green and growing land of my childhood, I write partly to recommit myself to the majestic halls and and quiet valleys of the natural world. And when I do, I remember that the world is bigger than my life and my understanding of life. After all, wilderness is the original place humanity encountered radical difference and found reflected in it the strange and wonderful foreignness of one's own deep self. Warning: this post contains potty language and humor. I have a two and a half year old. And until this week, he wasn't potty-trained. Egads! Actually, I have two children, but my older son is ten. We did this dance a long time ago. Now I can barely get S out of the bathroom, and his reading material is taking up too much room in the water closet (Percy Jackson, anyone?). But it's been a long time since big S learned to go to the bathroom, and apparently, I need a refresher course on how to train a small one in potty etiquette. And no, I am not commenting specifically on age appropriateness in this post--there are a lot of different theories about when the optimal window for potty training is, and I recommend parents who are beginning to train take a look around the interwebs. For reasons of our own, this summer Hubby and I began talking the subject up to our little darling. Then we got rid of diapers, and I asked little E almost every hour on the hour if he had to poop and pee, and he would go to the potty and tinkle. Hooray! Turns out that our little darling had waited until Hubby was talking on the phone to his dad and the little guy crapped on the floor of his big brother's room. Then he rode his tricycle through it a few times. By the time Hubby's olfactory senses started to tell him something was wrong, we had a really big problem. Oh Sh$%! Right! What did we do? We relaxed. We put the diapers back on. We let little E choose whether or not he wanted to wear a diaper. We also bought a little potty, instead of the seat that fit on the large toilet, so E could get down to his own level. What did we do? We relaxed. We put the diapers back on. We let little E choose whether or not he wanted to wear a diaper. We also bought a little potty, instead of the seat that fit on the large toilet, so E could get down to his own level. "You'll get it!" I encouraged him. And he peed in the potty all day until late evening when I was exhausted and laying on my bed staring at the ceiling fan. During this time, little E gets an hour to watch Chuggington (the poor man's Thomas the Train) or Magic Schoolbus. Magic hour came, and my toddler trundled down the stairs, cute bare bottom scooting down the unfinished wood and a few minutes later, the fumes started to rise. And somebody in the house yelled, "What is that smell?". Fast forward a few weeks, and now E was peeing and pooping around the house occasionally. And thanks to our training, he took his own diaper off to do it. 1) Little E is not his older brother. We had been treating him like a replica of the child we already knew and raised. E obviously does things a little differently. He is more independent than his older brother was as a tyke (always asking to do things himself) and very private (generally preferring clothes to being naked).
2) E's pooping problem was actually our problem. Yes, I am not proud to admit it, but our laissez-faire approach to the crapper was not actually working for our second son. As baby number-two, little E has enjoyed a more relaxed (and tired, so much more tired!) set of parents who don't stress the small stuff, but in this case, that tendency was hurting, not helping him. Social behaviors are learned, and our cues were not clear enough for our smallest child. Worse, we established a pattern whereby the attention he was getting was negative. (Dad, stuck at home with the little monster, was getting really tired of cleaning up poop.) We needed to make some changes--and fast! So armed with research and strategy, I took a weekend off to train little E to use the toilet. First, we put hook and latches on all the household doors (because he, being the intelligent little chap he is, took the time to hide and poop). The first morning when I took the diaper off and explained that we were done with diapers, that we had not done a good job of teaching him how to use the potty, but now we were going to work on it again, E cried and told me he wanted his diaper back. I stuck to my guns, and to him. Smartphone was put away. No checking my email or catching up on work. We spent the next 24 hours together, playing, cleaning, moving around the house (no trips until we had a strong, healthy pattern underway) and halfway through crashing a truck into a tower of wooden blocks, little E started to poop! "I have to go to the potty," he cried, pooping the whole way and smearing it on my wood floors. But he made it to the toilet and pooped for the first time there too. Success! Once clean, we danced around screaming and whooping. The next day, nothing. The day after that, he ran to the toilet a little earlier, and a week later, he is pooping in the potty everyday! No accidents. He's proud of himself. And it's pretty exciting to me too. It's trite to say, Know your child. Maybe it's more accurate to say, when there's a problem, try to learn more about what makes your child tick. There is a certain logic to most choices kids make. As a parent, spending time learning the why behind unwanted behaviors often leads to the how that solves, or perhaps, resolves them.
Point is: Research is such a big part of writing. . .and it's not always easy, or fun. But often, it can be. So put those scholarly glasses on and do a guitar solo in the air while screaming "She's a fox in a box and she likes to rock. Let her rock! Let her rock!" The experience might lead you to lands you've never been before. This morning, I woke up to yet another snow day and groaned. Writing is lonely business. Hours slogging in the early morning darkness (in my case) before I make breakfast for kids and go to work. There are long months where I can't talk to anyone about what I am working on, and more long months where only one or two editors get a chance to take a peek and offer feedback. Not easy for an extrovert like me. As many creative workers know, it's important to stay inspired. To stay fresh. To be connected to the wellspring of your heart. Especially when it's been below zero for more than five days out of the last seven, and everything outside is gray: the road, the trees, the sky. Gray starts to wallpaper my heart. The #This Girl Can video campaign burned through that covering like a bright spark on a pile of dry twigs. I've deconstructed, out loud and in my head, what makes this campaign so amazing. It's the tight editing, the simple concept, executed flawlessly, and beyond that, it's the way the images speak to reality i.e. the experience of real women loving and using their bodies. Not models projecting an unattainable and empty ideal, looking like pieces of furniture and objects to be used and discarded. (I've read The Guardian article here, which disputes my own experience of the piece. Well, Jessica Francombe-Webb, I politely agree to disagree.) The practice of self-care, physical self-care or artistic self-care, is based on the act of being present in our bodies and experience. When I watch images of real, diverse women, playing sports, working out, and getting physical, I am nourished. And inspired. I worked out on the coldest day of the year! And the next day. And the next. Fuck below zero temperatures. And then I worked on my novel. And then I took care of my kids, packed lunches, and kissed cheeks. And then I went to work (school). Just another day in this amazing life. Props to the lovely folks who created this campaign. Thank you for inspiring me and thousands of other women and men. Oh, the pressure of a first chapter. It's like planning to fall in love, or alternately, to punch your reader in the face (Chuck Palahnuik, I'm thinking of you). In either case, the point is to make contact. To TOUCH my reader and pull them by their lapels into the story. To draw them so spellbound, into the world I've created that they never want to leave, not even to use the bathroom. What to do? How to do it? As an author, I am a constant reviser. I go back and reread everything, make changes, correct grammar, fix the "flow." But not this time! For my new book, called "Princess" here for short, I've decided that I am leaving my first chapter alone until the end. I am not revising! I've written thousands of words past those first few pages, but I'm not looking back. It's part of a my 2015 philosophy, which is more settled and more intuitive. Less looking for perfection and more living with what is. That change in philosophy is due to one major realization: I won't really know my beginning until I know my end. See, I am a "Gardener" and not an "Architect," meaning that as a writer (and possibly as a human being), I never know where I am headed, exactly, until I get there. Please see Brandon Sanderson's Youtube video about this distinction (and check out his other cool stuff). Specifically, I start off and organically build my book from scene to scene. And like the reader, the first time around, I don't know what is going to happen! I have seen this called "Pantser" in a blog post recently, as in "flying by the seat of my pants." Well, I'm not that free. I have some idea, but only loosely. Architects, on the other hand, plan a whole book out before they take their first step. These are the folks who buy the travel guide before they go on vacation. And consequently, as they take the first steps of their literary journey, they know if the boy gets the girl. They know if the evil Queen dies at the end or if she transforms the beautiful Princess into a Frog who can ice skate. But not me. This year, I'm going to be surprised. This is a year of first chapters. I started a new book. I have a new job, and my new role at Odyssey, as Director of Operations, involves focusing on more nuts and bolts issues than I have in past years. And turns out--I love it. The opportunity to create and review spreadsheets and think strategically about where an organization is at and where its headed, is a great adventure. I do more details, while bringing my writer's mind, my creative self, to the forefront to problem solve. It's a connecting leap that is new to me, and dovetails perfectly with the Integral Education model that is at the heart of Odyssey--"both/and" thinking. Design Education marries the science mind and the art mind, creating from start to finish while meticulously testing results. I love it. I'm so excited by it, for the students at Odyssey, and for myself. The process of coming up with an idea or creative vision and testing it out, revising along the way, falls directly in line with my own process. Maybe that's because I have a messy way of making my way toward my goals. Maybe it's just how life works. It is definitely how my life works. Recently, I picked up a copy of "The Web of Life," by Fritjof Capra somewhat haphazardly, intrigued by the water cooler discussions at work. Systems Thinking is heady stuff, absolutely big picture thinking and involves making connections across vast areas of difference. Bridging gaps and making inferences, while letting large ideas sift down. At the center of Systems Thinking, insomuch as I understand it (probably not much), is a cultural and economic shift from hierarchy to web, dynamic power flowing in a more graduated spiral via the network. In this new world, collaboration is the way things get done. I am working with that element of collaboration in my own way too. Certainly with my husband, who is a writer himself -- negotiating the daily realities of two creatives in a family is complicated (and absolutely worth it). And also with my Co-Director Megan McCarter at Odyssey. Partnership represents the paradigm shift that is happening all over our country.
The challenge in all of this is how to bridge realities, right? That's a new world challenge. When I look through my mental rolodex of twenty-thirty-forty something-year-old friends, I see a sea of folks building from a series of identities: one a comic/improv/graphic designer who occasionally waits tables, another who manages a film company and is a part-time stay at home mom, a third who owns a restaurant while working on the Board of a major non-profit. We are working hard, people. (Great Job!) Occasionally, I see articles on Facebook about how idealistic and narcissistic the younger generations are, and of course, there is truth (little t) in that. And the deeper truth is that our American cultural shift, from superpower to dying empire, forces us, as adults, to seek new options and build new opportunities. Hello, Etsy, Ebay, Netflix, AirB&B, countless other, better, new examples. The reality is I haven't had the experience of a single career, and I'm old (Generation X!). I got married in my mid-twenties, had two kids, and have worked through the last baby-making decade, four different jobs, constellated in different ways. At thirty-five, I'm starting to think more strategically. I'm starting (maybe a bit late, but better late than never) to do some Design Thinking about my life. To empathize, define, ideate and test a way to work this weird, broken system I've inherited, and as an educator, I've realized that virtually every young person I see walking the halls of Odyssey will face these realities and probably harder ones. That reality keeps me awake some nights, feeling both exhilarated and scared for my children and my children's children. We are writing a new chapter, as a culture. We are designing a new way of life. P.S. I'd love to hear stories from folks about how they use the Design process in their own creative work, and I'm curious how others see power changing and shifting in their communities. Drop me an email if you feel inspired, corannaadams@gmail.com. It's the fluffy stuff of the mind: stardust and robot shavings, the essential ingredient for every artist and designer. Inspiration. I recently heard a colleague describe Design as what happens when one mixes creative pursuit with the scientific method, marrying strange bedfellows. Inspiration is the glimmer that comes before that process starts, the seed potential at the heart of every flowering idea or creation. I began working on my second novel several months ago, but more recently, I've set it aside to begin a different story. Why? So many stories to tell, so little time. Truthfully, I have decided to let my inspiration lead me by the nose this time around. I tell my students to follow their passion all the time, encouraging them to discover who they are by noticing what excites them. But as a busy, professional adult with two kids and myriad other pursuits, I had forgotten to do the same thing myself. No longer. I'm spending the next year or so playing around, in preparation for writing a new new book. These images inspire and delight me and are a preview of the kind of dreams I am dreaming. Enjoy! |
AuthorCoranna Adams is a writer, filmmaker, and educator from Asheville, North Carolina. Archives
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