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In Culture, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth

To Struggle is Human

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
To Struggle is Human

This is a public service announcement that it’s okay to struggle. You are only human, after all, and not one of us is getting out of here alive. So try to keep your chin up. Eat the chocolate. Remember that another day is coming.

It’s always easier to accept mess and mistakes from others than from ourselves. Gentleness is the key, even when we don’t feel particularly competent or brave. Especially then.

What if it’s enough to simply try your best, even if the results are not as spectacular as you imagined? In fact, try not to aim for out-of-this-world amazing. Go for decent instead. Then you can lay your head on your pillow at the end of a long day and remind yourself, “I was good enough today.”

When we feel hollow at the centre of our being, it doesn’t necessarily mean we are missing something. It might simply be a signal to slow down, to get quiet, to become reacquainted with our authentic self by intentionally tuning out the noise all around us.

Happiness lies in acceptance. We won’t always feel triumphant and terrific. The reverse experience is also valid, as the lows must balance those highs. Sadness anchors our joy. Every emotion is an ingredient in the stew that makes up our human existence. It’s our expectations that repeatedly fuck us up.

Patience, grace, leisure. These matter as much as ambition, meaning and productivity. Some days we may not feel like our best selves, and this is absolutely fine. Try opening up your hands and holding loosely to the things that matter to you. Balance remains elusive, even when everything is clicking, but to quote the great and wise Oprah, “There is no such thing as balance. Only choices.”

Some seasons we give, others we receive. Allow yourself to feel what is happening to you and in you, even if it refuses to adhere to the script you’ve written. You are enough, for whatever comes your way. Take some time to just be human, with all of your unique complexities, frailties and fears.

We are here. We are doing our best. We are worthy, even in the midst of the struggle. We can eat the chocolate and refuse to feel guilty. Tomorrow is another day.

In Books, Culture, Identity, Minimalism, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Writing

An Ordinary Life

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
An Ordinary Life

Lately I find myself longing for an ordinary life.

On any given day, we all face so much pressure to be extraordinary. Social media scrolling can give us a case of the “less-thans”, the news entices us to drink, the job market feels hopeless and we wonder if we are doing enough to stand out from the crowd and be noticed.

It’s bloody exhausting.

I just finished reading Mark Manson’s book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. So many of his ideas resonated on a deep level, offering a lovely echo chamber of my own curated thoughts, but the section on being ordinary was particularly timely. If you are looking for a short, profane and meaningful read, I highly recommend it.

What if we simply opted out of trying to be amazing and instead learned to be content with being good enough? As our world gets louder, I long for quiet. When other people broadcast their accomplishments around the clock on social media, I yearn for humility and privacy.

It’s okay to want less. To decide that who you are and what you accomplish doesn’t need national (or even local) acclaim. Wouldn’t it be lovely to just exist, in our own families and with our friends, and truly believe that everything we eat, say, do, watch, read and think does not belong on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter or a blog?

Something interesting is happening in our culture right now, with the attention on Zuckerberg and questions about privacy. For years I’ve been saying in my digital boundary presentation (and to anyone else who cares) that privacy is going to be our most valuable currency in the years to come. I believe it to the core of my soul.

So the question becomes: what are we doing to safeguard our own privacy? How do we take back control of our own unique and precious lives?

I’m bone weary of wasting my time on the crack cocaine of social media. I post less and less but I still scroll far too much. I’m afraid of what’s coming and I’m trying to summon the courage to close it down and walk away. I know I would be happier if I did exactly that but then how would I stay in touch with people? How would readers find me as a writer?

I’m not sure those fears outweigh the cost of what social media has done to my sense of identity, my jealousy over the success of others when I am struggling, my own raging insecurities that leap to the forefront when I give myself over to something that has the power to repeatedly hurt me.

The answer is not yet clear to me, but I’m committed to asking these questions until I decide what’s really best for me. How do the rest of you handle social media and your digital lives? I know I’m not alone in longing for an ordinary, private existence. I’d love to hear from you.

In Books, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Speaking, Writing

The Flashlight of Criticism

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
The Flashlight of Criticism

When we face criticism, we can spiral down in a funnel of shame, feeling less-than and outed for pretending to be better than we really are.

Or maybe that’s just me, because possibly my childhood was not as stellar as yours.

I know it’s unhealthy to attach my self-worth to my performance. These things are my products: writing, speaking, acting, grades; my identity is something different. This distinction is oh-so-clear in my head and not so obvious in my experience.

Everything in the arts is subjective. One person loves what you’ve written or taught, and the next person thinks it’s boring and useless. As a writer, I’ve volunteered to be criticized to try to make my work stronger and more effective. In a cold, clinical setting, I do understand this.

But in my heart it’s something different. Being told what is “wrong” with my manuscript is painful in some intricate way. It reminds me of how far I have yet to go to make my dreams into reality. I do realize that all writers face this. I’ve been through classes and writers’ groups before, processing negative feedback, but I still hurt at first.

Maybe it’s time to just allow this. To feel it, and not to attempt to rationalize it away or explain it. Some feedback wounds because we have more internal healing work to do. The criticism is a flashlight revealing our hidden chasms where shame and fear lurk in the darkness.

The key might be to reach out to the cheerleaders in our lives when we get knocked down. To ask for love and support so we can summon the energy to keep going, to continue believing that we are onto something as long as we don’t quit. Rough work is better than no work when it comes to creativity. Revisions exist to fix the little things.

I’m loving the process of working on this new YA novel. I don’t want to forget that. It’s fun to write, even if it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. It’s the book I longed to find on the shelf when I was 15 years old and that kind of passion is worth pursuing.

Often a pain that doesn’t fit with the circumstances is an indication that an old wound is being disturbed. That’s what I felt last week through a workshop round of mild criticism: a very old childhood fear that I am simply not good enough to compete in the arena I want to work in. The only way to combat this is to keep going anyway. To feel it, acknowledge it, cry a few tears, and then get back to work.

In Culture, Minimalism, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships

Content

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Content

It’s no small thing to be content. To stop pursuing happiness in order to recognize, just for a moment, that you are already happy.

Everyone’s life is made up of seasons. Some are sweet, and others are agony. One month can feel like a year, slogging through shoulder-high mud, and the next can fly by in a blur of ordinary days. And yet some seasons are special in undefined ways, where we are lucky enough to see that it’s all going to plan and we laugh quite a bit and our days and nights are mostly smooth sailing.

I feel like we’re in one of those sweet seasons right now. We are out of the demanding little-kid stage and the teenaged years have not brought the promised wreckage others predicted in doomsday tones. We enjoy spending time with our kids and I love seeing the daily fruit of our number one parenting motto: Don’t Be An Asshole.

To me, contentment means not longing for something other than what you have. It’s taken me a long time to get to this point, with practices like daily meditation to help me stay anchored in the present moment along with careful boundaries in my relationships making a big difference to my calm state of being.

Some of this is just a decision. My pursuit of happiness was never-ending and exhausting, so I decided to simply be happy instead. To want less instead of having more. To go simpler when the rest of the world is complex. To create beauty inside of myself and cultivate it so that it blooms. To need less from other people and ask for more from myself.

It’s really damn good. We are capable of so much more than we think. When we push past fear, a whole new existence is on the other side. For a lifelong people-pleaser, to truly not care what others think of me or my parenting or my friendship choices or my work or my weight or my fashion is unbelievably liberating. It’s a kind of freedom I couldn’t have conceived of a decade ago. And now I’m living it and not interested in asking for anyone’s permission or approval.

When we can live as ourselves in a world that works hard to get us to be something inauthentic, we have traveled a great distance toward contentment. Anything that takes you further from your intuitive self and invites negative energy into your safe space can be abandoned. I’m learning not to put myself in so many uncomfortable situations. Life is precious and important and sacred. I make my decisions with that in mind now.

Trying to make other people happy is a dead-end road. It’s not a good goal. Figure out what you need, first and foremost, and design your life around that. The people you love most will benefit indirectly from your contentment and healthy choices. Simplify wherever possible. Your time and energy is valuable. Don’t spend it on people who give nothing back to you but stress and frustration. You simply do not have to live that way. All you need is the word “no” and you’ll be free.

Contentment is a worthy goal. Invest in whatever gets you closer. If you are moving further away, look at your decisions and see where you went wrong. And it’s okay if not everyone is happy with you, as long as you are happy yourself.

In Books, Identity, Movies/TV, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth

Talking is not Trying

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Talking is not Trying

I finally watched The Glass Castle and burst into tears when Jeannette says to her dad, “Talking is not trying.” It struck so close to home that something primal in me rose up to meet this simple piece of dialogue. The whole exchange vibrated with truth.

My dad died sixteen years ago this spring. I was twenty-nine. It seems so long ago now, and in other ways it still feels fresh and recent. Like Jeannette’s father in The Glass Castle, mine was an alcoholic. He also struggled with mental illness in the form of bipolar disorder.

When dad died, he was alone, estranged from his ex-wife and his three adult children. I hung in there with him longer than my siblings, but our relationship was one hell of a wild roller coaster ride. I have no doubt that he was filled with regret at the time of his passing. He longed to be healthier and more stable, but simply couldn’t find the keys to that particular combination.

Viewing the ending of The Glass Castle, when Jeannette decides to go see her dying father, was a powerful catharsis moment for me. I recognized just how far I have come in these last sixteen years to forgive my dad and actually feel grateful for the lessons I learned through my difficult relationship with him.

I can see what he gave me, through his genes but also through his behaviour. And like Jeannette, I can agree that talking is not trying, even though I can see now that my dad did try. He just wasn’t able to succeed.

The point of the line in the movie is that talk is cheap. Action is what counts and what matters. Understanding this has changed me for the better, for I expect more than words now from those I love. It’s not enough to simply have good intentions. There has to be behaviour that matches the promises and the hype. Without the actions, all you are left with is lies. And a shit-ton of resentment.

I wish now that I could sit down with my dad over a cup of coffee and tell him that I have no more hard feelings. Forgiveness for me has been a long and exhausting road, but I can see that I have made significant progress. Talking is not trying, and when I was younger I needed much more than fancy words. I needed something that he simply was not capable of providing. And now it feels good to let that go.

But it’s still okay to admit that I needed a better dad. I think I’ll long for that until the day I die, but I’ve made peace with that desire. Now I know how to get what I need, from myself and from others who are healthy, to ensure that I can actually receive real love and care. I’ve found people whose actions do match up to their words. It’s not just talk anymore. The trying makes all the difference.