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In Books, Culture, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Speaking, Uncategorized, University, Writing

Fallow

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I’ve just completed my final semester of undergrad. After four years of classes, I’ll graduate in early June with a Bachelor of Arts in Creative Writing from Kwantlen Polytechnic University. Due to our never-ending super fun pandemic, instead of walking across the stage in a cap and gown as I’d planned, I’ll be mailed a box containing my degree.

I’m 48, and at times I’ve felt ancient next to my twenty-year-old classmates, but overall it’s been an excellent experience to complete the higher education I began thirty years earlier. So enjoyable, in fact, that I’ve decided I might like to teach creative writing at the university level in the future, so for that I’ll need an MFA. I applied to UBC for grad school and I’ve been accepted, attending in-person this fall for their two-year program.

Completing any big goal is satisfying, but I also feel strange. For so long I dreamed about having additional time on my hands. To have five months off with no school seemed impossible to imagine, and now it’s here. I want to rest, to daydream, to read novels for pure pleasure and not feel like I’m supposed to be doing something else. To write, for myself and not for a grade.

I just finished a round of counselling, and in my last session I talked about the need for a creative break to let the soil of my mind rest. “I think that’s called letting the land lie fallow,” she said. The more I turned this word over in my mind, the more I fell in love with it. For me, this season between April and September is designed for intentional inactivity, a state that doesn’t feel naturally comfortable. But it is necessary.

Other than a few writing projects and some conference speaking, I’m going to prioritize a fallow state for my creativity. I’ll need to go into grad school as a full-time student with a sense of renewed purpose and energy. For those things, I require rest and rejuvenation.

Our culture likes to whisper in our ear, “You’re only valuable if you produce something, earn money, and work hard all the time.” But I’ve been fighting against this messaging for quite a long time, offering myself permission to slow down, simplify my existence and clarify my priorities. My 3 words for 2021 are peace, priorities and potential. They all fit well into this season of my life, where one big goal has been completed and another one has yet to begin. I’m in the liminal space, where I’m not quite sure of anything, except that rest is required so I don’t burn out.

We’ve all had a hellish twelve months. This time last year the whole world was turned upside down by Covid, and a year later we’re still fighting to stay healthy and carve out a tiny bit of novelty and fun wherever we can. It’s a long haul on a boring treadmill of sameness. For me, right now, the answer is the word fallow, which means “land plowed and left unseeded for a season or more.”

What does the word fallow look like in your life right now?

In Culture, Identity, Minimalism, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, University, Writing

3 Words for 2021

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Every year I choose 3 words to focus on. For 2021, I picked peace, priorities and potential (can you tell I’m in a poetry class in my final semester of my undergrad and we are focusing on techniques like alliteration?).

Living into these words looks different from year to year, but I like the process of noticing how they filter into my life month by month, and then reflecting on them at the end of the year. This is what I’m hoping to discover with each of these words:

Peace

I think of peace not as a permanent state of being but as a worthy goal to aim for. I long for peace in my relationships, within my own mind and heart, and for my words and actions to reflect peace toward others and the larger world. For me, peace is best achieved through controlled, deep breathing and meditation to slow my thoughts down. When I fail to achieve peace by speaking rudely to others or thinking violent thoughts, I try to centre myself, apologize, and try again to promote peace from the inside out.

Priorities

As Queen Oprah once said, “There’s no such thing as balance, only choices.” In 2021, I want to make better use of my time by better managing my choices. I try to remember Annie Dillard’s wise words, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” Years ago, I practiced saying no to what I didn’t want to do in order to have more time for what I really wanted to accomplish. Now, it’s much harder than that, for I have to say no to things I like in order to make space for what I love. My key priorities this year are writing, speaking, graduating university, resting and nurturing those I’m closest to (and being nurtured by them in return).

Potential

Late last year, I heard Rob Bell say in one of his RobCast’s, “As writers, we have to make peace with unrealized potential.” I loved this quote so much that I wrote it down and stuck it above my writing desk. Potential has long been the bane of my existence. For decades, I felt like I wasn’t doing enough. The fear that I was wasting my potential dogged me every single day. I’m exhausted by fighting with my own “unrealized potential.” This is the year I’m determined to lay down this endless grudge match with myself. I’m going to struggle with this concept until I’ve made peace with it.

What are your words for 2021? What areas of growth would you like to focus on in the coming year?

In Culture, Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Politics, Relationships, Speaking, University

Fall 2020

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Deep breath, everyone. Here we go, into a back-to-school season shaped like one ginormous question mark. We haven’t experienced this exact landscape before, one fraught with endless decisions to make, while wearing a blindfold.

Is full-time, face-to-face instruction safe? Is a hybrid face-to-face/online method better? What about full-time online at home for learning? My answer is: I don’t know. We are all whistling in the dark here, exploring the options our school districts are offering, while watching the news to see what’s working and not working against Covid in other areas of the country.

It’s a strange time. Usually I feel a surge of optimism when I turn the calendar to September, but this year the key feeling I have is uncertainty. I’m entering my second last semester of my Creative Writing BA, and I’m wondering why it’s not safe for me to return to in-person university classes and yet it’s okay for my high schoolers to have face-to-face instruction starting next week.

Part of me wants to move on and get back to some version of normal, but another part is anxious about BC’s rising Covid numbers and what that means when thousands of kids and teachers return to classrooms. The public health guidance for months has been around small bubbles, hand-washing, mask-wearing and extreme caution, which feels like whiplash when we contemplate returning to school, even with a number of new precautions in place.

The one thing I know for sure is that this is going to be a school year like no other. It will be disruptive and unpredictable. We will all need to practice patience and grace for one another as we try to navigate these choppy waters. It’s helpful to refrain from judgement when someone else’s Covid plan looks different from yours. We are all doing the best that we can in the midst of trying circumstances.

I spent time last week doing virtual Pro D sessions for some fabulous teachers in Kelowna. Most of them were feeling anxious and concerned. I did my best to remind them that you cannot pour from an empty cup. We have to put our own oxygen masks on before we can assist others in an emergency. Self-care first and foremost. Walk in nature, take deep breaths, journal, draw, meditate, stretch, sleep.

The prescription for Fall 2020 is flexibility, kindness, caution and self-care. Prepare for plans to shift and change with very little notice. Let’s take care of ourselves and each other. Check in with those you love. Acknowledge the fear but don’t let it take over.

We are going to need all of our resources for the challenges ahead. Six months have passed since the pandemic began in Canada, so we know more now than we did at the beginning. The best way to get through this challenging time is by caring for one another.

Deep breath. Here we go, with our fingers crossed.

In Culture, Identity, Minimalism, Nurture, Personal Growth, Politics, Speaking, Writing

3 Words for 2020

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Smaller. Braver. Justice. These are my 3 words for 2020. (Yes, I’m aware I missed writing this post in January, but it’s still early in the new decade, right? Or so I tell myself.)

I’ve been picking 3 words as a focus for my year since 2016. I learned this practice from the fabulous Sarah Bessey, who usually chooses one word for her year. One word didn’t seem like enough to me (plus I couldn’t narrow it down), so I picked 3.

At the end of each year, lit by the Christmas tree in the dewy darkness of December, I close my eyes and wait for words to develop on the screen of my mind. This year they came as softly as ever, but quickly, like staccato notes.

Smaller.

I’m determined to stop waiting for some future idea of success. I no longer want a huge reach on social media or to be a famous writer with a 7-figure book advance (well, I mostly don’t yearn for the enormous book deal). My goal is to return to a smaller sphere of influence. To be content with a small yet satisfying life. I want to stop believing that all of the good stuff is out there in the world and I have to chase it down. When I choose to summon gratitude for the people and the experiences that are already in my small circle, it’s actually abundant and joyful. By the end of 2020, I want to really know that a smaller life is more than enough.

Braver.

I’ve been working on courage for a long time. More confidence to speak up and use my voice. I’ve come a long way from the timid mouse I used to be, but this year I long to go even further. To use my privilege to benefit those who need more advocacy. My goal is to stop obsessing that I might be stepping out of line or rocking the boat. When I hear something offensive, I’m trying to speak up. Intuition is a powerful force, but it doesn’t work if we don’t use it. When I’m in a situation that doesn’t feel right, I’m planning to utilize my bravery more. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially when it’s uncomfortable. This is how we move forward as a society. We need all of the voices. All of the courage. Together we can make a bigger impact.

Justice.

Which leads me to justice. For quite a few years now, I’ve been gathering my sensibilities around fairness and equality, but I’ve been doing this quietly. Now, in 2020, it feels like the right time to speak out. To write about the issues that are near and dear to me, even if they upset some people. It’s okay for others not to agree. That’s what freedom looks like. What’s not okay is to be too afraid to speak up. The stakes are high. It’s time. My hope is that my smaller life will help me become braver, which will prompt me to speak up for justice in a clear voice. I often remind myself that courage doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid. It simply means you go ahead and act anyway.

What are your words for 2020? What areas of growth do you plan to focus on in our fresh new decade of possibility?

In Culture, Identity, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Uncategorized, University, Writing

Nobody Knows Anything

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

In my presentation on risk, I have a slide called Nobody Knows Anything. I don’t mean this in a general sense, as lots of people know lots of things, but I mean it when forecasting failure or success. No publisher knew that Harry Potter would be the smash hit of the century. No scientist knows that his or her discover will be the next big thing in the field. Most artists die long before their work becomes popular and desirable by the masses.

A big part of the human experience is trial and error. This really sucks for the control freaks among us (including me). The goal when creating anything new is to allow it to exist without expecting so much from it. That sentence feels so light and easy to type and yet living it out remains a real bitch.

Nobody knows anything, so we should hold lightly to our ideas. I’m in a fourth year fiction writing workshop this semester where we offer feedback on each other’s short stories. It can be so hard to hear criticism, especially when the work is brand new and as its creator you aren’t even sure what it is yet. So often I dream of turning in a story and having a reader or my prof say, “Wow, this is perfect in every way. Don’t change a word. Magazines will be lining up to publish this brilliant piece of writing.” (Spoiler Alert: this NEVER happens.)

The key is not to base our sense of self-worth on any outside source. Ever. Praise comes and goes, just like criticism, and our sense of internal value should not rise and fall with people’s opinions. Confidence is always an inside job. I know this to be true, deep in my soul, and yet so often I become dragged down or obsessive about other people’s views, mistaking them for facts when they are only opinions.

Holding loosely is one of the great markers of happiness. Usually our pain comes from daydreaming about how a situation or a relationship is going to spool out. We imagine a certain outcome, and then when it doesn’t work out we feel betrayed, devastated, robbed. And yet the narrative we constructed was only in our own head. It was never real or guaranteed.

I am ridiculously guilty of this. Even though I know better, and have for years, I still daydream situations that have zero chance of occurring. Why do I do this? Likely because it feels good. It gives me a sense of control over life that in reality I simply do not possess. Why is it such a damn challenge to let life unfold the way it’s meant to and adapt to what actually happens instead of what I think will happen?

It does help to remember that nobody knows anything when it comes to predicting what most people like or don’t like. We have to trust in ourselves for the work we are doing. We have to hope it will translate to others and mean something to people beyond ourselves. Receiving critical feedback that is kind and helps to shape the work is beneficial, but a lot of what people say is not helpful and harms the initial risk we are courageous enough to take.

As Theodore Roosevelt reminds us in shortened form and with updated inclusive language, “It’s not the critic who counts, (but) the credit belongs to the (person) in the arena.” If nobody knows anything about what will ultimately fail and what will succeed, then the creator is the one who should believe in their work for as long as possible, without inviting other people to weigh in too early in the process.