Process, Not Product

One of my grad school professors taught me this phrase last semester: Process, Not Product. Usually I pick three words to focus on for each new year, but for 2022 I’ve decided to use this three-word phrase instead.

We used it in a writing class, but it works well as a general concept. Our North American society is so fixated on the end product. Along the way, the joy of the process required in order to achieve that product can become lost. I’m hoping to recover that joy this year.

The way my prof described it, the process is the part we have the most control over. Particularly when writing, but for many areas of life the process itself is what really matters. Setting up a creative practice that holds meaning for me is under my direct control. Thinking about the process in a new way, instead of fixating on the eventual outcome of that process, is likely to make me happier.

In 2022, this third year of our never-ending pandemic reality, I’m looking to a healthier daily work process instead of peering so far down the line to glimpse the finished product. This same professor encouraged his students to be fierce about our own work, to believe in ourselves and our unique voices, and to stop looking for so much validation outside of ourselves.

These are worthy pursuits for a new year. To channel our depleted energies into more of what we can control, and choose to let go of the areas where we have limited say. To inch toward kindness, in as many settings and relationships as possible, and to eschew cynicism in all of its nasty forms. To believe in goodness again, and to slowly cultivate the flame of hope to combat our despair.

Process, not product. I like the simplicity of this phrase. I wrote it on an index card above my desk, where I hope to remind myself of this focus every day of the year. I’m hoping it will help with the fear I feel about completing my thesis project this summer. Forecasting failure or success before I’ve even started the work is a losing game. Instead, I’ll put that energy into crafting a daily writing process that sustains me, and brings me joy, for that will be the thing that carries me through.

What process, not product can you concentrate on this year?

Winter Solstice

I haven’t written here for months, due to my schedule as a full-time MFA student and being a TA at UBC, so the shortest day of the year (or more accurate at the end of 2021, might be the longest night of the year) seems like a good day to write a post.

How’s everyone doing? It’s rough out there, with Omicron running wild and those of us who got vaxxed wondering if it will work to protect us after all. It’s cold, it’s dark, we’re tired, nothing is certain. And yet, from this point forward, we get just a smidge more light and hope every day as we inch toward the summer solstice.

I’ve always loved these last few days before Christmas, but this year everything feels a little harder than most years. The joy is there, but muted somehow.

Our house flooded in early October, making an already stressful fall significantly worse as we experienced constant disruptions and noise with restoration and construction for two months. A friend commented, “A flood? Sheesh. You’d think a pandemic would be enough…” which made me laugh in spite of my frustration.

Like so many of us this year, I limped to the finish line this month in my first term as a graduate student. I learned a lot, met some really cool writers, and improved my work. Those were the pluses, but the bone-deep weariness was a real issue, affecting my ability to focus by mid-November.

The amazing prof I worked with as a TA in term one routinely told our TA team, “We are all carrying more than we think we are right now. We need to be gentle with ourselves and each other, admitting when it’s too much and asking for help.” I think about this a lot.

Here we are, on the first day of winter, in a pandemic that keeps changing. I remind myself every day to hold loosely and to keep my expectations low. We plan and then we’re forced to amend those plans. We try to stay calm, to look after ourselves and others, and to extend grace because we know everyone around us is also hurting.

Soon, there will be more light. When we are exhausted, we must rest, so we have enough energy to continue on. Eat all the chocolate, my friends. Treat yourself. Carve out time to do whatever it is that makes your soul feel light and happy. We will make it through this.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

We are Safe and We are Loved

My go-to mantra when I’m on a turbulent flight is I am safe and I am loved. I repeat it over and over in my mind (and occasionally under my breath) until I feel calmer. The Covid-19 pandemic is a long, turbulent flight that we are all experiencing separately but at the same time, so in response I’ve altered my meditation to we are safe and we are loved.

Like most students, my university classes all moved online in the middle of March. When my spring semester finally ended in early April, one student in my virtual classroom said he was going to spend his quarantine time learning new languages. Several of my generous classmates responded, “Good for you” while I secretly thought, “Fuck you” (not remotely generous or kind).

It’s okay not to have ambitious projects in mind during a global pandemic. We are safe and we are loved, whether we are able to learn new languages or simply get out of our pajamas once in awhile and go for a 20 minute walk around the block. It’s not a competition to emerge smarter or stronger at the end of this. It’s more than enough just to survive this strange and unsettling time. Thriving feels like too much to me on most days.

A friend of mine said, “One day at a time, one hour at a time, one moment at a time” when the pandemic began. Usually I focus mostly on the hour increments. Sometimes the minute ones. Yesterday both kids agreed to join Jason and I on our afternoon walk (full disclosure: it’s because both kids had school assignments that involved getting outside). We passed an adorable girl who lives in our townhouse complex, playing outside with her mom. She’s about three, with curly hair and round glasses. Her face split into a huge grin when the four of us walked by. She waved frantically and shouted, “Hi people!” That was a good moment, standing out like red roses against a white wall in the never-ending uncertainty of the Coronavirus.

We are safe and we are loved. I don’t know when the Covid-19 nightmare will be over. I cannot say whether our world will be changed for the better or for the worse when some semblance of normality returns. Like everyone, I peer into the future and it’s a murky haze of barely indistinguishable outlines that won’t crisp up for months to come. We just have to wait, which is not my strong suit. There are no guarantees. But for now I can offer you this: we are safe and we are loved.

We will make it through this. If you are like me, you’ll be salty a few times a day to the people you love most, while occasionally feeling overcome with gratitude for this amount of time you get to spend with each other. You might be fearful of how we will reintegrate back into society again. Perhaps you are scared of getting sick, or part of you actually enjoys the prolonged downtime. Me too. I’m raising my hand right alongside you.

I am afraid and I’m also full of joy. To go back to the turbulent flight metaphor, it’s important to remember that all flights eventually end. We are all going somewhere, even if the destination is one giant question mark. When it’s bumpy, you are welcome to join me in my mantra we are safe and we are loved. Because, for now, we are.

Messages of Love to Ourselves

Messages of Love to Ourselves

Last week I went to a laser clinic for information on removing a raised red bump on my scalp under my hair. It’s been growing there for some time, since Ava was a baby, and I checked it with my doctor a few years ago and he said not to worry about it.

Lately it’s been itchy around the area and I’m weary of warning those cutting my hair about avoiding it. So I went to a laser clinic.

Apparently, what I have is called a “ruby point”. I’ve left this one so long that it will be expensive to remove, taking several appointments instead of just one. The technician pointed out several small rubies developing along my hairline and on my neck and chest.

I went home from the consultation utterly dejected. I hate spending money in general, but certainly dropping hundreds of dollars on cosmetic surgery offends my thrifty ways. It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that I identified what my internal monologue was whispering to me after this appointment.

That persistent voice went something like this: Julianne, you are such an idiot. How could you let this thing grow on your head for over a decade without doing something about it? Anyone with sense would’ve known better. And what the hell is wrong with you that more of these ruby point things are growing all over you?

The voice was relentless, mean and forceful. I felt overwhelmed by a sense of shame and guilt. What was wrong with me? It was only when I finally sat down with my journal and tried to sort out why I was hurting that I could see how devastating this line of thought was. It’s not my fault I’m prone to these ruby points. And I did check the one on my head with a doctor who wasn’t concerned about it. Now it’s becoming an issue for me so I’m getting it removed.

Recognizing my unconscious nasty messaging to myself was so helpful, for it meant I could choose to mute those cruel words. I did not have to surrender my joy and peace to that angry noise. I am worth this money I must spend to take care of my health. I am not a burden to my family, like I initially feared. (Talking about this with Jason over dinner was so reassuring. He is usually kinder to me than I am to myself. He said, “Go for it, don’t worry about what it costs. You need to get this done.”)

I am loved and valued and it’s okay to prioritize my skincare. I made the appointment for this afternoon to laser off the big ruby point and after that I can make a plan to deal with the smaller ones.

It’s important to stop and look at what our subconscious is actually saying to us. Much of what we hear can be traced back to faulty messaging from our childhood or other critical points in our past, but the wonderful news is that we do not have to listen to that vitriol any longer. We can love ourselves through any hardship.

I’m grateful that this health issue is not a serious one. It’s pricey, but others are facing much scarier and more uncertain problems. I will hold that gratitude close, and work on making sure the messages I give myself are ones of love instead of scorn or derision.

How about you? What does your self-talk sound like?

Retreat

Everyone can benefit from a retreat, but women in particular are in need of a getaway to refresh and refuel from their daily work of giving and sacrifice.

Last week I took myself to a small town in Washington state for a one-night writing retreat as I’m trying to finish my current manuscript before the kids are home for the summer. I booked it weeks ago, hoping for an ocean view room as nothing sparks creativity better than the sight and sound of the waves.

I waited until the kids were both home from school in the mid-afternoon so I could kiss them and hug them and say goodbye in person, then I jumped in my car and drove across the border with a light heart and a blanket sense of joy and peace.

The whole thing felt RIGHT. I used to plan writing retreats for groups in June at a Bed and Breakfast until the place we went to was sold and I didn’t muster up enough energy to find a new one. A couple of years went by and I didn’t go away on my own to write. Last week I realized just how much I’d missed it.

I popped into a local grocery store and took my time wandering the aisles, choosing food for one person for the next three meals. It was like playing house. Never has grocery shopping been so fun, with only my tastes and preferences to consider.

I checked in around 5 pm, unpacking and heading outside to my tiny deck to soak up my scrap of ocean view. I brought my writing binder outside and got down to work, luxuriating in the sense of being alone and doing my favourite activity on earth in a beautiful location.

We all need to make time and space in our schedules to retreat from our daily lives. This one-night stay felt profound to me, for it signified that I was worth the expense of this short trip. I used to talk myself out of these kinds of luxuries, figuring there was something more worthwhile to spend money on. But now I’m realizing that the freedom and joy I experienced while I was away has no price tag. It’s valuable beyond measure.

If you are a woman who gives to others and doesn’t refill her tank with activities she loves, consider this a gentle nudge to take yourself on a retreat. Even if it’s a solitary walk for an hour, build a sense of retreat into your life. Your spouse and your kids will thank you as you will be returning to them as your very best self, refreshed and ready for what comes next.

My one-night retreat was a week ago and I still feel utterly calm and balanced as a result of taking some time out just for me. I got a lot of work done, I consumed delicious food and drink, I slept in, I walked along the water’s edge, I soaked up the silence and I poured my heart out onto the page. And when I returned home I was changed for the better because I valued myself enough to go away on a retreat that was custom designed for me.

Where are you going on retreat and how will you fill your soul while you are away?