Showing all posts tagged university

In Identity, Minimalism, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Spiritual Life, University, Writing

Recalibrate

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Recalibrate

My word for the summer has been recalibrate. Not in any scientific form, but a subtle yet intentional change to the way I function in the world.

The greatest aspect of this particular recalibration has been the decision to step back and allow the process to unfold organically. In previous versions of my self development, I’ve tended to force, cajole, urge and shame my change into being. I wanted it done now, dammit, and a specific way.

Not this summer. I felt inspired by a Facebook post from my friend in late June that said, “You have 18 summers with your kids. Don’t waste them.” I took these words to heart. I stopped looking at leisure time as wasted time. I mixed work with play and I felt a lot more relaxed and content.

This recalibration took the form of my general attitude shifting from something set into something more fluid. I tried to take things as they happened, as opposed to forecasting and planning too far into the future. I wrote in my journal a lot, without trying to be fancy or inspired. I just recorded what I was feeling and this practice helped me to slow down internally.

I’ve realized that the process of querying agents and facing a ton of rejection has tampered down my capacity to take risks and to write for the sheer joy of telling a story without thinking about whether or not that work can be published. I’ve just begun two university courses for the fall and both are centred on writing. I’m determined to challenge myself to grow in these courses and not expect that I’ll be the most stellar writer in the class.

Hopefully my spiritual recalibration this summer will offer me a fresh dose of grace and gentleness toward the writing that I do. In this season, I hope to simply be a better version of myself and write from that place with lowered expectations for jaw-dropping genius and a place on the New York Times Bestseller List.

One of my words for 2018 was enough. I can see how this word has been working on me over the last few months. I am enough, just as I am, and so are you. It’s easy to get stuck in a pattern of proving our worth, but this striving brings pain, shame and loss. Feeling like we are enough is a challenge, but it’s well worth the effort.

Part of recalibrating my attitude involves surrendering once again to the flow of this life. Forcing my hoped-for expectations on myself or others or situations is a fool’s errand. I long to swim with the current and not against it. Take it one day at a time, as the recovery movement teaches. Anything else is too uncertain and fraught with peril.

What we have is now. We have the people we love most. We have our own deep well of personality to excavate and mine. We have the chance for contentment, hope and peace. We have kindness, shown first to our fragile selves and then to the world around us. My soul recalibration this summer has given me a fresh perspective on all of these things. Knowing I am enough is a daily battle, but I will fight it, for these moments are precious ones and I want to be fully awake to experience them.

In Identity, Personal Growth, Speaking, University, Writing

Measuring Improvement

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Measuring Improvement

Measuring improvement can be challenging because it happens so slowly. But when it’s occurring  in a compressed period of time, say a spring semester of university, it’s more dramatic and obvious.

I’m almost finished my two classes this term and it’s interesting to look back and see how I’ve grown and changed in both of them. My favourite class by far is Young Adult Fiction in the Creative Writing department. I’ve learned so much from my professor, the KidLit textbook and my fellow students, inquisitive budding writers who are a pleasure to spend three hours with on a Monday morning.

Then there’s my English class. It’s a first year prerequisite that every student must take, and I’m the only mature student there. Monday afternoons I’m surrounded by eighteen year olds, several of whom have strong opinions on life that are diametrically opposed to mine. It makes for interesting debate but my blood has boiled on more than one occasion.

Returning to university in the fall was daunting, but the first Creative Writing class I took was a beautiful boost to my confidence (and the A+ grade I received didn’t hurt either). My YA class is a similar experience this semester, but English has knocked me down a few pegs when it comes to my grades and my abilities.

When I come home whining about another B+ after I put so much time into an assignment or an in-class writing exercise, Jason laughs and says, “This is good for you.” I routinely tell my kids that we can’t be experts at everything and often in life we have to settle for being “good enough.” It turns out I suck at taking my own amazing advice.

Yesterday I had to hand in my second paper of three in this English class. I put many hours into this thing and I know it’s the best work I can do at this point when it comes to thesis statements, topic sentences, and formal structured academic writing. I haven’t done this kind of thing in twenty-six years and I’m definitely rusty. I think I’ve improved over the course of the semester but I won’t know until I receive my grade.

The best way I have to measure my own improvement is the difference in my attitude. I’m not angry anymore that I didn’t get a string of A’s in this class like I wanted. I’m getting the marks that are suitable for my skills at this point. As Brene Brown teaches us, we have to make peace with the messy middle. When we learn something new, we fumble around in the dark for a long while before we get any semblance of capability for the task.

I don’t have a ton of patience for my own learning journey. I want to leapfrog ahead over the awkward, uncomfortable bits, even though I spent the month of February teaching conference sessions about the value of risk-taking, going straight into the hard stuff, and modelling vulnerability and authenticity. Sigh. Ain’t it great to be human and get so many chances to practice this shit?

We are all improving, every day, but the changes tend to be so minuscule that they become hard to measure. I know I’m a stronger and more capable writer because I’m back in university. I can feel it and see it demonstrated in the work I’m creating. But I’m definitely not good at everything.

When we learn new skills, floundering comes with the territory. The only way to push through that to the golden sunrise of accomplishment is to be patient, not to quit, and in my case, to accept my B+ with pride instead of frustration.

In Culture, Identity, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships

Feminism Means Equality

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Feminism Means Equality

I had this exchange in one of my university classes this week:

Young Man: I am NOT a feminist.

Me: Do you believe in equality for men and women?

Young Man: Yes, of course, but I’m NOT a feminist.

The definition of feminism is as follows:

The doctrine advocating social, political and all other rights of women equal to those of men.

It’s not burning bras, hating on men, trying to raise women above men, or shaving your head and ranting in the town square. Feminism is equality. That’s it. Full stop. And when eighteen-year-old men become angry at the idea of calling themselves feminists, in an era where equality is being discussed everywhere you go, I become dejected and overwhelmed.

These conversations matter. Clearly, the word “feminism” carries a charge and men are afraid to be associated with it. I can’t fix this and I’m not interested in fixing it. But the word itself means equal rights for both genders and I will continue to bring this up until it becomes more widely understood.

My lovely professor approached me after class to talk about the exchange and to thank me for not escalating it. She said, “I’m really glad you spoke up to define the word ‘feminism’, even if he did appear to be upset over it.” She wanted to be sure I felt supported. I did. Support was not the issue. Having a discussion about a word where the person agrees with the concept but not the word we use for it makes me want to bang my head on a table until it bleeds.

Do we need a new word for feminism? I asked some young women in my next class this question and they said, “No. If women come up with a new word so men won’t be uncomfortable with it, the men will find a problem with the new word, too.” Fair point.

At the dinner table after my classes, I asked my eleven-year-old son William if he considers himself a feminist. He said, “Yes.” (To which Ava replied, “Of course he is. Growing up in this house, what else could he be?”). Then I asked Jason the same question and he also answered, “Yes.” When pressed on what this means, both of them said some version of equality.

Let’s have more of these discussions, equating the word “feminism” to the word “equality” as they are one and the same. You can’t say you believe in equality but you don’t believe in feminism. I know that the term can be loaded for people, I do understand that, but then let’s bring it back to the definition. If you are a man who doesn’t call himself a feminist, please consider how hard a woman has to work to even get you to understand the importance of equality, let alone fighting over the words we are using.

The road to equal rights is long and arduous. If every person helps, even just a little, we’ll move closer to the goal of a fairer and more generous world for every person. A rising tide lifts all boats and language matters. I thought this was easier for young people, but after my experience this week, I’m not so sure. As a culture, we still have a ton of work to do to close this gender gap.

In Identity, Minimalism, Movies/TV, Personal Growth, Speaking, Writing

Contentment

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Contentment

I turn 45 this week. I’ve been thinking back to when I turned 37 and my life began to change dramatically. It’s hard to believe that 8 years have gone by since then. I read once that it takes 7 years for a new city to really feel like home and I believe that to be true. I’ve been living now as my authentic self for the last 7 years and I’m finally beginning to settle in and enjoy myself.

The biggest thing I did at the age of 37 was create boundaries. I had existed my whole life without any clear idea of where I ended and someone else began so boundaries were brand new and terrifying to me. Thankfully, my amazing counsellor Joanne explained what healthy boundaries looked like and she helped me find the courage to set them and hold them when they were tested. This process helped me take control of my time and safeguard my emotions. It saved me.

I also began to experiment with saying no when I didn’t want to do something. A few months ago I looked back over my calendars since 2011 and I felt weary just paging through the many obligations, committees, coffee dates, church activities, etc. that I used to do. Learning to say no and not stress over the other person’s reaction to my decision has liberated me and I’m incredibly grateful.

Perhaps this also falls under boundaries and saying no, but over the last few years I’ve made hard choices about the people I allow into my life and these decisions have made me so happy. At first, it was painful and isolating, but over time I could feel my soul healing as I recovered from the intense people pleasing that had been my key mode in the early years of my life. Choosing not to have negative, draining, selfish people in my inner circles has made room for so many positive, kind, generous ones to take their place and my health is better every single day as a result.

Turning 45 marks a significant point in my life. I’m working steadily in the Vancouver area as a background performer in film and TV and I feel so alive as I walk out my biggest dreams. I worked on a big show a few times this month and while waiting for the bathroom at the studio I stood outside of the writers’ room, listening to them have a story meeting. My spine tingled with the excitement of it, and the thought “one day I’ll be in a writers’ room” didn’t feel far-fetched in the slightest. Instead it seemed inevitable.

I just finished my first semester of my university creative writing class. I know it’s not polite to brag, but finishing with a mark in the mid-nineties was reassuring after so many years away from school. Right now I have the feeling that I’m in the sweet spot when it comes to decades of pursuing writing, speaking and film work. It’s coming together, in a satisfying and unforced manner, and I am so content.

It’s only recently that I’ve actually decided to enjoy my life as it is, not how I once dreamed it could be. Chasing an elusive someday stokes up discontent and sadness. Staying present to notice what’s working well and paying attention to those you love who also love you in return is worth its weight in gold.

Here’s to marking the middle of my forties with gratitude, warmth and light. Our world needs us to be operating at our healthiest and happiest capacity. As a friend posted the other day, “Water only what waters you. Let go of anything that leaves you feeling thirsty.”

In Identity, Personal Growth, Writing

A New Love for Poetry

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
A New Love for Poetry

I’m absolutely loving my university Creative Writing class this fall. My professor has taught me so much that I didn’t know or had never considered about writing.

Every writer has bad habits and weak areas. I knew this going in. Anyone who has had a professional editor look over their work will be familiar with the red marks on a page or Google Doc, highlighting for all the world to see the words you tend to overuse and abuse (mine are “all” – used in the previous sentence for shit’s sake – and “too” and for some unknown reason I use “tiny” way too often…sigh).

But in this class my mind has been blown wide open by imagery. I’ve knowingly underused imagery in my work, justifying it by telling anyone who would listen that “I’m interested in the inner landscape so I don’t waste time describing setting and characters.”

Such horseshit. Now I see what I’ve been missing out on. It’s like a giant puzzle piece, sliding into place, informing every area of my writing by upping my game when it comes to descriptive imagery. Particularly in poetry and the art of the short story.

From grade five through second-year university, I attended small evangelical Christian schools. It’s possible I’ve simply blocked it out, but I honestly don’t recall learning anything about poetry in my school years. I grew up with a certain disdain for poems, believing them to be inscrutable and pretentious.

And now I’m studying poetry at the ripe old age of forty-four, twenty-five years after I left university, and I’m blown away by how much I love it and how naturally it comes to me (now that I’ve been challenged to use concrete words and images instead of the abstract ones I’ve been fond of for so long). It’s like a whole new world and I wonder why I waited so long to dive in.

I’m reading poetry, and I’m writing poetry, and I’m knee-deep in the joys of juxtaposition, wordplay and double meanings. It’s fun. And with every word I write, and each new contest I enter, I’m feeling stronger and more confident as a writer.

This is where the good stuff is. It’s in the learning curve, the challenge, the messiest parts of our lives. Approaching writing as if I’m new to it has given me a fresh interpretation of the craft and the process. I feel like I’m in Oz, peeking behind the curtain, and marvelling at the nuts and bolts of building stories, worlds and emotions on the page.

I can’t wait to see what’s next. Bring it on.