Blogging: Inspiration or Perspiration?

And yet another week has passed without me posting a blog.  I have plenty of ideas.  I have dozens of abandoned drafts.  And yet, nothing--bribery, guilt, inspiration or sheer will--seems to propel me toward a finished post.

I tried writing for an hour a day.  That lasted about three days.  Then I compromised with half an hour a day, which lasted, well, less than the allotted half hour.  Too tired, too busy, too uninspired, too frazzled, too much "real" work for clients, too whatever--name your excuse, and I've used it.

My real problem--because let's face it, if I have time to stalk high school boyfriends on Facebook or tweet about cheese dip for an hour every day, I have time to blog--is inspiration.  Maybe it's my free spirited nature, maybe it's my own crazy brand of perfectionism, but I have to feel "inspired" to write.  I have to be "in the moment."  If I start a blog one day, it just doesn't "sing" to me two days later.  Which of course, leads to a string of unfinished drafts and even more pressure, frustration and self-doubt.

How do I break the cycle?  How do I write when I don't "feel" like?  Does writing ever become less of a chore?  Is it always a battle of spirit and will?

Help a girl out.

Don't Give Me Diamonds

I am absolutely certain I could not do what I do, that I could not be where I am, that I would not be the person I am today without the love, trust, support, encouragement, humor, honesty and unwavering faith of my amazing husband, Tim.

He's my inspiration for living simply and openly and honestly. 

Don't Give Me Diamonds*

Don't give me diamonds
Don't give me gold
Just give me something
That's true to behold
Walk with me sweetness
Into the light
Don't give me diamonds
Just give me tonight

I never had much of nothing
I never wanted for more
I just want something
That's worth fighting for
Real love comes easy
When your heart is set right
Don't give me diamonds, baby
Just give me tonight

I can see with perfect clarity
The cut and color of your love
Your golden heart, 24 carat to me
One treasure is enough

One thing's for certain
That we can count on
Time is a jewel
That we hold in our palms
We must carry it gently
Hold it up to the light
So don't give me diamonds baby
Just give me tonight

I can see with perfect clarity
The cut and color of your love
Your golden heart, 24 carat to me
And one treasure is enough

Real love comes easy
When your heart is set right
Don't give me diamonds baby
Just give me tonight

*Music and lyrics, (c) BethWoodMusic, 2008.

Reflections

One of the best parts of my recent four-day search for rest and sanity was a trip up to North Carolina--okay, verrrry northern Alpharetta--to Chukkar Farm.  I was introduced to this quaint oasis of horse farms, polo fields and music making in 2008, when my client Beth performed as part of their concert series.

Beth was back this weekend, so we made the trek up past the 'burbs and into the countryside.  The air was clean and crisp and smelled of horses and hay and wholesomeness.  Couples and families gathered at tables and on blankets, sipping on wine and beer, chasing after children and dogs and soaking up the last bit of daylight.

What I love about this series is that it's 100% about making music.  It's like jumping back in time and eavesdropping on the Carter Family harmonizing over the campfire on a chilly autum evening, voices weaving above and below and around one another as logs crackle and spit and frogs and crickets chime in.  Songwriters, true musicians--not ones manufactured by record labels, hidden under layers of autotuning, elaborate costumes, heavy make-up and concert-stage theatrics--stripped bare, completely exposed, singing, playing, harmonizing and making music together.  On the spot.  So organic and real.

And then I thought these musicans, all of them hugely talented, ambitious and driven.  But they haven't sold out.   They're not playing major amphitheatres or getting mainstream radio play, touring the world on private jets and trashing swanky hotel rooms.  They're bunking in each others' houses, playing in every-day clothes in tiny venues across the country where people actually LISTEN to the music.  They're earning each and every dollar the hard and the decent and the right away.

It resonates with me, especially as I try to figure out how to grow and scale my business and still be "me."  To provide a service, to share what I see as a gift, in a very simple, raw, honest and authentic way.  Maybe it's idealistic, but maybe, just maybe, it's possible.

I Took a Vacation So I Could Work

Yes, I recognize the irony of posting a blog about not hiding and then essentially going into hiding.  For two weeks.

I'll be honest--I wasn't well.  I was overwhelmed, depressed and physically and emotionally exhausted.  I had given others so much from my own well that mine was completely dry.  

When you're a solopreneur, taking time off seems impossible.  Indulgent.  Incomprehensible.

Until you find yourself like I did last month--completely worn-out, anxious, bone-tired and completely useless to myself, my clients, my friends and my family.

So, I took a break.  A REAL break.  Four days of nothing but amazing food, people and experiences.  I stopped trying to control and plan and manipulate every single second, step, decision, workout.  I stopped trying to "power through" and let my mind and my body rest.  Of course, my definition of "rest" included a 10K race!  But my approach was different.  It was quiet, meditative, open--more about the experience and my energy and effort rather than some must hit or I'll-wallow-in-self-pity-for-two-weeks-because-I-clearly-suck time goal.

So, here I am, rested, peaceful and determined, diving into the second half of my year determined to figure out the meaning of this unfamiliar concept called "balance."

No More Hiding

Over the past few days, I've written this post several times in my head.  Each time with a different title or slightly different angle.  At first, it was going to be about "putting on big girl panties," and well, sucking it up and doing things that I need to do, but don't really feel like doing--like getting up early to get my workouts in, eating my vegetables, keeping track of business expenses, sticking to a budget, putting away laundry and paying bills.  That morphed into a treatise on "self care"--eating well, working out, sleeping, writing, oh yeah--and remembering to breathe.

And then, well, life got a bit more complicated.  Two very special people in my life went through major crises last week.  And suddenly, I grew tired of my own petulance.  Bitching about not being able to sleep in anymore just seemed inconsequential and downright childish in comparison to real problems.  Nothing like a crisis to bring about clarity.  Suddenly, the "shoulds" don't seem like "shoulds" anymore.  They are blessings.  An opportunity to live and live well.  To become a grown-up.

I don't want to hide any more.  From the pain and joy and the full range of emotions that come with living an open and honest life.  We all use crutches--food, alcohol, sleep, bad relationships and a range of unhealthy things--to cope.  To hide.  To numb the pain and the hurt and the exhaustion and overwhelm that is life.

If that means up at 6am to get a run in, giving up my afternoon nap, or forgoing that evening cocktail, I'm all in.   And I need to know what is real and raw and honest--without distractions or crutches or burying my head in the sand.  Please hold me accountable.

Running on Empty

So, I have something to confess.  I slept almost all day yesterday.  Maybe it was the red wine, maybe it was the allergies, maybe it was the hormones, but mostly, it's because I'm exhausted, and I haven't been taking proper care of myself.

Nearly two weeks ago, I hurt my calf during a routine Saturday morning run.  I didn't have my phone, so I limped nearly three quarters of a mile down Peachtree Battle to a friend's store to call my husband for a ride home.

If you know anything about me, you know that I get depressed and cranky when I can't run.  And when I'm depressed and cranky, I don't eat well.  I indulge in too much cheese dip, chocolate and red wine.  I forget to work out.  I don't sleep well.  I lack energy and focus.

To top it off, I've been horrible about managing my schedule.  I'm overbooked, exhausted, running on empty and have no one to blame but myself. 

I usually prepare for the upcoming week on Sunday afternoons--cheery, optimistic and organized.

Four days of endless proposals, meetings, calls, events and late nights later, I collapse in a heap on the sofa, lacking the energy to even return a simple email.  I become paralyzed.  Disillusioned.  Every.  Damn.  Week.

Something has to give.  I can't keep up this pace, or I'll never make it through marathon training this fall or build my business the way I want to.  I need to take better care of myself.  I need to learn to say no.  To trust my gut more.  To delegate.  To give in to the exhaustion and go to bed at 9pm some nights.  To give myself time to breathe and reflect and write and dream.  To spend time with my husband.  To recharge.

Because this pace is unhealthy, it's not smart, and it's making me crazy.

Moving On

So, my ex-husband got married again this weekend.  It's been just about two years since our divorce was finalized, and since I remarried over a year ago, it's not surprising that he's moved on too.  What IS surprising is just how emotional it's made me.  Not because I didn't know he was getting married again (googling took care of that several months ago), or because I want him back, or because I don't want him to be happy.  But because as much as I talk about my journey and my truth, I rarely talk about this one: that after nearly a decade together, I wasn't truth for him.

Yes, I was the bad guy.  I left.  I asked for the divorce.  I refused counseling or reconciliation because I was done, because I knew those Hail Mary-type efforts would only prolong the inevitable.

But I didn't leave just because he wasn't right for me, but because I wasn't right for him.  Sure, he thought I was.  But I couldn't live up to his ideals, his expectations, his illusions of who I was and who I'd come to be.  And I became resentful.  Bitter, angry, withdrawn, sullen.  Not myself.  And no good to myself or to him as a partner.  I did and said many, many things I regret.  I thought I'd made my peace with it a long time ago.  But I really haven't.  Because it's hard to acknowledge that I played a role in the marriage's demise.  That it wasn't just him.  That it was also ME.  And that there's someone out there that can do a better job at being a spouse to him than I could.

"She will love you more than I could.  She who dares to stand where I stood."

- Missy Higgins