Main Menu

Posted by

november project, day 4: changing my mind


Sometimes I use my writing to get my mind right.  Coming from a champion lineage of depression and addiction, this is something I have to do on a regular basis, when my thoughts tend toward the negative and I am not being kind to myself.  When negativity arises, I neuroplasticize.  In other words, I change my mind.  To do this, I simply write at the top of my page “thank you.” And then I begin filling the page with words and images and thoughts and things that I am grateful for in my life, from coffee to Oliver and Lucy to the warmth of sunlight through the windows in a cozy coffee shop.  And it works.  From the time I begin writing until the page is stuffed with words and color, I am able to alter my own emotional and mental state.

I often tell my students that life is not easy, being human is not easy.  It wasn’t meant to be.  But it’s how we navigate our humanness–bringing ourselves back when we fall out of grace–that heals our souls and makes us powerful.

As the sun slants away from summer and the days shrink and the darkness grows, we must to tend the light and warmth within.  Next time you notice your thoughts leaning toward the negative, give yourself the gift of ten minutes, a blank page, and colorful markers, and pull out the grace within so you can see it and feel it.  Again and again.  This is the work of life.

Read More

Posted by

november project, day 2: what will I wear to work tomorrow?


A couple of days ago at Spyhouse Coffee on Broadway & Central, I made this picture in my journal while I was thinking about what I was going to wear to work. I worry about this because I feel like I have to look a certain way when I teach at the university. Like I have to look professorial, yet I don’t really know what that means. I just want to feel like me when I teach.  But I can’t wear a t-shirt, jeans, and boots to class everyday.  So I have to get creative with my clothes.

I was sitting along the windows overlookingBroadway Ave. as I wrote. A lady with really long hair to my right kept looking over at me without moving her neck.  She kind of leaned sideways. I could see she worked at the U of M too by the logo on her screen.  I thought to myself, “She probably wants to be drawing a picture instead of grading papers too.”





Read More

Posted by

november project: filling the creative well


A few days ago, I wrote myself a prescription for November.  I wrote it because I need some creative medicine.

For the past few months, I have been running along the edge of an empty tank. My time is spliced between too many things, things that feed my soul and enrich my life, but that require a lot of physical, mental, emotional, and social energy.  At the end of the day, I am left with little for myself.  My kids get the last fumes, and that’s a wrap.  Paul and I hang out, but since we are in the same boat, we are bogged down together.

By nature (and identity), I am a writer and a creator.  But life has been so immersive, I have not been able to try new things with my writing. The last extensive project I engaged in was a full revision of my second novel. I finished that project in May, and haven’t written a word of fiction or posted a blog since.

And in the meantime, I grew comfortable.  And fearful about sharing my writing.

I still write daily, filling blank pages with thoughts using thin-tipped markers.  But I haven’t written anything for anyone outside of myself to see. And the longer I’ve been away, the more apprehensive I feel.

What am I going to write about? I wonder in a low-level writer’s despair.  I have a million ideas, but when it comes right down to it, I don’t sit down and risk bringing them to light.

My creative energy is flat, and I’ve been banging my head, feeling a like a fraud teaching leadership when I’m out of balance in my own life.

A week or so ago, I figured it out: I’m hiding in my comfort zone, in the pages of my journal, where my thoughts are safe from judgement or scrutiny. But in the comfort zone, there is no risk, no growth, no innovation, and after a while, stagnation.

I’m a writer, after all.  And part of being a writer is letting people read what you write.

So I wrote myself a prescription to push me out of my comfort zone to practice what I preach in class–to bravely and creatively express what is within.


For the month of November, I am going to nurture myself creatively, in some way, every day.  You are welcome to join me, or sit back and take it in.  Whichever, I hope my quest to fill my creative well inspires you to do the same.

Read More

Posted by

being 45

being 45

Last week my physical therapist asked me how old I am. I told her I was turning 45 on Thursday and she responded, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Her reaction stunned me. It shouldn’t have considering the general view of aging, especially for women, in this country. But it did. And I’ve thought about it since: What does it mean to be 45?

Into my 30’s, I subconsciously cast 45 off as old, when dreams have been long realized and everything from there was on a downslope. But as pages of the calendar seem to be flipping off in a windstorm of years, I’ve gained a new perspective.

Let’s not sugarcoat–aging sucks. I’ve never met anyone who wants wrinkles, aches, pains, inevitable loss, new knees, gray hair, or saggy skin. Not once. And yet, that’s where we are all headed. Until our spirits rise, we are destined to live inside an aging body.

But if we are willing to say yes to life, we must be willing to say yes to it all.  And when I step into the light of grace, of what it means to be given 45 years of life on Earth, I realize I have needed every one of those years to get to where I am now, and there is not one year I would give back.

Forty-five to me means going to college and discovering how humungous the world is, breaking rules, boarding airplanes to lands unknown, walking barefoot on beaches and riding bikes through cities, wildflower meadows, and over canyons. It means being in classrooms and lecture halls, both as student and teacher, always learning and discovering. It means taking my time and following my curiosities, and it means getting lost, wandering, and finding my way back. It means breaking my heart and falling in love and making mistakes and saying I’m sorry and practicing bravery and working really hard and being really grateful. It means marrying my best friend and realizing it was worth the wait. It means growing children in my belly and watching them become who they are, spirits and journeys all their own. It means being the “fortune teller” at the school carnival and reading The Giving Tree before bed. It means letting Lucy destroy the kitchen to make “slime,” and watching Oliver disappear down the sidewalk on his bike, praying he arrives at Spencer’s house safely.

It means all of the experiences I’ve had and all of the people who’ve crossed my path and taught me about love and life.

I am 45 and there is no apology necessary. Instead, I want to tilt my head back and sing to the sky, thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you, God, for all of it.

Read More

Posted by

let the revolution begin


At 9:45 sharp, I stood in front of 25 students, all undergraduates at the University of Minnesota, welcoming them to their first “Personal Leadership in the University,” class this semester.  Aside from the three things they each chose to tell the class about themselves, things like, “I like sports,” or “I love to cook, and I make a mean cheesecake,” or “I’m a small-town girl at heart,” I know nothing of these students.


I know they have worked hard to get to where they are, in these seats facing me, in this room, at this R1 university that accepts a fraction of the students that apply.  I know that I am meeting them at a critical juncture of their lives, when they have left the nests of familiarity, of what they have known, into a future that is yet unknown, yet to be created.  I know that they have dreams and friends and families and struggles and fears and desires and anger and happiness and hurt and courage and hope. I know they each have a story, stories full of possibility and power to change the world.

And when I stand in front of them and share my story, I spare none of my failures.  I tell them that when I was in a student like them, sitting in my chair on my first day of college, I could hear the walls I had built around myself begin to rumble. I could feel a falling apart, a cluelessness about who I was and what I wanted, a feeling of aloneness, of being the only one who had no idea what I was doing with my life.  I tell them I was so riddled with uncertainty and depression, I rarely made it to my classes, graduating five years later with a mediocre GPA, a blank slate, and enough desperation and determination to create a life that resonated with the thrum of my soul’s longing.

I share these things in part because I know mental health issues such as anxiety and depression are epidemic in universities today.  But mostly I share these things because I have a deep belief that sometimes we need to fall apart, obliterate what we have known and think we know in favor of what we may discover, about life and about ourselves, about what we have to give, about our unique talents, and about the profound gifts that can come from profound struggle.

I invite them to be human, to not know. Because in this space of not knowing, in the blank spaces of our lives, we have an opportunity to innovate, to create an idea or thought or solution that has yet to be created.  In my classroom, we begin each day entering the pages of our journals, where I invite them to create the greatest art they will ever create–their lives.

Let the revolution begin.



Read More

Posted by

writing to stoke the creative fire within


In my work, I surround myself with images, color, books, beauty, magazines, and music–anything to energize my creative spirit.

“Why should we all use our creative power…?  Because there is nothing that makes people so generous, joyful, lively, bold and compassionate, so indifferent to fighting and the accumulation of objects and money.” 

-Brenda Ueland

I have just recently recovered from an acute bout of what I call Dry Well Syndrome.  It is pretty awful for us writers and artists who make our living through the use of our creative power.  While it never surprises me, it always unnerves me because I rely on this thing called creativity, not just for work, but for life.  As Julia Cameron of the classic book, The Artist’s Way, points out, “as we are creative beings, our lives become our work of art.

Works of art are often thought to be material things, finite projects.  But the truth is, the greatest work of art each and every one of us has the potential to create is our life.  The problem is, most of us don’t realize our immense creative power.  We are too busy reacting to our lives now to give ourselves the space and time to create visions of what we want.  We enter an auto-pilot way of living, busy tying loose ends and checking off to-do lists, and neglect planting new seeds for our future.  Eventually, we blink, hit middle age, and realize our lives feel uninspired and stale.  Then all emotional hell breaks loose, we have a mid-life crisis, and buy an expensive sports car that doesn’t have the horsepower to lift us out of our stagnation.

But the truth of life is, it’s not over until it’s over. We are meant to continually evolve.  We are meant to create anew. While uncomfortable at times, we are wired for change.  It’s inevitable.  So it really becomes a choice of either entering the flow of life and stepping fully into the adventure, facing fear and embracing courage, or enduring a slow, spiritual suffocation.

We owe it to ourselves to empower our thoughts and infuse our lives with creativity and vision.

In the midst of my last bout of Dry Well Syndrome, knowing the futility of pulling water from an empty well, I surrendered.  I sat down, blank page in front of me, and surrounded myself with inspiring words, images, color, music, thoughts and ideas, letting my mind and pen wander, until I tapped into my next wellspring. What I decided during this period of creative exploration is to pull myself out of bed before sunrise, before anyone in my house is awake, and as the steam rises into the dark morning air from my coffee cup, to feed my creative life.  I used to do this when my kids were babies, and during that period, I wrote my first novel in the mornings between 6:00 am. to 8:00 am. When they entered school, however, I stopped, thinking that I didn’t need those early hours since I had the whole day.

I have since realized that I need a morning writing practice–it inspires and energizes me, allowing me space and time to stoke my creative fire before I’m blown around by the day’s work and activities.


Are you feeling stuck?  Uninspired?  Creatively malnourished?  Writing is a powerful, inspiring, and mysterious practice for creativity in living.  Below is a writing exercise that will help awaken your spirit and breathe life and vitality into your day:

Turn to the next blank page in your journal.  Notice the wide-open space and possibility on the page in front of you and in your life.  Write the date and where you are at the top and begin with the words, “I am inspired by…”  Give yourself the gift of ten minutes to dwell in this landscape.  Be aware of the energy that arises when you give voice, and thus power, to the things in your life that bring inspiration and love.  If this is difficult–if you are stumped by what inspires you, then this is the perfect exercise for you.  By digging and listening deeply to your spirit, you will eventually unearth the simple treasures that make your heart beat stronger.  Once unearthed, go there.  Go to that place in your heart and honor the creative and life-giving voice of your soul.  There begins the work of creating anew.  There begins the work of creating your life.





Read More