This morning when I woke up, I realized I could no longer work well - calmly - in a chaotic space. So I have spent part of the morning organizing all the papers into their various designated notebooks and in the computer. As Steven Pressfield so eloquently wrote in his book, "The War of Art", responding to his own early days of living in chaos:
"The professional cannot live like that. He is on a mission. He will not tolerate disorder. He eliminates chaos from his world in order to banish it from his mind. He wants the carpet vacuumed and the threshhold swept, so the Muse may enter and not soil her gown."
I should know better. It's what I do for a living - design and professional organizing. The power of design, beauty and order is life-changing; don't underestimate it. While at CWAF I redesigned manager Rachel's living quarters. She said she needed her place to be a sanctuary, a harbor of calm and serenity where she could restore herself from the relentless forces she faced every day. When we were finished, I would say it looked like a serene art gallery in a spa-like setting (without having spent a lot of money!) She told me it changed her life. From the day it was completed, Rachel reported she was able, for the first time, to sleep through the night. And she told me the two things she is most proud of are her raising of 2 baby gorillas, and having her place designed by a New York City interior designer.
Yesterday I was telling someone how thankful I am that someone brainstormed the idea of this Blog for me. Without it, I'd not be able to capture fleeting yet potentially valuable or even profound thoughts that flash through my mind. Another supportive tidbit from novelist Wally Lamb who wrote in O Magazine about his teaching writing at a women's correctional institution:
"Michelangelo, the 16th-century artistic genius, once said this about his work: 'I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.' My inmate students, you, and I are damaged angels-in-waiting who have the potential to sculpt our best selves with the aid of paper and pen. The rehabilitative power of our words invites us to test our still-wet wings, tentatively at first and then with greater and greater assurance. And as that happens, we rise above the concrete and razor wire of painful memories, baffling personal mysteries, and imprisoning secrets. Our load lightens, our perspective changes. We fly away."
And another excerpt from the article on the author's truths about personal writing, that resonated with me:
"In writing, as in life, voice is crucial. Your voice has been honed by your family, your ethnic heritage, your neighborhood, and your education. It is the music of what you mean in the world. Imitate no one. Your uniqueness - your authenticity - is your strength."
