Archive for January, 2015
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Last Friday, I read some of Neil Gaiman’s novel, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, while I was on the subway. I love his writing. I love being able to “hear” his voice on the page. (I’m familiar with his voice from interviews I’ve watched. And on those rare occasions when I can’t “hear” it in my mind, I substitute the voice of British actor, Alan Rickman.)
Gaiman’s writing style is something I’ve been studying. It’s slow, not rushed. It’s like settling it with a good friend who wants to share a story with you, a friend who happens to be one of the world’s best storytellers. You know you’re in good hands when you read one of his books.
For about thirty minutes, I was immersed in the world he created on the page. When I arrived at my stop on the train, I got up from my seat and realized that I was having a full-blown panic attack. My muscles were tense, fight or flight mode; my breathing shallow and fast. At first I couldn’t figure out what had triggered it and then it dawned on me–Gaiman’s narrator in the novel is a young boy who faces fantastic-and-yet-very-real monsters. Something in the novel had touched a place deep inside me. Something terrified me.
I recognized the panic attack and I reminded myself it would eventually pass. It did. Eventually. I made it back to the apartment, sat on the couch and SHUT DOWN. When I experience a panic attack, that’s all I can do, shut down.
The following day I sat in front of my notebook, poised to work on the BIG PROJECT but frozen. It was an all-too-familiar scenario. For months I’ve found myself sitting at my desk, excited to write, and then after a few minutes of scratching at the page, I freeze.
Part of Project Natalie includes a massive writing component. When this project began, I was excited to be working on this piece, something I’m passionate about! But while the passion has remained intact, I’ve been extremely frustrated with my own lack of progress. I started out strong and then hit a wall.
In therapy this week (“What? A New Yorker in therapy?”), I had one of those a-ha! moments that I’ve come to love: I was able to see that in my writing life, I’ve been experiencing panic attacks, complete with racing pulse and short, quick breaths. And just like I saw it happen on Friday, when I’m faced with one of ‘em, I shut down.
So the pen has been frozen with Project Natalie. For months.
I’ve still managed to squeeze out some writing, but not with Project Natalie. Actually, I’ve been writing a lot lately. Or maybe I should say that I’ve started a lot of new pieces lately, new songs, new poems, new essays. More output than ever in all sorts of directions. And each of them show great promise. I’m the proud owner of a notebook full of strong starts, but no finished pieces except for the song I wrote as a Christmas gift for my parents. (And that song was cobbled together at the last minute. Thank goodness for unforgiving deadlines.)
I’m extremely grateful for my notebook full of starts. It shows me that I’m not completely frozen. It shows me that I’m able to continue a writing practice–especially when it comes to letting go of any outcome. I write those mini-pieces. those hopeful beginnings, as a way to keep moving. A practice of showing up to the page. A practice that guides my day. I’d feel lost without it, this anchor made of paper.
When it comes to Project Natalie, I am trying to be gentle with myself. I recognize that something inside me panics. There is a part of me that digs in his heels and doesn’t want to budge. A part of me senses danger ahead and freezes. And I’m trying to be ok with that, trying to be compassionate. (Self-compassion is not one of my strongest suits.) I
There’s also a part of me that recognizes there’s work to be done. A story that needs to be written. So I allow myself to stop for a moment. And instead of pushing or pulling, I nudge. Shorter writing assignments. ”Just a few words.” ”Just write for 15 minutes.” And I’m seeing that by turning on the heat gradually, the iceberg is beginning to melt. V-e-r-y slowly. (Slow and steady… Right, Neil?)
Panic attacks are not fun. Being frozen is not fun.
But everything changes.
Sometimes, just being able to see what you’re dealing with helps. The lights are on. I can see the monsters. And yes, seeing them makes them a little less terrifying.
I mua. Onward.
How’s YOUR week going?