This Blog Is On Life Support

It’s not been looking good. The blog collapsed shortly after the last post and a series of labs unearthed a remarkable viral strain otherwise known as Hyberpola Polynucleosis.

AHJ’s tested positive for the H1-OMG genetic marker which predisposes it not only to swelling of the T3 and T4 nodes but incapacitating fatigue and threat of CPU failure. HW’s been working ’round the clock in collaboration with doctors in an integrative treatment plan that leaves them hopeful. The family’s been holding a vigil and will appreciate your prayers. HW is heartbroken over her beloved blog and misses everyone terribly. Comments are closed in keeping with doctors’ orders; please take the noise outside. Sshhh.

The Real Reasons I Blog

1. To ward off dementia.

2. Stay in touch with my roots. No such thing as overworking with Koreans. Rest? Psh. That’s what the grave is for.

3. You’ve saved me money on therapy. I didn’t have to go this year.

4. I don’t want to clean. Who in their right mind would choose mopping and dusting over THIS?

5. It’s my one rightful obsession. I don’t drink, smoke, go on shopping sprees, or get pedicures. You gotta give me sOmething.

6. I can be as anal as I want and people like me for it. Go figure.

7. I’m repressed. Parents didn’t let me stay out at night. I get to party ’round the clock as the comments roll in.

8. I hand out advice on stuff: blogging, life, men and women. And all these people think I’m for real.

9. It’s my only chance at keeping up with technology. I’m terrified to tweet, annoyed with Facebook, have yet to go near an iPod, hate texting.

10. I haven’t had this much fun since…since…
*Slump* Pathetic. (Time for my next pick-me-up post.)

I Should Start Charging

So you say you get a lot out of my posts. I think I’m done writing for free. See the picture? It’s at least 55 years old. My inflation calculator says that’ll be 40 cents for the counseling services on A Holistic Journey. Except you have no idea how messed up I am. (People forget Frankenstein was the name of the doctor, not the monster. Wa HA HA HA HA.) Keep reading at your own risk. I am not responsible for migraines, indigestion, schizophrenia, divorce. But wait: likers will get 5 cents off, commenters 8 cents, liking commenters 10 per post. A bargain if I ever saw one. At least stay through the new series. We have a lineup of writers who’ll be sharing moments where they didn’t feel seen. I’m sure you’ll be touched, if not enlightened. And they won’t charge.

Lucy-van-pelt-1

When My Blog Died

EKGgreenI want to file an official complaint as a subscriber to the Holistic Wayfarer for going MIA on us. (Completely forgetting she’s been out week after week with his son while keeping the lessons going.) You need to blog again, be reminded there are good people all over the world. They want to hear from you. When you don’t blog for a while, you crawl into yourself and scowl about the people who are !@#!. You become deeper, happier, and look out when you engage your readers. You should take a few days off school, give T a break, and just BLOG.

~ Mr. Wayfarer last night

Tenny_studio2015C(Gasp. Break??)

Where I’ve been is a good question. The kitchen, trying to keep up with You-Know-Who’s sumo appetite. Foodie is growing before my eyes. We’ve been at the annual appointments I saved for the summer (photo shoot, physical, dental), and there are his classes. I’ve had all four hands in homeschool business – convention and conferences to boot. Also got off to a running start in preparing for the Fall cycle we’ll be entering with our group, working on a music project and gathering material. I remind myself I signed up for this. I’d rather choose my own curriculum than have the schools do it for me.

I believe that child rearing must come with an imperative, must be driven by a sense of longing and even destiny…I’ve witnessed this longing in other people…but I never felt it in myself. Moreover, as I aged, I discovered that I loved my work as a writer more and more, and I didn’t want to give up even an hour of that communion. Like Jinny in Virginia Woolf’s The Waves, I felt at times “a thousand capacities” spring up in me, and I wanted to chase them all down and make every last one of them manifest…Katherine Mansfield wrote in one of her youthful diaries, “I want to work!”

I, too, wanted to work. Uninterruptedly. Joyfully.”  ~ E. Gilbert in Committed

So what do you do when you can barely get your hands around both desires? When your whole wonderful life feels like an interruption of the work you want to do and your burden is heavier for the guilt of one who should be more grateful? As long as your child is young (or as long as you homeschool), you let go the notebook with your thousand capacities spilling over its pages and as it falls watch the rain bleed the ink into the ground. You take the hand you’ve emptied and close it over his. And you die just a little. Writing, after all, is only your oxygen.

At the conference last week, we were presented a chart that helped us sort our priorities. At the top was a section for

VITALS, what our life is about. This will depend on your worldview but most of us will fill this box in with relationships (with family, friends, self, God). Below that we had

NECESSITIES, where our time and money go. The things we need to sustain our life and our vitals. Food, shelter, health, education, transportation. They are not what life is about but postmoderners forget this in the grand Pursuit of Things. Below this box were the

ACCESSORIES, our happy upgrades. We need to eat but not at high-end restaurants. We need a car but not a Bentley. We need to work but don’t need to hanker after the position that will take us away from family. Last came the

DISPOSABLES. TV, Facebook, iGadgets. Many of us, especially in America, have turned our priorities over on their heads.

I appreciated the list but am still struggling with a part of it. Where does my writing go? The question at least explains the frustration that’s shadowed me this summer. While I live and work within the relationships that are important to me, writing fulfills me as nothing else can. It balances me, as I feel incomplete apart from it. It is a necessity because it feeds my relationship with my self – not to mention friends around the world. I feel at my best, approaching the summit of who I was meant to be almost like Gilbert’s Alma Whittaker who sets out to put a lifetime’s scientific study on paper, “not merely alive, but outfitted with a mind that was functioning at the uppermost limits of its capacity –  a mind that was seeing everything, and understanding everything, as though watching it all from the highest imaginable ridge. She would awaken, catch her breath, and immediately begin writing again.” ~ The Signature of All Things

But my words have been excised from my list of priorities this season as though they were disposable. (What do you do with that?? You eventually risk sabotaging your delicate sleep and write at two in the morning.) No wonder I’ve felt amputated.

I grew by an average of 1000 followers a month last year. But blog growth right now is a luxury of a thought. All these piles and piles of notes and drafts for posts, the books I’ve wanted to share with you, the personal challenges I’ve needed to process in print. Here I’ve sat before a keyboard that might as well have been calling from across the ocean. My Stats have read like an EKG of someone lost to us forever. Oh, my heart. But we can administer shock to resuscitate hearts, can’t we? When Opinionated Man asked for my keys and offered to run my site if I had to stay away any longer, the thought was enough to zap me out of the grave. statsNEW

 

The Art of Blogging

We have some great blogs that teach us about SEO, tags, back-links, Google encryption. I will never outgrow them because I believe in the science of all things. You have to learn, at least be introduced to, the Rules. Know the proper form of a Lindy or a lay-up. Unlock the mechanics, drill, know what accuracy means in your field. The thing is, machines are built for precision. In fact, we can program synthesizers to make music on their own.

But art is more than accuracy.

When my son and I run our eyes over the drum solo for the week, it reads a little like a foreign language. It is hard at first because each one he masters earns him pieces that are incrementally more challenging. My goal isn’t for him just to play the notes right for his instructor in seven days. Once he’s figured them out, I want him to get the piece under his skin, hear and then answer what the composer is asking of him. Translate it as he (not his classmates, mom, or dad) can with his hands. His whole body moves differently when he gets there. If he were graduated to the next solo just for having learned to mimic the notes, he wouldn’t be participating in the art. And that is the point of the music. We don’t watch Josh Groban for his technique. He’s got that. We want to hear what he does with it. We want to be touched by beauty. It is not for the intelligence of the chords that we close our eyes to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake with reverence. It is for the pathos and longing they resound.

So is art something you can learn? How about the art of blogging?

In his book Fresh Off the Boat, Eddie Huang remembers 7th grade football when he was a social runt desperate to fit in. Listen to what he says about the kid he was pitted against:

For the next three weeks, literally every day, Coach Rock named me player of the practice. I was an animal. Other people couldn’t compete. They were playing a game but I treated it like life and death. The zenith was about six weeks into the season. We always played simulated games on Wednesdays, Offense vs. Defense, and that day I was lined up against this new kid, Jason…He was at least five inches taller than me, with long arms, but he didn’t know how to use them.

Know what you’ve got and know how to use it.

What does this mean for me as a blogger?

Waitress: So what can I get for you today?
Yours Truly: I’ll take Combo Number 6. But hold the sugar and MSG. Very easy on the sauce, please. Can I have some more greens? No, not broccoli. Not bell pepper. More collard, if you have. And no ice in the water. Is your water filtered? Never mind, then.

Yes! You thought you liked me. Duped you. Just be glad you don’t own the shops I frequent. Or homeschool in my house. But wait. You read this blog. You (actually…and really?) want to hang out with me. See, the flip side of my particular palate is the particular palate I blog with. This – my superhero ability to be a pain in the rear – is what I use in my favor as a blogger. I don’t want cafeteria food and I figure that though you may be easy enough, you wouldn’t mind something better either. I order it for you just so before you sit down with me. It’s my exacting nature behind the topics and every word I choose, and the goals I set, that have built this blog. Some of you have a profound gift of encouragement that shines brilliantly in the comments. Now that will get you far in the blogging. Are you a social butterfly? Or is it your insight, storytelling, wit, sarcasm, passion, empathy, knowledge, creativity, or personality that you have going for you? Whatever it is, you make me so happy when you finish your plate.

Never Too Old To Dance

As fun as it was to shake it, I buried my dance clothes in the treasury of happy memories deciding that I barely got away with it at my age. Mr. Wayfarer disagrees. Forty-two is hardly a time for him to start hanging hats. Yoko Ono seems to have proved him right. She shows what it means for 60 to be the new 40. So now I’m rethinking my dance avocation. If you’re 50 or older (in real time) and inspired by the video to do a jig on camera, email me your work of art in motion and I’ll consider posting it. Actually, it can be any display of creative or physical activity that might inspire us to adjust our self-imposed boundaries.

That like button is still under lock and key, by the way. I can’t believe you went ahead and tapped the Reader. Please. I am very busy on the home front and will stress at the sight of my inbox spilling over. *scowl*

 

Thanks to Leprosy on the Wall for the fun link.
holisticwayfarer@gmail.com

Readers’ Choice

Please respect my wishes. I. Do. Not. Want. Your. Like. On. This. Can I be any clearer, well-meaning friends? Tell you what. I will let you know when I really want it. I’ve hidden the button under the post so please don’t go tapping it on your Reader.

We’re not done with beauty. But on the heels of the party the neighbors complained about, I wanted to take the occasion to ask: What are some kinds of posts you would like to see more of here? We’ve talked about dreams, persistence, hope, death, loss, love, shame, fear, faith, parenting, achievement, money, childhood, race, culture, identity, belonging. There are the posts on clear writing and effective blogging, my helpless series on men and women, the behind-the-scenes exchanges between Mr. and Mrs. Wayfarer, dialogue between Mom and Boy – the blog plaited with poetry, with a touch of song (and dance). You seem to enjoy how I’ve used series to kaleidoscope through a topic. Thanks for welcoming our guest writers. One said that her blood froze every time she saw mail from me (laden with the edits). Wahahaha. Let’s just say your spirited support smooths things over. So suggestions and requests? You’re welcome to help steer the ship.

Come To My Party: Please RSVP

So we just talked about dancing. I waited to celebrate the 100,000 views I broke Valentine’s week with the 10,000 follows that were on their way. It’s not a medal or the Ph.D. from my alternative life but here I am. I’ll take it.

The show is 45 seconds. You know Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive? Mr. Wayfarer played it and I went with it. Here’s what I’m acting out:

Turn around now. You’re not welcome anymore.
You’re the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye.
Do you think I’d crumble, did you think I’d lay down and die?
No, not I, I will survive. Long as I know how to love I know I’ll stay alive.
I’ve got all my life to live and all my love to give. I’ll survive. I, I, I will survive.

It took all my strength not to fall apart, trying without my mind
to mend my broken heart. I spent so many nights feeling sorry for myself,
how I cried. But now I hold my head up high. And you see me, somebody new.
I’m not that lonely little person who’s still in love with you.
Now you come dropping in, expecting me to be free.

Now I’m saving all my lovin’ for someone who’s loving me.
Go on now, walk out the door. Turn around now, you’re not welcome anymore.
You’re the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye.
Think I’d might crumble, did you think I’d lay down and die?
No, not I, I will survive. Long as I know how to love I know I’ll stay alive.

But we hit a wall with the copyright and had to use a different song – not the one our son was drumming to.

Please rsvp and join the party.

Thank you doesn’t quite seem to cut it. But let me try. Deep appreciation to my most loyal likers and commenters and the quiet readers who haven’t missed a post. Thanks to those who’ve been with me from the start as well as those who find themselves coming back. Thank you to my newest readers and lastly, gratitude always to my husband and son who’ve let me be who I more fully am on the holistic journey.

 

 

 

Blogitis

Holisticpedia: [Blog-eye-tis] Blog withdrawal refers to a group of symptoms that may trigger from prolonged hiatus in posting after sustained blogging. There is no way to predict how an individual will respond in the abstinence. If you plan to break for a month after blogging drunkenly for a minimum of a year, you should consult a health care practitioner before going cold turkey or locate a support group near you.

Days 1-5
Brain has yet to process the trying spell ahead. It is still feeding off the sugar of the comments from the last post and is feeling okay enough.

Days 6-12
Brain knows something is up. Headache and mild agitation.

Days 13-21
Irritability coupled with mood swings, anxiety, paleness, increased appetite and caloric intake. Seeks comfort food, craves alcohol.

Days 22-28
Shakes, sweating, failing blood pressure, chest pain. Bad dreams (that you have forgotten your WordPress password and are calling out to your readers, the screen impermeable against silent shouts).

Days 29 – Day You’re Kidding Me.
Call 911.

 

My Vows…To You

Vows3I, Holistic Wayfarer, take thee [Insert name], to be my WordPress-registered partner. In the presence of God, our family and friends, I pledge to thee my abiding support in sickness and in health, in the homeschooling and holiday breaks (well, more during the breaks), for richer for poorer ~ no matter your blog size ~ in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to support you in your goals, to honor and respect you, to laugh and cry with you, and value every like and comment ’til you should unfollow and do us part.