Normally, I shy away from conversation with strangers. It can be hard for an introvert like myself to navigate the crowds of people I encounter on my commute on a daily basis. But sometimes, talking to strangers yields unexpected rewards, and this Tuesday was one of those times.
A young man from South Africa struck up a conversation with me about the book I was reading. Then he told me he'd been travelling for three years, that he'd just completed a hike from Georgia to Harper's Ferry on the Appalachian Trail, and that he was planning on running in the Baltimore marathon... on a whim.
"Wow," I said. "That's quite a whim!"
"Yeah," he replied. "Most of my life is made up of spontaneous decisions."
Whaaat. I sometimes have a hard time deciding if I should start laundry or make coffee first. To live out of a backpack for years, complete a grueling hike and spontaneously decide to run a marathon... that's so far beyond me I can't even see it. (Of course, it doesn't help that the shape I'm in is "miscellaneous.")
I asked him what he does for a living, and he told me he's a motivational speaker.
"What do you speak about?" I asked.
His answer: "I haven't yet. I'll be giving my first speech in Connecticut in a few weeks."
One of my biggest difficulties in going after creative pursuits has been giving myself permission to view myself as an individual with worthwhile creative ideas. To call myself a "writer" or an "artist," or to consider it a remote possibility that one day I could possibly support myself with my creativity is something with which I struggle.
When he calls himself a motivational speaker, having given no speeches as of yet, I believe him. So why shouldn't I believe myself? To be creative, all I have to do is create. For some reason, this has been the most difficult lesson for me to learn, and he made it plain to me in a matter of seconds. Something tells me he's going to be great at motivating a crowd.
Sometimes, you have to break out of your comfort zone. You never know who you'll meet or what you'll discover.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
How to Tell Truth from Bullshit
The only tangible objects I inherited from my paternal grandfather when he passed away were a set of pajamas and a rubber stamp that said, simply, "BULLSHIT."
Though he didn't specifically bequeath me this item (rather, I picked it out of a pile of things my grandmother gave us to choose from), I like to think that in looking for ways to use the stamp, I developed a nascent tendency to determine if something has the ring of truth or the dull thud of a cow pie hitting the ground.
In college, I took a course on the afterlife in literature, and our class took a field trip to a few "haunted" places in the area, a local "ghost expert" in tow. I noticed some things about the expert's "professional assessment" that indicated she was possibly not on the up-and-up.
For instance, she told us to be careful to use the electromagnetic field (EMF) detector away from any electrically-powered devices to avoid possible interference, but then held one suspiciously close to an electric alarm clock, declaring at the same time that she was definitely picking up on something.
Then, at a local inn, she surreptitiously moved a binder that was sitting on one of the beds before calling the attention of the group and proclaiming "Look at this indentation! There is probably definitely a ghost sitting right here!" I raised one eyebrow as high as it would go and it stayed that way until we got back to the classroom.
"So," asked our professor, "What did you guys think of the expert?" I raised my hand and explained what I had noticed. The professor then gave me the biggest compliment I've ever received: "Erin, you have a foolproof bullshit detector."
While this is my only formal bullshit-detecting qualification, I want to talk about some signs that are total giveaways when you're trying to evaluate the veracity of a particular source. Check it out after the jump.
Though he didn't specifically bequeath me this item (rather, I picked it out of a pile of things my grandmother gave us to choose from), I like to think that in looking for ways to use the stamp, I developed a nascent tendency to determine if something has the ring of truth or the dull thud of a cow pie hitting the ground.
In college, I took a course on the afterlife in literature, and our class took a field trip to a few "haunted" places in the area, a local "ghost expert" in tow. I noticed some things about the expert's "professional assessment" that indicated she was possibly not on the up-and-up.
For instance, she told us to be careful to use the electromagnetic field (EMF) detector away from any electrically-powered devices to avoid possible interference, but then held one suspiciously close to an electric alarm clock, declaring at the same time that she was definitely picking up on something.
Then, at a local inn, she surreptitiously moved a binder that was sitting on one of the beds before calling the attention of the group and proclaiming "Look at this indentation! There is probably definitely a ghost sitting right here!" I raised one eyebrow as high as it would go and it stayed that way until we got back to the classroom.
"So," asked our professor, "What did you guys think of the expert?" I raised my hand and explained what I had noticed. The professor then gave me the biggest compliment I've ever received: "Erin, you have a foolproof bullshit detector."
While this is my only formal bullshit-detecting qualification, I want to talk about some signs that are total giveaways when you're trying to evaluate the veracity of a particular source. Check it out after the jump.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Prune Your Message
I think one of the reasons I so enjoy proofreading and editing is that I find endless reserves of joy in the process of fixing things that are broken, or bringing new life to what is seemingly unusable.
This is a recurring theme for me; there is nothing I love more than leaving the thrift store or a flea market with an armful of objects that just need a little TLC to become as good as or better than new. By the same token, reordering a wandering paragraph so its message can sing gives me immeasurable satisfaction. It didn't work, and now it does. It was broken, and now it is repaired.
It's the concept of beauty in simplicity: economy of words, economy of materials. The same principles apply; instead of shopping endlessly and watching your home fill with redundant clutter, allow necessity and the desire to use what you have to inspire creative ways to solve a problem. And in writing, rather than inundating your reader with excess language or endless repetitions of the same idea, using as few words as possible with precision lets your idea rise to the top without all the baggage. This is why good editors are so important: as an objective reader, I might see a faster route to your main idea than you can.
Like removing brambles from a path, pruning unnecessary words teaches you to do more with less, but it's not always easy. Writers know, getting too attached to a word or phrase can stand between you and clarity. Instead, focus on the words as means to an end, and commit yourself to your idea rather than the way you've written it.
This is a recurring theme for me; there is nothing I love more than leaving the thrift store or a flea market with an armful of objects that just need a little TLC to become as good as or better than new. By the same token, reordering a wandering paragraph so its message can sing gives me immeasurable satisfaction. It didn't work, and now it does. It was broken, and now it is repaired.
It's the concept of beauty in simplicity: economy of words, economy of materials. The same principles apply; instead of shopping endlessly and watching your home fill with redundant clutter, allow necessity and the desire to use what you have to inspire creative ways to solve a problem. And in writing, rather than inundating your reader with excess language or endless repetitions of the same idea, using as few words as possible with precision lets your idea rise to the top without all the baggage. This is why good editors are so important: as an objective reader, I might see a faster route to your main idea than you can.
Like removing brambles from a path, pruning unnecessary words teaches you to do more with less, but it's not always easy. Writers know, getting too attached to a word or phrase can stand between you and clarity. Instead, focus on the words as means to an end, and commit yourself to your idea rather than the way you've written it.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Clear!
Let's bring this mother back to life!
I've spent months and months figuring out to do with myself as an adult human person. The expectations of childhood are that adulthood will bring with it a sense of certainty and purpose; you'll know what you're doing because you're a grown-up, of course. Adults solve problems. Adults know what's up.
As you have perhaps realized in the course of your own introspection, this expectation is farther off-base than Rush Limbaugh talking about women. Mere weeks from my 27th birthday, I now understand what escaped me for years: nobody knows what they are doing, and everybody is winging it.
It's not all bad. Facing a million different paths without a map is daunting, terrifying, but also liberating. I can be anything, do anything! But... how do I do that?
By starting, of course.
Since my last writing, I got a job in the "big city," moved out of my parents' house, and moved apartments twice. Yes, that's three, count 'em, three moves in the last year. Yes, I hate moving. No, I never want to move again.
Having carted enough boxes to last me a lifetime, I moved on to the considerably more arduous process of making a mental move. What do I want to do? Who do I want to be? How many self-help books can I add to my wish list on Amazon before they say "enough"?
And so, I set about combing the Craigslist of the mind to see what kind of gig I'd like to end up with. I bit the bullet and bought one of said self-help books to find out if it would advance my quest, or leave me with more questions. The book is I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was: How to Discover What You Really Want and How to Get It, by Barbara Sher and Barbara Smith.
After pondering sufficiently if they each refer to their writing partner as "The Other Barbara," I actually read the book. On vacation, no less. Nothing like a little soul-searching while one's off-brand sunscreen fails spectacularly, giving one the look and feel of a splotchy, painful tomato. ("Painful Tomato" would be a bitchin' band name.)
Having already given the matter considerable thought, some of the conclusions I drew upon finishing the book were not entirely surprising. I'm not happy where I am in my career. Fact. Obvious fact. I need to do something different. Again, obvious. But what is it?
Despite the title's claim, this was still not immediately clear by book's end. This isn't likely the fault of the text. I've always been a bit of a hobby-go-round. Formal education excepted (my passion for the English language knows no bounds), I tend to learn the gist of something: just enough to be able to understand it or obtain basic skills, and then I move on to uncharted waters.
But you can't specialize in everything, and not all hobbies can be successfully translated to full-time occupation, so it's necessary for me to be a bit more selective. I'll have to keep noodling away at it until the heat from the friction of my brain-gears grinding is enough to boil this idea soup down to its essential parts.
I'm proud of that metaphor, and I'm sticking to it.
I've spent months and months figuring out to do with myself as an adult human person. The expectations of childhood are that adulthood will bring with it a sense of certainty and purpose; you'll know what you're doing because you're a grown-up, of course. Adults solve problems. Adults know what's up.
As you have perhaps realized in the course of your own introspection, this expectation is farther off-base than Rush Limbaugh talking about women. Mere weeks from my 27th birthday, I now understand what escaped me for years: nobody knows what they are doing, and everybody is winging it.
It's not all bad. Facing a million different paths without a map is daunting, terrifying, but also liberating. I can be anything, do anything! But... how do I do that?
By starting, of course.
Since my last writing, I got a job in the "big city," moved out of my parents' house, and moved apartments twice. Yes, that's three, count 'em, three moves in the last year. Yes, I hate moving. No, I never want to move again.
Having carted enough boxes to last me a lifetime, I moved on to the considerably more arduous process of making a mental move. What do I want to do? Who do I want to be? How many self-help books can I add to my wish list on Amazon before they say "enough"?
And so, I set about combing the Craigslist of the mind to see what kind of gig I'd like to end up with. I bit the bullet and bought one of said self-help books to find out if it would advance my quest, or leave me with more questions. The book is I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was: How to Discover What You Really Want and How to Get It, by Barbara Sher and Barbara Smith.
After pondering sufficiently if they each refer to their writing partner as "The Other Barbara," I actually read the book. On vacation, no less. Nothing like a little soul-searching while one's off-brand sunscreen fails spectacularly, giving one the look and feel of a splotchy, painful tomato. ("Painful Tomato" would be a bitchin' band name.)
Having already given the matter considerable thought, some of the conclusions I drew upon finishing the book were not entirely surprising. I'm not happy where I am in my career. Fact. Obvious fact. I need to do something different. Again, obvious. But what is it?
Despite the title's claim, this was still not immediately clear by book's end. This isn't likely the fault of the text. I've always been a bit of a hobby-go-round. Formal education excepted (my passion for the English language knows no bounds), I tend to learn the gist of something: just enough to be able to understand it or obtain basic skills, and then I move on to uncharted waters.
But you can't specialize in everything, and not all hobbies can be successfully translated to full-time occupation, so it's necessary for me to be a bit more selective. I'll have to keep noodling away at it until the heat from the friction of my brain-gears grinding is enough to boil this idea soup down to its essential parts.
I'm proud of that metaphor, and I'm sticking to it.
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