Exit the bubble

So I took this writing workshop early in January with David Hochman, writer extraordinaire, and fellow Vassar alum. And it was good. Inspiring. Delicious, because his wife Ruth Kennison, a real live pastry chef and chocolatier, made us incredible lunches and snacks. I left with some new writer friends and concrete ideas about how to write more and sell more writing. And David, being the gentle yet all-pro tough love guru that he is, gave us assignments that included ways to “leave the bubble” (i.e., our comfort zone).

One of my assignments was to become a spin instructor. This was probably because David has sat next to me in spin class, and he knows that, even when I was eight months pregnant, I can get all “Flashdance”-maniac on a spin bike. This is because I have zany energy to burn and don’t go dancing at night clubs anymore. So ever since I’ve been about 30, I visit a nightclub of the imagination, a few times a week, at 10 am on a spin bike in West LA. He also suggested this because I half-heartedly mentioned wanting to run a half-marathon or do a triathlon. (I don’t actually want to do those things. I just want to stay a somewhat normal weight and calm myself through physical exhaustion.) So David’s compromise suggestion was to sit in the front row of spin class. Which I have been doing, and sure enough, it makes me work harder and remain present. Not that I was ever one of those chicks who sits in back and texts in class. It just forces me to take it to an 11 every day that I exercise, which is good for me. On a bad day, I feel awake and ready for the rest of the day after class. On a good day, I feel like my soul is leaping from my body. (Endorphins are wonderful, wonderful things.)

The other assignment was to stay off Facebook and Twitter for a month. Totally. It’s February 6, and I can now say that I haven’t been able to do it. In the beginning, I checked in (some would say, lurked) at least a few times a week. Lately I’m back to checking every day. But I’ve only posted a few times. (I posted more on Twitter. But Twitter is an anonymous whore’s bath of a place. You don’t want to incriminate yourself. And in 140 characters, you can’t overshare — much. I’m drawn to the challenge of being succinct, even pithy. But nobody really cares what you write, and unless you’re Lady Gaga or some A-list actor, nobody’s reading that shit anyway.) Yesterday I broke down and went back to my bad old ways of checking all the time. One of our animals just died, and I needed the hive’s group hug to reassure me that I wasn’t a terrible, horrible, no good parent because my kids’ pet was taken by a hawk. (that’s for another post…)

But the no-duh hypothesis of it all is that…. wait for it… I got A LOT more work done while mostly not on Facebook! I really engaged with my family, my day job, my artistic projects. It was a novel, welcome sensation. Still, I wanted to rattle off some silly nonsense to encapsulate the absurd/tragicomic/beautiful moments of each day. So I started writing a haiku per day. They’re little nothings, like the little nothings — sunsets, flowers, art, badly worded signs, etc — that I photograph with my iPhone that go nowhere other than my hard drive.

An example of being and nothingness through haiku:

Marine layer coats

Purgatory? Brigadoon?

Westward, to the beach.

But let me tell you, a haiku can be a stern discipline for a brevity-challenged person like me.