Much of my life, I have been obsessed with a longing for home. Literally. I have bought, swapped, remodeled, and left so many houses, apartments, attics, cottages, and even a half-remodeled haunted Victorian, that I find myself unable to remember them all.

My late teens through my late thirties are striated with couches, pedestal sinks, paint cans, a jack hammer, a neighbor who blasted rap music every Sunday, a neighbor named Halcyon, a neighbor who gave me a Van Briggle pitcher, a spontaneous courtyard party after an earthquake, two picket fences, neighborhood watch meetings, weekend graffiti paint-outs, Montecito garden parties, Easter egg hunts (one before I had Lilly), four gardens, four cats, three dogs, rats skittering (Gainesville and Montecito), seals barking (Bainbridge), garage doors opening, Dad’s voice calling “Jenny, are you home?”

And through it all, there I stood, echoing with longing.

For near 30 years, this terribly fierce longing baffled me. Why did I last only one night in the college dorm, renting a tiny furnished apartment the next day, then arranging and rearranging the furniture? Why did I acquire a Rhodesian Ridgeback at 23 and walk that dog past the mansions of Hancock Park before work every morning and evening, not because I dreamed of being rich or married, but because I ached for what those houses represented to me?

Safety. Dependableness. Belonging.

Looking back at my younger me, I feel such tenderness for her appetite. But, at the time, I just felt weird.

I made myself wrong for my longing to belong; I wanted so much to feel at home, with myself and with others, that I didn’t realize how nearly universal the longing for home is.

I didn’t realize I exiled myself from belonging my making my longing for home wrong.

This morning, taking a break from struggling to write this – my writing skills are not equal to the force of feeling roiling in me – I realized I have lived here, on this island, in this house, the longest of any – 9 years.

I have lived here not because it is my dream house or because I love it but because I, slowly, became determined to stay put.

By staying put, imperfectly and with resistance, I have, of course, partially met a part of my longing. I have used staying put as a way to come to myself.

Yet another part of my longing still burbles with hankering: the part of me that is ready to invite myself to belong. To open my home (metaphorically) to others, and to the Other.

Because, doh, the gravel bottom of my longing is for that which can never be known.

Or as the great Rumi said,

I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way.

Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home.

I’ll stop now and go listen to the echo, but instead of looping back on itself and losing me in the process, I follow it… maybe, for one breath, all the way home.

To be a writer is to be a translator.

Think about it—when writing, you attempt to translate the shadowy bits that dart and loop around your brain, that whistle for your attention and then immediately hide—you attempt to render them into black marks on a white page.

Black marks on white paper that capture the feelings, images and memories that made you want to write in the first place.

Only you rarely (very) get the translation exactly right. There is almost always a gap between what you want to write and what actually comes out.

An extreme example of this gap is when I was in college and I would smoke pot and then be oh-so-certain my ideas were beyond brilliant… this was going to be the best screenplay - better than Chinatown- until I read my nonsense chicken scratch the next morning.

Big gap.

A more subtle example is the copy of Rilke poetry on my desk. On the left hand page is the original German, on the right, an English translation. Each says something similar but not exactly the same.

Small gap.

One of the most freeing things I teach writers at my Taos retreat is that every writer has to learn to live – and even thrive– in the gap.

Creating actually happens in the gap.

You actually can’t create any place else. So it behooves you (love that word) to learn to tolerate the discomfort of being in the gap, to see it as business as usual, to understand that hugging your Ugly doll, pacing, and making soft grunting noises while in the gap is not only normal, it can be highly helpful.

But what do most of us do?  We tell ourselves that being in the gap means that something is wrong.

We tell ourselves real writers never struggle – they see a scene and record it, like watching a movie. Good writers get a flicker of an idea and render it whole, like a pig on a spit. Successful writers do not take three hours to write a short blog post. (sigh.)

The main difference between a productive writer and a tortured one? Productive writers understand they will rarely (very) make an exact translation and they keep writing anyway.

They also understand that asking, “Is this any good?” is an urgent invitation to eat an entire Sara Lee pound cake.

Instead, they focus on what they can do.  “I will keep my butt in my chair for 45 minutes and each time my attention wanders to if what I’m writing is any good, I will bring it back to my writing.”  Or “I will read poetry for fifteen minutes before bed twice this week and copy one poem out.” These are examples of Conditions of Enoughness. They help. A lot.

By focusing on what you can do, that is dependent only on you, you build the trust to hang out in the gap where wild, wonderful and really fun stuff happens.

You can always write; you cannot never predict how well because well is an assessment. As is good, brilliant, fantastic and I’m a good writer because I got 45 blog comments.

Back away from the assessments, get comfortable in the gap, bring a cookie if you need one but not an entire pound cake, and most of all:

Focus on what you can do and you’ll be amazed at what you get done.

P.S. Be sure and check out what Susan and Hiro and Mahala have to say because they are brilliant. And yes, that is an assessment. Info on Taos retreat here – only two spots left. Conditions of Enoughness are explained here.

I can feel the hundreds of people gathering their hearts

I can feel the shimmer of intention.

I can feel the settling.

I can even feel the clutter clearing, flower arranging and possibly the candle lighting.

Ahhh…

I’m not a very airy fairy person

I study yoga and subtle energy and all that body and soul stuff but honestly, I’ve always got one eyebrow cocked.

So it is absolutely fascinating to me to palpably feel this huge growing thrumming something.

It’s behind me and around me and carrying me forward like a gentle wave.

As I read participants intentions like”

take this ‘treat ‘ seriously”

to experience a few moments of “me-ness,”

to take that deep soul releasing breath and just BE with this! Accept the comfort and love of the words”

I want to recharge and find new ways to love and serve”

and

looking forward to reaching out to myself some”

The wave just gets bigger.

I am in awe of the power of the retreat container, the intention,we are creating together to stretch literally around the globe, to support us in our desire for strength, for peace, for renewal.

As I center myself in gratitude and take the rest of the morning and early afternoon to prepare myself to be a good steward of all this love, I ask all of you out there who are not joining us, to send a molecule of care and love toward all the participants this weekend, and to send twice as many molecules to yourself.

Tonight’s mini-retreats are me, Patti Digh, Hiro Boga and Fabeku. Be still my beating heart!

P.S. If you are new to my blog, I’m talking about the 2nd annual Big Virtual Retreat: Refresh, Reawaken, and Rediscover Who Your Are in Ways that Truly Work that starts Friday Feb. 12th You can still join us. Just be sure and read the How To Retreat e-book before tonight!

You know retreats rule.

(At least, I hope you do. If not, trust me on this one.)

They put the sparkle back in the diamonds on the souls of your shoes (sorry, been listening to a lot of Paul Simon lately).

They give you a path back to the spring that burbles at the heart of your soul (wow, lots of purple prose today).

They free you from Squirrel Mind and grinding marching to-do blahs.

They wake you up “Oh yes, this is who I am and this is what matters to me! How could I forget?”

Retreats heal.

Only hitch is, it sometimes often feels just about impossible to make the time.

And when you do, it can (at least this is true for me and I wrote the damn book!) be scary to go within, to calm the Squirrel chatter in your mind and choose what will renew you.

So that’s why I created the 2nd annual Big Virtual Retreat with a bunch of very wise teachers.

And

This contest so you can win a chance to retreat.

Because some of us, we need to be smote by chance before we actually take the time to get what we need.

Here’s your chance to be smote by ole Lady Retreating Luck (a little known Jungian archetype).

To enter simply leave a comment (or if you want extra brownie points – leave a link to a video you  made) telling me why a retreat would be just the thing for you right now.

Or tell me why you can’t retreat.

Or how retreats have been healing for you.

I’m open to anything!

I’ll read your comments, and watch your videos and announce the winners on February 1, 2009

But Wait, there are Prizes (but of course):

First Prize:

An I-pod Nano filled with all the recordings from last year’s virtual retreat and this year’s retreat. This is a one-of-a-kind prize (that will mean I have to order a nano, find all the sessions, download them, write you a note, and put it the mail – so this is a BIG DAMN PRIZE DAMMIT).

You will be able to mix and match the 14 recordings from the 2009 retreat and the 12 recordings from this year’s retreat to create mini-retreats any time that you choose.

How cool is that?

Second Prize:

A seat at this year’s virtual retreat – including transcripts and audio recordings and e-book and live support during the weekend and all the good global vibes of hundreds of people getting the retreat vibe going at the same time.

Also known as the No-More-Excuses-to-Get-What-I-Need-Prize.

Entries will be judged on creativity and need and I’ll want to chose every last one of you and I’ll lose sleep but you know what?

If it convinces a few more of you to take a retreat — this one or anyone – it will be worth .

So, tell me your story and let’s all get smote.

The deadline for entries is January 22, 2009

I saw it for the first times a few weeks ago. It was like being in her head. While on acid.

Which was probably what it was like to be in her head a lot of the time.

It also made me jump up and down on the couch like Tom Cruise on Oprah (okay, not really) yelling to Bob

But I want to know more about her creative process! Where did she get her ideas? How did she learn to draw? Why did she wear those clothes? How did she get to be her?“

Bob rolled his eyes (lovingly) and went into the kitchen to take his vitamins before bed.

I collapsed on the couch and moaned about wanting to know more about how she came to trust her own vision until I got up to take out the dogs – who were, admittedly, slightly edgy now from my loud histrionics.

I know, from reading Frida’s diaries, that she didn’t always trust her talent or her vision.

But even though she didn’t, she kept listening and painting. That’s what I find exhilarating.

That’s what I want excites me. How artists keep claiming their voice, their vision, their ideas– even in the face of great resistance and pain and inner turmoil. Especially the latter. (And yes, for me, we are all artists, if we choose to see life that way.)

Because we all need reflections and examples and stories that proclaim, “This is permission to love what you love and create what you want to create in action!”

Your assignment: Go forth and find stories of creative agency.

They don’t need to be stories of artists or writers or even of traditional “success.”  Shoe makers, economists, inventors, fairytale gatherers – look wide! Search memoirs, biographies, TV shows, newspaper articles, blogs, the annals of history. Believe me, examples will show up when you begin looking!

Maybe you discover someone describing how they showed up in their marriage.

Or how, mid-life, they began practicing meditation.

Or how, after a company-wide restructuring, they energized the forces and led a team to new vistas.

Find stories that reflect what you need to learn: How to dare, how to articulate your vision, how to stick with the incoherent bits until they become something, how to let your yearning guide you…

Within these stories, look for the tiny moments and threads of permission – not just the big “aha!” moments.

When you find a small moment, enter into it.

Go into the feeling you imagine this person experiencing, the thrill, the “Aha!”, the “Oh shit, can I do it?” and savor your own, “Oh, that’s how they did it. I sort of get it!”

Forget trying to figure out how YOU will do it yourself. That’s not the point.

Instead, use these mirrors of permission to imprint your brain with the feeling of permission, of self-trust, of claiming your experience. Doing this only takes a few seconds but can make a huge difference. Once you know what it feels like, you’ll more easily recognize it again and again!

Have you enjoyed this mini-series?  Want more?

Download my free e-book GiveawayEbookFinal.

Missed any posts?

Part One:  Static Free Authenticity here.

Part Two: Tuning into Your Essence

And number three is… The Signal Raising Power of Permission

Register for my Big 2010 Virtual Retreat with 11 acclaimed teachers Christina Baldwin, Bill Barens, Camille Maurine, Katie Goodman, Hiro Boga, Fabeku, Tama J. Kieves, Mary Manin Morrissey, Stephanie McWilliams, Gail Goodwin Patti Digh and me at February 12th-14th – come for one or all of the mini-retreats.