A Deadly Dose of Nostalgia

Recently I've been writing the first few pages of my first book. And it hurts.

It hurts because it's hard. It hurts because the things I write today often don't read so well tomorrow. It hurts because most of the time it's so overwhelming I can't see straight. And it hurts because the subject matter I'm writing about sends me deep into the throws of nostalgia. The deadly kind.

The book I'm writing is about three women who attend West Point. And when I start thinking about West Point, traveling up there to do research, spending hours upon hours looking at photos of that place... it's hard not to get lost in it all. Lost in the memories of middle school and high school—and then just kind of lost.

It got me thinking... when you start thinking back, does it prevent you from moving forward?

This is West Point. My once home.

Nostalgia is this gut-wrenching feeling of wanting to be back in a place you once were with people you once knew or in a time you once had. The dictionary says nostalgia is "a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period of place with happy personal associations." Right. So if nostalgia takes you to a happy place, why, so often, does it leave us in a state of utter depression?

I think it goes back to my thought life. Fostering a healthy thought life is the key to breaking the bonds of nostalgia. If I let my mind dwell in the past - my brain can conjure up memories (true and false) that can taint my enjoyment of the present.

Whatever is true. What is true is that I live in Nashville—the greatest city in the world with some of the greatest people I've ever met and some of the closest friends I've ever had.

Whatever is noble. What is noble is that I'm trying my hardest to live in the gifts I believe I've been given, to the glory of God, for better or worse.

Whatever is right. Whatever is pure. What's right and pure is knowing the ways God has blessed me here and now, today.

Whatever is lovely. What is lovely is looking in the mirror and feeling content with who I am now.

Whatever is admirable. What is admirable are the ways other people in my life are living for today and giving their lives away to others.

If anything is excellent or praiseworthy.  Think about such things. 

Philippians 4:8. 

Lord, help me. This hurts.

Wisdom with Words.

“Words have a magical power. They can bring either the greatest happiness or deepest despair; they can transfer knowledge from teacher to student; words enable the orator to sway his audience and dictate its decisions. Words are capable of arousing the strongest emotions and prompting all men’s actions.” – Sigmund Freud

Recently, a friend told a story about a woman he met who was about to undergo a risky brain surgery. Doctors prepared her for the worst, because in all likelihood, the invasive procedure would destroy her ability to speak. When asked how she was doing, she responded, “You know, since I can count the number of sentences I have left to say, I’ve become really picky with my words.”

We live in a world flooded with information and words. On average, men speak 10,000 words a day, and women double that number. Digital communication has exponentially increased the ease, avenues and audience for our words. In some ways, that freedom should be celebrated – especially given that there are many around the world who don’t have the ability or right to speak openly about what they think, feel and believe. The ability to express ourselves can enrich our lives deeply. However, when our language is unrestrained and unmindful, we render our words meaningless at best – damaging at worst.

It happens all the time when marketers exploit a trend. A word popularizes, and almost overnight, it’s overused, abused and stripped of all meaning. We now have “artisan” fast food sandwiches, “handcrafted” cups of gas station coffee and if you’re a blogger having a yard sale you’re participating in “vintage curation.” Something described as “unique” often just means it is “interesting” or “atypical,” rather than it’s true definition of one-of-a-kind.

Quality, precision, and an appreciation for the true meaning of words have taken a backseat to a false virtue: speed. Getting information out quickly has become more valuable than accuracy or pertinence. Popular logic is that you can always correct yourself later, so just say something – anything – but say it first and say it fast.

Mark Twain famously said, “I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.” Being thoughtful and restrained with what we say takes more time. But it’s worth the effort to be selective, because when you sacrifice speed and frequency, your words gain significance, sincerity and authenticity.

Language is not only a gift, but also a responsibility. And these days, it’s radical to be careful and wise with our words.

**This essay was originally contributed to Bearings, a Southern Lifestyle Guide for Men.

You are not a Brand, You are a Person.

Today, as soon as I woke up, I read a tweet that made me feel weird.

Today: @amyjomartin answers your questions about helping kids build positive personal brands! trib.al/Ymb3NVG#creativeconversations

— Fast Company (@FastCompany) May 24, 2013

Now granted, this tweet was to promote a media event (this afternoon) about how to help kids navigate the digital world, and probably, how not to screw up their real reputations with digital dumbassery. And that's an incredibly important conversation to have with parents and children, too. But coaching our children to navigate this new terrain by creating "personal brands?" That rubbed me wrong.

The idea of personal branding always makes me uncomfortable. All over the place I am being told to do it. Build your tribe, find your platform, build your influence. Be bigger. Stronger. All of it. It's exhausting.

Half of my time is spent fighting (and the other half is spent accepting) this very concept. I don't want to be a brand, but to be successful I feel like I have to be one anyway. I don't want to be "left behind" in the "race" to nowhere, so I market and wink and try to be in the right places that make me look like I'm doing something right. It's disingenuous. It's fake. It's marketing myself. It's selling myself. It's commercializing my identity. And now we're telling our children to do it too?

I don't have children. But I just came home from spending a week with three of the sweetest children I've met on the planet. And if I want to tell them anything, I'd want to tell them this.

You are not a brand, you are a person.

After all this went through my head, I sat down to read Psalm 33 - 37, it was like over and over again, that same sentence was reinforced with God's word. Here are some things I learned:

1. Pursue peace not prosperity. When I wake up in the morning and think about what I can do to bring in money or status or stature—that is the kind of thinking that can spoil my joy for others when things go well for them. It's that kind of thinking that breeds hostility, not peace.  Seek peace and pursue it (Psalm 34:14) because a future awaits those who seek peace (Psalm 37:37). That's who I want to be. I'm not a brand. I'm a person who seeks peace.
2. A brand is a vain hope for deliverance; despite all its strength it cannot save (Psalm 33:17). If you've watched coverage of Hurricane Sandy, Sandy Hook, the Oklahoma tornadoes, or any other disaster that's ravaged our country lately—you know that nothing is permanent. In the day of total disaster, what good will it be to have a large digital footprint? It's LAUGHABLE to even write those words. And it's sad that that is where my mind spends so much of its time. While our plans (and houses and lives) might end, the plans of the Lord stand firm forever (Psalm 33:11). I'm not a brand. I'm a person who fears the Lord.  
3. If I flatter myself too much, I will not be able to detect or hate my own sin (Psalm 36:2). Spending too much time in the mirror actually makes it harder too see ourselves as we truly are. Spending too much time building our own kingdoms and brands and identities is a waste, if it hinders us from understanding our souls. I'm not a brand. I'm a person who wants to be truly known.

I don't know why this hit me so hard this morning, or why I felt the need to share it, but I did. People. We are not brands. We are people. 

When Vision Races Ahead of Execution

So a few days ago I told you a little secret. I'm working on a book. More accurately, I'm working on a book proposal which is the step before you work on a book. And I shared with you a few of my fears. More accurately, I shared with you a small fraction of my fears because if I shared all of them you would get bored and think I was a self indulgent nit-wit. Which most of the time, I am. But just around that same time, a friend of mine who understands the perils of making a living by making gave me a little gift. It was wrapped in brown paper and twine. It was a thin, rectangular package. It felt a little floppy. I knew it was a book. I just had no idea how it would bless me.

Art and Fear is a book by David Bayles and Ted Orland about how every single day artists everywhere are facing their fears. Some quit. Some don't. And that's the only thing that separates the successful from the unsuccessful. They write, "To survive as an artist requires confronting these troubles. Those who continue to make are those those who've learned how to continue—or more precisely, have learned how not to quit."

When I read that, I felt shored up. Encouraged. Because I know that I know how not to quit. During my two years with Teach for America, I called my mom (and then my husband) every single day crying that I wanted to quit. It was too hard. I wasn't making progress. The gains weren't worth the pain and the exhaustion and the sacrifice. But they helped me keep going. They taught me to continue. And now, in a job I love—I know the same must be true. I can't quit continuing.

I spoke to a portrait artist a few weeks ago—and he said something that meant a lot to me then, but means even more to me now. In portrait art, in drawing, he said most people stop because they look at a picture they've drawn and say, "Oh, that's horrible!" But David says when he works with new artists, he uses that as fuel to keep them going. "If you can tell that it's not good," David says, "then you're capable of doing better."

This morning, I was reading Art and Fear, (my new morning ritual before pulling out my pen), and the author reiterated what David was trying to tell me. Together, they both hammered home the same idea: more often than not, our vision exceeds our execution. We can see something in our head that doesn't exist yet on paper. We can envision something on the screen that doesn't exist yet on film. We can hear something in our mind that hasn't ever been played.

That could drive us crazy, or it could drive us to the Ultimate Creator.

"Consider the story of a young student who began piano studies with a Master. After a few months' practice, he lamented to his teacher, 'But I can hear the music so much better in my head than I can get out of my fingers.' To which the Master replied, 'What makes you think that ever changes?'" Art and Fear, p. 14.

Perhaps we will always be plagued by this knowledge that what we create isn't exactly what we want to create. We desire better. We desire what is more beautiful. We desire what we see but can't attain.

And maybe that is on purpose. In those moments that I hear the story so much better in my head than I can get out of my fingers, I can be reminded that this three dimensional world is not the only one that exists. There also exists another dimension—the dimension where that thing that I see in my head, or hear in my ears, or feel in my soul—where that actually exists and breathes and sings. I believe God exists in both of those dimensions. He can see and create exactly what he sees. He did it with you. He did it with me.

And He's still creating.

"He who began a good work in you will carry it out to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." Philippians 1:6.

And if God's still creating—then I can keep creating too.

Chicken Check-In, Edition No. 2

I've been hiding something from you. From all of you. In the last couple of weeks, I've been holding closely to a little secret. And it's why I've been a little quiet.

I want this to be one of those "chicken check-in" moments where I tell you what I'm so afraid of. But here's the thing. I'm afraid to tell you what I'm afraid of. And that's the thing about fear. Once you let it inside, it multiplies.

Fear usually starts when you decide to do something you've never tried before. Some people call this "stepping out of your comfort zone." I call it Monday. Today I sat at my computer and tried to write the first chapter of what I hope will be my first book.

It's a book with an incredibly great premise. It's a book inspired by real people and true events—people who have approached me and are willing to share with me their insides. It's a book that could be great if in the hands of the right writer. But who am I to think that that person might be me?  And then again, who would I be if I didn't try?

I need you to know that this is happening for a few reasons.

1) I'm terrified, and if you're a praying person, I ask that you'd join me and pray for this new project.

2) I'm feeling kind of isolated. And need to know I'm not alone in trying new things and accepting that they might fail. Miserably. Greatly.

So there you have it. The secret's out.