How To Figure Out Yourself and Your Life in Five Minutes

I listened to Ram Dass talk to Oprah today on her podcast, and so I have also been thinking about acceptance and love.

What if our hearts are peonies? What if life is not about changing or growing so much as about blooming? What if our hearts all bloomed fully when we looked into the eyes of our beloveds, or into the eyes of ourselves?

What then?

Why I Should Be Your Story Coach

Most editors or coaches or fellow writers will basically try to tell you what your own story is--rather than be a partner in helping you figure it out. I had a therapist tell me all her clients know their answers. It's just the therapist's job to pull them out. Anne's not a therapist. She's better. She costs less! She takes more time. And she's a helluva lot more committed. 

Coming out of the Fog and the Golden Chair

My friends thought I was moody. I thought I was moody. And I was, but it was because I was also getting beaten up from the inside by thoughts that had nothing to do with present reality. Old trauma was trying to find its way out, but since no one in my world knew about the effects on the brain when a child is separated from her mother, I had no one to help me create a pathway for these feelings to escape my body

The Pull of Skin

It’s like I’m part magnet and my skin is working to pull to it what it needs to feel complete and at rest. This takes energy, and so while other people may be running errands or making lists or running a company, I’m busy being a bag of skin that has a job it can’t articulate or accomplish. This means I spend a lot of time what to others might look like spinning my wheels but to me feels like trying to be whole.

A Room of One's Own Take Two

There are so many reasons not to write. Harvey Weinstein. Food stamps. Constipation. Fear. But here is the truth, at the end of the day, you have a choice. You can pick up your pen, you can sit at your computer, and you can write.

Or you can just live your life.

It’s a win win. Living a life is a pretty wonderful thing, unless, of course, you feel you carry a story inside that you want or need to tell.

Then you better get to work. Make your space holy: honor your body, its needs. Listen to it. Live in it. Write down your life just because you can.

I'm So High. Goodbye, 2017.

I had a teacher in graduate school, Ehud Havazelet. I can tell you now that I took my camera to the pawn shop and sold it so I could buy pot for Ehud when he asked if I had any—I can tell you because Ehud is dead. I wasn’t a pot smoker, but I was flattered he asked me. As if. As if I could comfortably inhale without coughing. Maybe I could not write as well as Ehud’s beloved Flannery O’Conner, but I sure as hell could get him some weed. It was a nice camera that I sold for a hundred bucks. It was a 35 mm that meant something to me, but it meant more to me to get my teacher some pot.