by Heather Plett | Mar 9, 2010 | art, Beauty, grace, journey
He stood there. Naked and unflinching. Stared at by a dozen eager art students. Each of them trying to capture the curve of his belly, the shadow between his butt cheeks, and every flaw and imperfection on his face. Not even a hint of shame appeared – not a wince, not a clenched muscle in his jaw, not a discrete turning to hide any part of his body – he simply posed as the instructor told him.
It seemed fitting and somewhat ironic that in the middle of this particular journey that will lead me (in just 2 days) to lie beneath the surgeon’s knife and give up a part of my own profile, I was sitting in an art studio staring at a naked man.
What did his nudity have to do with my upcoming surgery? Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about the human body in recent weeks. Trying to come to terms with how I feel about my own body. Trying to determine just what my personal body image is. Trying to hold each of the body-related thoughts along this journey captive while I examine what they mean and how their stories shape me.
I have never been very comfortable with my own nakedness. I dress quickly when I emerge from the shower, never stopping to look at myself in the mirror. Even before the children were born, I couldn’t leave the bedroom unless fully clothed. Much to my husband’s chagrin, I wear pajamas to bed and cannot sleep unless I am dressed. Taking the above photo was one of the most awkward things I’ve ever done.
I don’t want to be naked. I don’t want to be reminded of my flaws and imperfections. I don’t want to see the way one heavy breast hangs nearly an inch lower than the other, or the way the cellulite bubbles on my hips. If I keep it all covered, I can pretend I don’t hear the screams of “unworthy” sounding off in my head.
Years ago, there was an artist visiting the Winnipeg Folk Festival who was displaying the most beautiful sculptures of pregnant women. I longed to be sculpted by him, to be made beautiful in my nakedness at the hands of an artist. But I wasn’t pregnant at the time. He told me how difficult it was to find women who were willing to model for him. He gave me his card and said if I were ever pregnant again, I should call him.
I was pregnant again. Twice. But I didn’t call. Part of me ached for it – wanted it so badly. But part of me couldn’t get past the shame and awkwardness of knowing someone would see my every flaw. I don’t even like the way my husband stares at me when I’m naked, how could I let an artist do it?
In two days, I’m having breast reduction surgery. You might be thinking “perhaps you should get your body image issues in order before you do that” and maybe you’d be right. But the truth is, this feels like the right time for me. It feels like something I need to do to feel more free and alive in my body. That might seem messed up, but it’s my truth and it’s the journey I’ve chosen.
It’s about having the freedom to run down the street without holding my chest tight with one of my arms. It’s about not feeling the ache in my shoulders or back. It’s about not having the underwire cut into my ribs under the weight. It’s about being able to buy a “normal” bra and not being told by the sales clerk for the umpteenth time “we don’t have anything in YOUR size”.
Will it make me feel more comfortable with my nudity? I don’t know. I’m pretty sure it won’t be a cure-all, but maybe it will help me take baby steps. And maybe someday, a little further along the journey, I’ll let an artist sculpt me, flaws and all.
As I got lost in the meditative act of outlining and shading the muscles, the bum, the groin, and the slightly drooping stomach of our model last night, I couldn’t help but sit in awe at the wonder of the human body. It’s a beautiful thing, this mass of sculpted muscles, skin, hair, sagging bellies, protruding birthmarks, imperfect lips – all of it. We are indeed fearfully and wonderfully made. In the likeness of our Creator.
Even me.
by Heather Plett | Mar 4, 2010 | art, journey, prayer
Monday was not a good day. I’d slept about 3 hours the night before, I was grumpy and frustrated about the bad news my daughter had received, and nothing had gone my way all day. I survived the day at work, but was not in the right frame of mind to go to my drawing class in the evening. Almost every cell of my body was screaming “just go home to bed – no need to go to EVERY class.” And yet I knew I would regret missing it and something told me it was just the right thing to do when I was feeling the way I was.
So I dragged myself to class. The first half hour was really bad. We had a visiting instructor, and she just wasn’t teaching the way we were used to being taught. For one thing, she wasn’t willing to give demonstrations, and said “no, I want to see what comes out of you without trying to imitate me.” That pissed me off and I almost got up and walked out.
I was trying to get the shading right on a nose, and it just wasn’t working. At all. I fought tears. What’s the point? I can’t draw. I’m wasting my time.
I gave up on the first drawing and started another. And then another. And then slowly, in my third attempt, something shifted. My breath slowed and I felt the frustration slowly seep from my body. Like osmosis. Gradually I entered that special meditative space where nothing else mattered but the paper, the charcoal in my hand, and my presence at the page.
Have you felt it? I’m sure you have. Call it zen, call it flow, call it prayer, call it meditation – call it whatever you like, but when you feel it you KNOW. It’s a mystical, spiritual thing that changes you, that heals you, and that shifts the icky stuff that’s stuck in you.
This past year it’s become more and more clear to me that this is the role art plays for me. I don’t ever intend to be a “serious” artist, but art has become a special touchstone for me, a spiritual practice. It’s how I meditate and pray, and more often than not, I walk away from the page with some deeper understanding of something I didn’t even know I needed an answer for.
For an upcoming retreat, I’ve been asked to put together a special station where people can spend time in quiet reflection and prayer while doing art & collage. It’s not a workshop, so there will be no instruction, but I’m putting together a page of instructions to leave at the table for those who want to engage. Here’s what I’ve prepared so far. Feel free to play along in your own home.
1. Before you begin, spend a few moments in stillness. Take deep breaths and try to free your mind of whatever baggage you brought to the table. Invite the Spirit to sit with you and to create with you. Inhale. Exhale. Open yourself to whatever wisdom or blessings you may receive (even if that blessing is simply a chance to be still and quiet for awhile in your busy life.)
2. Do not approach this as “a work of art that needs to be mastered”. This is meant for your eyes only and does not need to be shared. Think of it as your personal prayer or meditation, between you and God. Set aside your perfectionism or ideas about “what art should look like”.
3. Begin with a clean sheet of paper or art journal. It’s up to you how you fill that page. You can doodle randomly, splash bold colours on it, or cover it with images from a magazine – anything that feels right for you.
4. If you choose to collage, flip through a few magazines. Don’t look for specific images or words. Instead, pick whatever moves you at that particular moment. It might be photos, random words, or a combination. Either tear or cut them out and collect them without giving too much deliberate thought to what they mean or how they connect with each other.
5. Play with the images for awhile, arranging and rearranging them on the page, folding them, tearing edges off, whatever you like.
6. Once you’re ready, begin gluing them on the page in an arrangement that feels right for you, using mod podge and foam brushes. You may also want to brush mod podge over the top of the images.
7. Add paint, marker, glitter, or anything you like to the page. Sometimes the best way to connect with what’s on your page is to finger paint on it, meandering to different parts of the page with your finger, and feeling the various textures as you do so. Paint over some images if you like, or just paint between them.
8. Your mind will wander to many places while you do this, and that’s okay, let it wander. This is not about trying to corral your mind, but rather allowing it to freely connect with the images and with the Spirit that is with you in this space.
9. When you are done, sit back and reflect on what is on the page. Some of the images may surprise you. There may be themes you didn’t expect would emerge. There may be combinations of photos that communicate something to you. Be open to whatever you receive.
10. However, don’t put any pressure on yourself to see or interpret something on the page. Sometimes the value is just in the stillness and the meditative act, not in the final result. On the other hand, sometimes you’ll only notice something a few hours or even a few days later, once you come back to the page.
11. You may wish to whisper a silent prayer, but it’s really not important that any words be spoken. Remember that God is quite capable of hearing your thoughts even before they’re put into words, and quite capable of communicating to you in a deeper way than you could express in words.
by Heather Plett | Mar 3, 2010 | journey, Uncategorized
Here’s the thing… too much navel-gazing gets old after awhile, right? Even when it’s ME doing the navel-gazing. Smile.
You’ve done it too, haven’t you – clicked on somebody’s blog (probably mine now and then), realized that it was one of those long-winded navel-gazing posts, and then clicked away looking for something more entertaining? Yeah, go ahead and admit it – I won’t take it personally – even my husband admits to skipping some of my posts.
With so many thousands (millions?) of blogs out there, there’s a LOT of navel-gazing on the internet. Sometimes it seems like everyone (yes, myself included) has become egocentric and ethnocentric in their search for the right self-help book, the right guru, the right yoga practice, the right set of 400 thread count sheets, the right “10 steps to self-actualization”, and the right “dreams-for-my-personal-future”.
The thing is, if all of those things aren’t balanced with compassion, justice, and RESPONSIBILITY, well then everybody loses but ME, ME, ME! And how happy will we be if we’re lonely in that perfect self-actualized bubble we’re living in?
So… after that rant, you’re probably thinking I’m ditching all that stuff and just preaching a “live a life of total sacrifice and self-deprivation, and don’t do anything to improve yourself” message, right?
Well, ironically, that’s not the case. Because I actually do believe there is value in self-discovery, IF it is done in the spirit of “if I give of my best, and challenge myself to recognize and share what I have, then I am serving the people around me as well as myself and we’ll all be better off for it”. Contentment begets contentment. Compassion begets compassion. Self-respect begets respect for others. Pay it forward. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” A happier me is a happier you. You get what I’m saying.
I’m beginning to understand that the season of Lent is actually partly about digging deeper to understand ourselves better and, as a result, figuring out how to be what we are called to be. Here’s a quote from Frederick Buechner that inspired me recently…
In many cultures there is an ancient custom of giving a tenth of each year’s income to some holy use. For Christians, to observe the forty days of Lent is to do the same thing with roughly a tenth of each year’s days. After being baptized by John in the river Jordan, Jesus went off alone into the wilderness where he spent forty days asking himself the question what it meant to be Jesus. During Lent, Christians are supposed to ask one way or another what it means to be themselves…To hear yourself answer (such a question) is to begin to hear something not only of who you are but of both what you are becoming and what you are failing to become. It can be a pretty depressing business all in all, but if sackcloth and ashes are at the start of it, something like Easter may be at the end of it.
Asking ourselves the questions that Christ asked himself, and facing the temptations that Christ faced (to let pride, greed, and the desire for power become his guiding energy) are all part of becoming who we are meant to be. It’s about figuring out how we are meant to serve the world.
Christ was about to face the ultimate test of his calling (his own sacrificial death), but before he was ready for that, he had to spend some time alone in the desert. I’m sure that wasn’t popular with his followers who probably thought it was unfair of him to desert them. (How could somebody lead and inspire us and then ditch us?!) But he knew that if he didn’t do this, then his calling would not be fulfilled and his followers would suffer more in the long run then the pain they felt in the short term.
In the end, Christ and all humanity benefits when Easter comes and there is resurrection and redemption.
That’s not about navel-gazing, that’s about finding strength in who we are gifted to be, even when it’s not popular with the people who don’t want to see us change or step away from them.
This poem (via Christine) says it well…
The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.
– Mary Oliver
by Heather Plett | Feb 9, 2010 | journey, Leadership
Navigating the roads in India - always a tricky proposition
Sometimes you think you’ve been through a journey already and it will be old hat the next time you hit the same road. You know where the curves in the road are, you know when to slow down for the intersections, you know the sections of road that will be smooth sailing and you can drift along with your radio on and your cruise control set.
And then you get out on the road, and they’ve changed the landscape. There’s construction on the road that you didn’t expect. There’s a new mega-highway that’s moving faster than you’ve driven before. There are potholes (and rickshaws, to go along with the image above) that weren’t there before and somebody straightened your favourite curve.
I’ve been in management for thirteen years now. You’d think I’d know this journey inside out. You’d think I’d know when to anticipate the curves and bumps and rickshaws.
But they keep changing the road map. The speed picks up when you don’t expect it. There are new curves in the road. And the passengers in the car? Well, they’re never the same and the universal truth about people is that they’re all so very unique and different. Each one adds a new dimension to the journey. Some of them get a little ornery and want to ride on top of the bus for a better view of the scenery!
I’ve got more passengers (or co-pilots?) in the car then I’ve ever had before. (Not quite as many as the photo would suggest, but sometimes it feels like it.) I’ve got a bigger budget to manage than ever. I’ve got a faster moving car and a tighter timeframe to reach my destination. The demands are great and the expectations are greater. Some days I feel just like that bus driver must feel – dodging rickshaws and trying not to lose any of the passengers on the top.
Lately I’ve had a few new positions added to the team, and each of those positions has carved off a piece of the work that I normally do. That means I get to delegate more, but it also means I have to let go of some of the fun stuff I like to do. It also means that I’ll be held accountable for more people’s mistakes if I don’t give them clear direction and ample support.
I’ve come to a new intersection and sometimes I wonder if I’ve got everything I need to drive through it. The right road map? Enough gas in my tank? A clear destination? The right skills to navigate new territory?
It’s not hard to get caught up in daydreaming about just getting off the road. Or going back to the familiar, slower-moving roads that don’t stretch my capacity quite as much.
But that’s not in the game plan – at least not for now.
And… here’s the place where I try to wrap this post up in a neat little bow. If this were an expert blog, the next several paragraphs would be full of valuable advice about how to anticipate the curves and how to keep the people from falling off your bus (complete with bolded headings and ten easy steps). But it’s not an expert blog. It’s a blog written by a fumbler who’s trying to navigate the leadership journey without running over any poor rickshaw drivers along the way.
Just sharin’ my story in case you’ve been on a similar journey.
So… what’s changing in your landscape?
by Heather Plett | Feb 4, 2010 | journey, Uncategorized
The wonderful response to my last post reminded me of two really important things about human nature:
- We all want to find our tribes – those people who understand us and don’t turn us away for being different.
- We all (at least I think it’s safe to make a generalization) feel like mis-fits now and then. NONE of us fit cleanly into the categories, boxes, labels, etc. that the experts say we should.
Isn’t that the great thing about the internet, though? We get to find people who understand us. We get to put out tentative little feelers and have people connect to them. (Yes, I believe that they are real connections.) We get to form tribes that might not naturally happen in the circles where we find our real live bodies. (‘Course, some of my favourite readers are my flesh and blood tribe – lucky me – so I get the best of both worlds here.)
Judging from the response, many of the readers of this blog feel like they’re the same kind of mis-fit as I am. Which makes me wonder – are bloggers disproportionately scanners and/or creators, or is it just that we tend to attract like-minded people and that’s what drew you to my blog in the first place (or me to yours – whichever happened first)?
I’ve been thinking about this quite a lot in the last few days. First of all, when I re-launched my blog on its own URL last week I found myself thinking “What is this blog’s reason for being? What makes it unique or of any value? Is it just a place for me to sound-off about my life or is there a deeper reason for why I’m putting this stuff out there?”
Then yesterday I was interviewed by my friend Stephanie for an article on women in leadership and she asked me some fairly pointed questions about why I put my life out there into cyber-world in the way that I do. What do I get out of it as a woman in leadership?
With all this contemplation and the fun interaction on the last post, I came to the conclusion that I am here because this blog has helped me find my tribe. I have found people to connect with. People who understand my idiosyncrasies and connect with me because they have idiosyncrasies of their own. People who value my stories and support me through the tough spots. People who will be kind to me and share their own vulnerability when I talk about personal stuff like breast reduction surgery. People who will cheer me on when I try new things. People who will offer different perspectives when I develop a bad case of tunnel vision. And (perhaps most importantly) people who don’t mind hanging around and watching me fumble through new art forms, writing, parenting, etc.
And in the middle of all that thinking, I had an epiphany.
I have found a tribe of fumblers.
It’s true, isn’t it? We are all fumbling for words, fumbling for truth, fumbling for beauty, fumbling for wisdom, fumbling for art, fumbling for friendship, fumbling for peace, fumbling for significance, fumbling for faith, fumbling for connection, fumbling for meaning, fumbling for justice, fumbling for hope.
I have always been a fumbler. I like to try new things, explore new ways of doing things, take pictures, paint things, write stuff, go on adventures, offer friendship, teach people stuff… but most of the time, I’m just fumbling my way through. I’m not an expert on anything, and even when I get recognition for things people think I know, I feel like saying “hey – I’m just a fumbler like you! I don’t really know what I’m doing, but you can come and fumble with me!”
This is not an expert blog where you’ll find advice on how to live your best life, how to maximize your assets, how to find true happiness, how to move past the blocks in your life, or how to make a pile of money the easy way. You won’t find ten easy steps toward ANYTHING around here (unless it’s tongue-in-cheek).
But if you’re a fumbler, you’re more than welcome to join my tribe!
There’s a great line in a Bruce Cockburn song that says “come all you stumblers who believe love rules, stand up and let it shine”. Hopefully Bruce won’t mind if I tweak it a little for selfish purposes and say “come all you fumblers who believe love rules, stand up and let it shine!”
If you’re a member of my fumbling tribe, stand up and let it shine in the comment box! You are all welcome here!
by Heather Plett | Feb 3, 2010 | Creativity, journey, navel-gazing, Passion
Sometimes I feel like a split personality.
Some days, I’m an extrovert and I get lots of energy from the people around me. Some days I’m an introvert and I can’t WAIT until I can hide away from everyone for an hour, a day, a week. And then, on particularly challenging days, I can flip-flop in a matter of hours – even minutes.
Some days I love my job – the leadership energy required to energize and direct a national team, the opportunity to talk to so many different people in so many different places, the creativity of figuring out the best way to communicate, to educate, to fundraise. And then some days I hate my job and all of the energy it takes and I want nothing better than to just hide in my little basement studio writing, painting, dreaming.
Some days I long to be a true urbanite, hanging out in a funky apartment in downtown New York or Toronto, eating at trendy restaurants, attending all the latest plays and art exhibits. And then some days (or even on the SAME day), I long to hide out in a little seaside cabin far from the hustle and bustle of the city.
Sometimes I think my greatest strength and interest is in writing. Other days I want to put more energy into photography. Still other days (or hours), I think I should focus on leadership, or art, or facilitating workshops, or…. oh the list is endless.
I’ve never fit any categories very cleanly. It’s hard to put me in a box. I’ve done oodles of personality tests, and almost every time, I end up different from the last time I did a similar test. There are some things that are fairly constant (like the fact that I suck at maintaining and organizing details), but I can flip-flop on many of the categories (especially introvert/extrovert).
I’ve done the True Colours assessment several times (and have taught it a few times too, so I know it quite intimately – it’s one of my favourites), and mostly I come out as an orange (innovator), but once I actually came out with three colours – orange, blue (relational),and green (scientist), exactly equal. (‘Course I’m ALWAYS low on gold – the details oriented organizer.) I’ve also done lots of leadership style tests, and they always show different or confusing results too.
It’s been a little frustrating, this difficulty in pegging who I am. I find myself envying those people who can so clearly say “I am XYZ and I know that I am motivated by ABC,” and in my moments of weakness I think “what the heck is wrong with me that I just can’t seem to figure myself out?” Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying – I’ve read lots of books, taken lots of personality type tests. I keep thinking I’ll be more successful at living a full and satisfied life if I figure it out and work to my strengths.
But here’s the thing – one of the other messages I’ve heard from more than one manager is that both my greatest strengths and my greatest flaws are two sides of the SAME COIN – my ability to see both sides of an argument, my tendency to be able to weigh both pros and cons, my ability to come up with lots of good – and often incompatible – ideas, and (too often) the resulting difficulty in making firm decisions I (and my team) can live with.
I’ve been reading some interesting stuff about the concept of “scanners” (people who have so many different interests that they have difficulty settling on just one), and you know what? I FINALLY found something that defines me a little more closely. I am a scanner. And then I was listening to something online about the different types of Wealth Dynamics (ugh – HATE that name) profiles, and heard about the “creator” (someone who is half-way between introvert and extrovert and who is better at coming up with good ideas than implementing them), and again, I felt like there was something that made sense. I’m a HALF-WAY person! Neither one Meyers Briggs type nor the other, but a unique blend of both!
Now – I know that these are just made up names, and ultimately, the categories don’t really matter, but after all these years of wondering why I didn’t fit (like a square peg in a round hole), I’m beginning to realize that my NOT FITTING is what gives me uniqueness, beauty, and strength.
