Grounding and Owning My Space

Owning My Space is a concept I first learned about in, and most associate with, acting classes. I was taught that when I am on stage, I need to own my space. No matter how nervous or inadequate I feel, that space is mine and I need to act like it. I can’t rely on approval from others (teachers, coaches, directors, parents, peers) to make me feel confident in that space. Whether my delivery is foul or fantastic, it is MINE and I need to own it. This has been coming up for me as I hang out in England. I find myself in other people’s space all the time, unsure of what to do and how to do it. This ranges from the practical, like Where do you put the recycling? to the emotional, like Is it okay to silently retreat into reading while you guys watch TV or do I need to be ‘sociable’? Is it okay to put this much of my stuff here? Should I be offering to help? Insisting on or accepting others’ refusual of help? When I offer my opinion, am I owning my space or being selfish? Am I letting other people’s stuff into my space and to bend my brain? There is also the owning my role as a business owner. I talk about needing time to work but keep waiting for a challenge. As if it is obvious that I am not really that successful and thus am inflating my sense of importance. This feeling persists even though I have actual, legitimate client work to do. I have more internal...

Hiya from England!

This is what I get for not having a post pre-scheduled. It’s the very end of the week and my blog has been quite silent. I had some trouble getting my computer set up, due to a lack of the proper converter, which necessitated ordering a British-style lead. It took a few days to sort but I am back in business, just in time for the weekend, which I usually like to take off. I only have a few minutes to say hello as we’re off to a rugby match (England v. Ireland). In the rain. Of course. That’s jolly old England for you! At least the pubs are cozy. I am feeling the pull of writing, as if the air in England is infused with the spirits of great writers, past and present. I’m pretty sure I’ll be writing with a British accent in the very near future. There is just something about being somewhere different and out of my normal routine that sparks creativity. Perhaps I’ll actually get into some fiction writing, finally. Being here opens up more possibilities for me, as if I can shed the constraints of normal day-to-day thinking and let myself bolster my identity as a business owner and writer. A trip to the London Library, which I found out about from Joanna Penn, will most certainly help with that. Speaking of Ms. Penn, I have finished reading her book, Pentecost. An ARKANE Thriller, and will be doing a full review in the next week. Sneak preview: I really liked it and my only complaint was wishing it were longer. So that’s my...

Give Your Book a Haircut

I did it. I made the cut. After five years of growing my hair out to donate to Pantene’s Beautiful Lengths program, I was ready. I had the minimum length, plus some. I’m heading to England for an extended holiday and decided that short hair would be easier to deal with anyway. The appointment was set. I had the directions for donation bookmarked. Monday was appointment day. I had prepared myself as much as I could, because while I had been growing my hair out with the intention of donating it, I was still a bit attached to it. I worried that I wouldn’t look as good with short hair, that I’d be feeling remorse as I have when going short before. I thanked my hair for being such a positive part of my life, and let it go with my blessing. I knew it was going to a good cause, one I’d chosen because it required little money or energy. I wanted to find a way to give, but my finances only allowed so much monetary donation and my chronic fatigue only allowed so much time donation. My hair, however, was going to be there anyway. I liked having long hair, so I didn’t mind growing it out. And I have nice, quality hair. How awesome to be able to enjoy it myself and then pass it on to someone else for their enjoyment? Any twinges of remorse were quickly silenced thinking about the recipient who very unwillingly and painfully lost her hair. This was a small price to pay to assuage some of that pain. After the...