Imagine

Last week my friend Darrell treated me to a session with Catherine Shainberg, a world leader in the use of imagery for transformation. Darrell and his wife live on Bainbridge Island, so my day started by walking down to the ferry on a gorgeous, sunny Seattle Thursday. There's something transformational in the very act of making that crossing-- letting go of my business and personal obligations in Seattle and crossing Puget Sound to a different land.

Darrell picked me up from the ferry in his truck and drove me out to his house in the woods. After entering on a windy dirt road past a fully in-bloom mature Magnolia, we arrived at his beautiful home hugged by ancient Cedar trees. Catherine and Darrell's wife Joyce were waiting when I arrived. After a quick hello, Catherine led me into the small office where she was doing her private sessions for the day. I hadn't prepared a question before going to visit, nor did I have any idea really what to expect.

I've always been headstrong. My way or the highway. It's gotten me into lots of trouble, created loads of conflict and discomfort for me with family, friends, colleagues, partners. The older I get, the more I see what a waste of time this is. Life is too short, time is precious. So while I didn't have an exact question in mind for my session with Catherine, I was, and am, very interested in learning ways to move on from my lifelong bullheadedness.

After a few minutes of background questions, Catherine told me, in her lilting French accent, "You are very stubborn." Yes. Very. "Do you know how I know?" she pressed, "That line on your forehead. It tells me you are holding on. You are stubborn."  The night before at our dining room table, my daughter Lucia was sketching picture of me and actually made a comment about that line on my forehead. Two references in less than twelve hours. That's a pretty noticeable line.

Catherine invited me to close my eyes and proceeded to guide me back, through beautiful imagery and breath, to a time where this "stubbornness" might have originated. The process was hard work, emotional, and I felt tears streaming down my cheeks first intermittently, then continuously, until we were done. When I opened my eyes, I could see through the window,  a little brown squirrel perched on the porch chair behind Catherine, peering over her shoulder through the glass, looking right at me. I wondered if that little squirrel had been witnessing my process the whole time-- anguished face, dabbing my tears with kleenex-- or if he'd just shown up to welcome me back to reality.

Catherine then told me that I have a  lot of work to do, a lot of practice to let go of my brow-wrinkling stubbornness. I asked if I could actually get rid of the deep groove in my forehead, and she smiled, "Yes, you can. You just have to keep working."

"It's all there" Catherine explained, "All of the beautiful parts of you are all there. Your work is to let go of what's blocking it." I don't fully understand it, but I basically get it. I have a line in my forehead that reminds me, every time I look in the mirror, to let go of my stubbornness. I don't have to recreate or rebuild or fix some part of myself. I have to look within, imagine, the release of my rigidity, and what's already there will be set free.

Make space to become creative.

When the Seattle Public School teachers started grumbling about a strike a few days before school started I talked to my teacher friend Kate about it. She schooled me on some of the issues, one of them being a decent amount of recess. Actually the teachers are only asking for a half-hour of recess which, if you ask me, isn't really decent, but it's a lot better than nothing.

We are heading into the fifth day of a Seattle Public Schools strike and, while I am getting a bit nervous, maybe even slightly scared of what will come, I fully support the plight of the teachers for more money, more control over testing and evaluation, and more RECESS. We don't think about recess much as adults. We grow up and it's time to go to work. Most of us squeeze in play time and don't give ourselves much of a chance to let loose and shake off our worries like we used to on the playground during recess.

I recently listened to a podcast by a neuropsychologist named Rex Jung who studies creativity. We cannot be in a constant state of knowledge acquisition, he says. We need to give our brain a chance to check out a bit, to have recess, in order to spread out and open up, to put things together. This is how creativity comes to us.

The teachers' strike comes at an interesting time for me. I planned The SweatBox remodel during this first week of school, after a busy summer filled with child care duties, knowing that I'd have lots of time to be at the studio-- working, planning, organizing, getting shit done. And I am, but this strike, and some of the teachers' motivation behind it, reminds me that part of getting my brain into a state of creativity-- making the new schedule, choosing the best paint colors, placing the art--- means shutting it off a little bit too.

During most of the year I use my Yoga practice as my recess. Or I go for a run. But when I'm very busy, like when I'm cramming a pretty significant renovation into 10 days, those practices fall away. "This is time limited," I tell myself. "After a week I'll be back to my regular activities. I can hunker down and be all in for this remodel until it's done. " I can do that, but should I? After hearing that podcast and listening to the teachers' share their passion for balanced learning through this strike, I'm pretty sure it's not the best approach for me.

On Thursday the contractors are grinding down the floors of the studio. It will be messy and loud. Today Darrell, my wonderful, very creative contractor said, "Laura, on Thursday and Friday it's going to be chaotic as hell in here. Take your daughter and go to the ocean. Turn your brain off and don't think about this project for a few days." That sounds like a really good idea. Unless, of course, there's school.....