Writing Life

The Higher Power: Transcendence in Rehab and Writing

~ Jeanne Lombardo ~ 6 Comments

I’m flexing my own creative writing muscles this morning with a flash fiction challenge from Charli Mills at Carrot Ranch. Naturally the prompt leads me  to experiences in my personal life for fodder. This provides a bit of conflict, since I recently vowed to keep this blog confined to writing topics. Still, I hope to honor my vow not only by falling back on the oft-repeated maxim about writing—write what you know—but also tying in the theme of transcendence, whether in your personal life or your writing life (as if the two were separate.)

One thing I have come to know (against any intent or desire to do so) is the terrible challenges for individuals and their families wrought by the epidemic of opioid abuse in our country. According to last week’s New York Times article, Inside a Killer Drug Epidemic: A Look at America’s Opioid Crisis, it killed more than 33,000 people in 2015. When you count the families and communities affected, the damage goes much deeper.

Today, though, I want to address not the epidemic itself but the related topic of rehab, in particular the idea of the “higher power” invented and popularized by the most enduring drug and alcohol rehab program out there, AA.

Rehab and the Higher Power

I recently visited a loved one in a rehab facility here in Phoenix where he was doing a month-long residential treatment. It was cold outside, so we gravitated to the rather institutional cafeteria to chat. Posted on the wall were the 12 steps, among which 6 mention God or higher power, a key element of the program:

* Step 2—We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
* Step 3—We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
* Step 5—We admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
* Step 6—We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
* Step 7—We humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
* Step 11—We sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

I was struck by the focus on God in the program, though I was aware of the idea of the higher power and that participants could interpret that according to their own beliefs. Yet, tending toward an atheistic view of reality myself, and having raised my children with a more scientific and evolutionary understanding of the nature of things, I wondered how my young man could reconcile his secular grounding with a program clearly designed with a deistic approach to human existence.

We revisited this topic last week when I drove him to a different facility for a second month in residential rehab. He admitted that he was having difficulties with this focus on God, that he had talked to his counselor about it. He understood the idea of replacing what had been his “higher power”—heroin—in the sense that he  had lost control of his life by giving it over to the needle. But try as he might, he could not identify what a “higher power” meant to him outside of the religious sense.

I recalled a conversation I’d had with my philosopher futurist husband, Tom Lombardo, concerning the idea of transcendence, which appears as a major theme in chapter 12 of his forthcoming book, Future Consciousness: The Pathway to Purposeful Evolution. In applying the idea to the struggle with addiction, I had understood it too narrowly. I believed that transcendence, in the case of overcoming addiction or character flaws or adversities, meant simply to connect to a vision of yourself that transcends your former self. Just as our older selves transcend our younger selves, so, I thought, could our future “good” selves transcend  our former flawed selves.

For Tom, however, transcendence is connected to deep purpose in life. As he writes:

Deep purpose usually entails some higher good or reality transcendent to our personal existence or life. Deep purpose is a “calling” toward something greater than ourselves, a holistic, perhaps cosmic dimension to motivation, bringing in the ego-transcendent, above and beyond our individual well-being. Deep purpose is intentionally placing the storyline of our lives within a bigger whole.

Granted, conceptualizing a higher good transcendent to our personal reality is a a task of a high order even for those of us with less challenging struggles than addiction. When each day is a battle with a demon, how do you identify what that transcendent reality might be? And yet, it is a mistake, I believe, to to underestimate the desire in the substance abuser to do just that. While the idea of the higher good may begin on a highly personal plane—good health; job stability; a “normal” life—from there it expands to goals such as improved relationships; marriage; membership in a community…moving beyond the narrow focus on self that substance abuse engenders to a view of how we might contribute to a broader good as neighbors, friends, citizens, humans, inhabitants of the earth and cosmos.

Moreover, the beauty of conceptualizing the higher good in this way is that it in no way sacrifices a person’s individual condition. As Tom adds:

Yet, reciprocally, deep purpose invariably reflects and serves the individual. In identifying a person’s deep purpose in life we find that it intimately connects with that person’s strongest interests, skills, and qualities of personality. Deep purpose seems to emerge, at least in part, through finding activities (and consequent goals) that we love. Deep purpose requires personal passion.

Transcendence and Writing

These passages only skim the surface of the topic of transcendence, but as I applied the message to the theme of rehab, I also thought of how it worked in my life as a writer. Specifically, what do I want to accomplish with my writing? What do I want to write about? What purpose does it serve? Certainly I write not only for personal satisfaction. I would like to touch others with my writing, to provide something of value, beauty, (dare I say) wisdom. On the highest order, I want to improve my craft to improve myself as a person, and thus equip myself to fulfill what I see as my own evolutionary purpose: to in some way contribute to the positive evolution of humanity.

These are the thoughts that go through my head as I enter my fifth year of a life dedicated to writing. What about you? How does your writing connect you to your deep purpose? How does it reflect and/or facilitate your passion? Is your writing ego-focused or ego-transcendent?

And…before I forget, here is this week’s flash fiction challenge:

January 5, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a rattling sound. It can be an intimidating sound of protest, a disorienting loud sound, a musical expression or a gentle baby’s toy. Go where the prompt leads you.

The Gettin’ Place

He took a drag and rattled the ice in his cup.

“That Coke’s no good for you,” I said.

“One poison at a time, Mom.”

Our usual exchange.

“Feeling ready?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“We’ll get the apartment packed up. Figure out the rest after rehab.”

He nodded, his beauty piercing and hopeful in the dawn light.

“Those blankets, though, I’m tossing them.”

“OK.”

We’d argued about the overstuffed garbage bag the girlfriend had left behind.

“Where’d she get them anyway?

He smiled, knowingly, sheepishly.

“The gettin’ place,” he said.

He’d come far, but the street was still in him.

 

 

Writing Against Adversity

~ Jeanne Lombardo ~ 13 Comments

notebook-and-ballpoint-with-laptop-in-background

I’ve been in absentia again with this blog. Part of the problem was the mania attached to the presidential election. I allowed my mind to be sucked into the black hole of endless headlines, op-ed pieces, Facebook posts, and news feeds. Post election, I went into mourning, battling my anxiety and dread with hefty doses of more bad media. When I did blog in October, the post was a political one, not what I want to use this space for.

Then there was the personal front. Since May, I have been rooting my son on as he struggles with his recovery from a heroin addiction. I could write a book on all the mistakes I’ve made: my failure much of the time to “detach” and live my own life; the unrelenting worry and pressing thoughts of how I might guide his decisions. And that is just one of my distractions. There are other adult children to worry about. There is my relationship with my husband, which has suffered from our sometimes polarized views on how to deal with the tensions. There are health and money issues. And there are our own goals for the good work we want to do together.

All this has provided myriad excuses to not write. I’m fatigued; I’m stressed; my mind is fragmented and I can’t concentrate. The “shoulds” push in: I should be helping my son find resources; I should be focusing on the positives with my husband, and on our shared endeavors; I should be bringing in more money—maybe I should take a teaching job to tide myself over.

Meanwhile, my own future as a writer languishes. And like many of those who dare to wreak out a living by writing, I can’t afford to let that future unfold without some critical planning. After a dream ghostwriting gig that has lasted four years (and resulted in two books), it’s time to capitalize on what I have learned and bring my writing life to the next level. I want to move beyond the editing jobs I’ve managed to develop. I want to get back to my own creative pursuits.

Quieting the Mind

So, what is the  answer when you cede internal control of your life to external forces? One solution is to permit yourself some personal care-taking. In her column, “How to Write When Life Sucks” on Writer UnBoxed, contributing writer Cathy Yardley recommends, first, some TLC: taking the time off to re-ground; relaxing in a favorite way; turning to the “trinity of self-care—water, light exercise, and sleep”; and taking advantage of your support group.

I would add to that list engaging in an activity that feeds your sense of control over your life. Aside from walking my seven rounds in a neighborhood park, I turn to housework; I tend to my plants. Cleaning and gardening are areas where I can impose order on chaos, where the care I bestow pays back with immediate benefits. And the physicality of those tasks relieves the tension in my body without making me worry more about being completely unproductive. Then what?

Ease Back into Writing

Once you’ve stopped the spin, you can ease yourself back into writing. As Yardley suggests:

The best way to do this:  set a small goal to start.  Ridiculously small.  For some, this may be as small as one paragraph.  “How am I going to get a book written if I’m just writing a paragraph?” some of you may ask.  The thing is, you’re not trying to boost your productivity. You’re trying to train your brain. You’re reminding yourself that yes, you set goals and achieve them.  That you can do this.  Once you start getting victories under your belt, you can start to increase your goals, but always within reason.  Slow and low.

That is where I am at now. This post is my “slow and low.” But while Yardley’s advice resonates, the inescapable truth of what it is to really write stares me in the face.

No Excuses for Not Writing

I live with a scholar/author whose unassailable focus sometimes maddens me. Every morning at 7:00, without fail,  after fortifying himself with a first cup of coffee and a cigarette, Tom plants himself at his desk and writes until lunchtime. His prescription for productivity is one I have read elsewhere, but I have seen few individuals who can stick to it. This despite the brilliant simplicity of his strategy, which he attributes to the years he spent weightlifting.

  • Identify the time of day you are going to work.
  • Do not allow any excuses to disrupt that schedule.

Where I give in to the knee-jerk urge to answer my phone when it rings, Tom ignores the jangle. Where I see a “few” chores that it will take me ” just a few minutes” to attend to, he is blind to them. Where I fool myself into thinking I can just scan my news feed quickly to get my brain “warmed up,” or navigate the sucking vortex of social media before starting on a piece, Tom dives right back into his current manuscript, open on his desktop.

The key is brutally simple. THERE ARE NO LEGITIMATE EXCUSES.

But, some will say, what if the house catches on fire? What if a meteor crashes onto your little corner of real estate? What if, what if, what if. Such a response is a shaky step on the slippery slope, one that just opens the door to more excuses. You must nip all such thoughts in the bud.

Modeling Your Writing Practice

So, I have this great model breathing in the next room. When I am not letting small marital arguments dilute the example my husband sets, seeing how he does it inspires me. As do the examples of other writers I’ve seen who have overcome the most disruptive of hardships. I frequently mention blogger and novelist Charli Mills here. In the last year, Charli has experienced eviction, homelessness, and dislocation. She has had to battle the soul-destroying bureaucracy of the Veterans Administration in advocating for her husband, a vet with PTSD. She currently writes from her new office in an old RV perched on the edge of Zion National Park. But write she does. Not only has she punched out one eloquent column after another on schedule during the ordeals of the last year, and made headway with her two WIPs, she has continued to inspire dozens of writers with her regular flash fiction challenges at Carrot Ranch.

So, heading into the last month of an “uncommonly shitty year” that Jon Oliver has encouraged his followers to dispatch with a resounding “Fuck You,” I resolve to carry on. And though presently my plants scream for a drink, and there’s a bundle of laundry languishing on the floor of my closet, I’m planted here at my computer, relishing the writing that is never far from my mind.

And you? What is your strategy for your writing goals as we close the coffin lid on 2016?

 

 

The Writing Life: Sublime Transports and Ethical Pitfalls

~ Jeanne Lombardo ~ Leave a comment
Mark Twain
“There are basically two types of people. People who accomplish things, and people who claim to have accomplished things. The first group is less crowded.”          Mark Twain

Ah the writing life, the pure enjoyment of words and language, the sense that we have set out on some hallowed road trodden before us by our greatest literary precursors. My small efforts pale in the brilliance of those luminaries, and yet, I too can aspire to strike against a small truth, brush against what the eminent literary critic Harold Bloom, in his new book, The Daemon Knows,  calls “the strong ­transports of sublimity.” After all, as Hemingway said, “All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know. “

So I gather up my journals, written over the course of three decades, scan them for gems that may still glow. I delve into nesting folders on old flash drives for half-finished stories and books in the hopes that one or two may call out to be made whole. I take satisfaction in having written a book for someone else. I blog, explore flash fiction and mini memoirs; pen book reviews; pass on my own hard-won writing tips. I count myself a fringe member of a noble literary fraternity (or, as Virginia would have it, sorority).

Then I come up against harsh Necessity. Most of my writing tasks do not pay the bills.

That makes writing a brilliant late career choice, since one of my favorite things to worry about is money. I don’t blame the wagons to which I have hitched myself; what does one expect from artists, musicians and philosophers? Even the one money man I married denied me the security I sought, playing the markets as he did with a reckless alacrity. I blame myself. Money and I have always been in an on-again off-again relationship. Maybe it’s the frisson of unease I crave.

This week, a client’s late payment sent me into a fit of money angst. Words like “insolvency” and “penury” knocked against my rattled brain (ridiculous, I know, for a rather firmly entrenched bourgeoise.) Feeling impotent, I importuned the oracle of the Internet for wise counsel. I googled and yahooed the magic SEO tags, “writing jobs”; “freelance writing”; etc. One article on Careers in Writing from Britain’s the Guardian gave me hope that I might at least fashion a small career as a hack. Two others I found at Freelance Writing Jobs invited submission of a cover letter and resume. Desperate for some sort of action, I spent a precious couple of hours conjuring up the dead language of old job applications.

The next morning I got a reply and a link from a site named “Writers Careers” inviting me to interview over Skype. I should have known from the labels that had attracted me—”scholarly,” “academic”—”that it was a paper mill disguised as a freelance writing resource. Why I should find such deception shocking eludes me, since getting round the rules—”cheating—”has become the modus operandi of our age. Still, as an educator, life-long student and writer, I consider such “services” an egregious affront not just to the clients who so easily barter the development of their mental faculties for a passing grade, and their teachers, who are being swindled out of precious time and effort, but to anyone who cares about writing as a vocation and a profession.

So, I tip my hat to the struggle that is eking out an essay or story or blog post one word and one line at a time. I may scrape along financially; I may in the long run harvest a negative return on my efforts. But at least I won’t sell my hard-won research and writing skills as so much pulp for the mill. Hell, I’ll even look beyond the small securities of business writing and editing. After all, as Edmund White quipped, “It always seemed much better to be a writer—a Real Writer—than a successful hack.”