About Katie Taylor

Katie Taylor blogs about creativity at ktmade. You can find her original photography at ktmade parade or follow her on twitter at ktmadeblog.

January 16, 2013

Enough to Give

She Held Love In Her Hands by Altered Muse Art on etsy

Halfway through January, the New Year resolution talk is starting to wind down. I’m not getting as many fitness deals in my inbox, and writing “2013” on documents at work has become second nature. Instead of making resolutions this year, I jumped on board with the “one little word” plan. In choosing one word for the year, the hope is to set an intention that guides your actions throughout the coming months. I think of it as a self-created lighthouse, something to look toward that will help keep me on a path I’ve chosen for myself.

I threw out a lot of words when I was trying to choose — lots that centered on healing my wounds, sparking or nurturing my creativity, re-centering my life – but a different sort of word also kept popping up. I kept pushing it down and thinking of other words, but that one little word wouldn’t stop.

The word was GIVE, and since it wouldn’t leave me alone, I finally gave into it.

My wife and I got married last September in a splendid weekend filled with so much love and joy that we never wanted it to end. We spent the first two days of our Hawaii honeymoon talking about every little magical moment. On a drive through the beautiful landscape, I remarked that I was excited to send all the thank you cards because I felt so grateful for all the people who had travelled to celebrate with us and make our wedding so special. My wife agreed, and she also said she’d like to focus more on giving back in general in the coming year. After all the blessings that had been bestowed on us, she wanted to spend more time volunteering and giving to charity and sharing some of what we had received.

While I had been so excited about thanking our wedding guests, I was surprised by my reaction to this sentiment from my wife. I can’t remember what I said — probably some half-hearted agreement. But what I felt inside was, “NO! I want to focus on buying a house this year, on starting a family, on growing my blog, on writing, on eating better, on starting an exercise routine, on improving my photography.” I wanted to get myself and my family exactly where I wanted them to be. I didn’t have the energy to think about giving back.

So I didn’t. I didn’t even focus on writing all those thank you cards. Instead, I kept thinking about and analyzing my own life. I kept trying to figure myself out and pull it all together. And when the year came to a close a few months later, I felt deflated. 2012 had been a year filled with a thousand wonderful things, all of which I had longed for. And yet, I didn’t feel the resounding peace and contentment I thought I would. No, instead I continued to look out toward the horizon at all the things left to reach, all the things I still thought I needed to feel settled.

It was from that place that the word GIVE rose up in me. And it was from that place that I pushed it down. “I’m all used up,” I thought to myself. “I have no energy left for giving. I’m maxed out.” And it was true. All that energy focused on seeking, striving, attaining was leaving me empty. But from somewhere deep inside, a little voice was telling me that perhaps more attaining wasn’t the answer.

I will not sell all my earthly belongings this year and become a professional volunteer. I am not abandoning all my desires for my own life. But I am planning a small shift in how I spend my energy and, to some extent, my money. 2013 will be the year that I step out of myself and into the world around me. It will be the year that I notice other people, send more thank you cards and “just because” cards, the year that I seriously consider my finances and make intentional charitable contributions, that I carve out time to volunteer, call my friends, respond to an email that asks for a few hours of help with moving or packing or canning or harvesting vegetables.

It will be the year that I remember that I have not only what I need but a little extra to give.

My first step was declaring 2013 a no-clothes-shopping year. The fact is that I have absolutely all the clothes that I need — and more. But I was spending a significant amount of time (and sometimes money) on online clothing sites thinking about filling out my closet or buying the latest trend. It’s a silly little thing, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with clothes shopping. But turning off that option has created welcome space in my brain, my schedule, and my bank account — space that I can redistribute in a way that falls more in line with my intentions for the year.

I harbor no illusions that this will be a year of selflessness or sainthood. In fact, I know exactly the opposite is true.

This year I will give — give back, give love, give thanks, give more — precisely because I know I need to for myself.

I will give because I don’t want to feel empty, because I want to connect with other people and feel like a citizen of this world.

I will give because I’ve realized that spending all my energy thinking about everything I was missing left me blind to everything that I had.

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If you have thought of choosing one little word for 2013 and haven’t done so yet, it’s not too late to set up your own little lighthouse. Setting an intention for the year can start whenever you’re ready. And while GIVE is the right word for me this year, it might not be (and probably isn’t) the right word for you. Some folks out there already spend all their time and energy giving and need to remember to take some time to do the exact opposite and focus on their own desires. I encourage you to spend some time considering what word is right for you.

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December 12, 2012

When the Going Gets Tough…

Edinburgh Stairs, click photo for info

Just less than two weeks ago, I input the final numbers into my NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) online calculator and saw the little bar graph on my personal page sneak just up over 50,000 words.  The competition challenges would-be writers to put their pens where their mouths are and write 50,000 words of a novel in 30 days.  This year was my first time, and from the beginning I told myself that the key point here was to create important writing habits no matter how many words I was able to complete.

I trailed behind the daily target for the entire month.  I was writing on an almost daily basis, but I wasn’t always spending as much time as I needed to get the necessary 2,667 words on paper.  Even so, I kept reminding myself that the continuous writing was what mattered and that no matter what I finished with, it would be more than what I’d started with.

But as the end of the month drew closer, I really wanted to win (winning, for NaNoWriMo, is completing 50,000 words).  I had challenged myself to something bold and exciting, and I didn’t want to just do it halfway.  I wanted to own it.

So I ramped up.  On the two days that I travelled to and from my family’s house for Thanksgiving, I wrote 17,000 words.  On the planes, sitting in the airport, I was either writing in my notebook or typing away on my computer.  Back at home, I downloaded a dictation speech-to-text app on my iphone and dictated scenes and dialogue while I commuted to and from my office.  I set my alarm early and wrote before work.  I skipped out on social events.  I used the Write or Die application and typed until my wrists hurt.

And on that last day, when I hit the 50,000 word mark (and kept writing), I felt not just pride but deep comfort.

I had shown myself that I could do something that felt impossible.

I wasn’t such a fragile soul that a 50,000 word limit could get the best of me.  No, I was strong and capable.

Nowadays, in the creative world, we talk a lot about having compassion for ourselves, about listening to our bodies, taking time to rest, stopping when we’re tired.  I’m not questioning the importance of any of those things.  But I wonder if sometimes there are bigger things at stake.

In the days since November, I haven’t felt burned out.  I’ve felt the exact opposite.  Pushing myself past what I thought were my limits gave me a renewed sense of my own abilities and potential, something I’d lost sight of in the last few years. 

I don’t know if those 50,230 words will ever find their way into a novel, but I would do NaNoWriMo again in a heartbeat – just to remind myself that I can.

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November 14, 2012

Changing Course

All Roads Lead to Somewhere – click for more info

I recently put a post up on my blog telling my readers that I would be taking a 90-day hiatus from blogging.  It was a difficult post to write, but it was also exhilarating.

The blogging sabbatical was meant to give me more time to pursue a different type of writing – fiction.  The art of weaving a story has always felt a bit mysterious to me, like a glittery gift that other people received, nestled into the blanket alongside them when they were delivered to their mother’s arms.  I didn’t think one of these glittery things had accompanied me, and yet I felt this desire to try my hand at creating a fictional world.  In fact, stories and characters forced their way into my brain, asking for attention.  For the most part, I ignored them because, as exciting as fiction seemed, I was already on my way down a writing road.  I had already embarked on one dream – and that was creating a successful blog, something that I had put a lot of myself into.

That I kept feeling the pull to spend my energy elsewhere was either an annoyance or a dismal sign of my incredible fickleness, depending on my mood.  I tried to convince myself that both dreams were on the same path, that blogging was providing the discipline that I needed to be a writer.  The truth was that I spent a lot of time and energy wondering whether one was keeping me from pursuing the other.

So this was what I brought to the table when I spoke a couple weeks ago with a coach who specializes in helping woman reach their creative goals.

After listening to my ambivalence, she challenged me to take 90 days off blogging to pursue writing.  I balked.  How could I let go of the dream I was actually making some progress in?   But my coach reminded me of my own words – that I had always dreamed of being an author and that even letting myself dream it felt bold.

Pursuing something bold, she maintained, requires bold action.

I surprised myself by agreeing to it.

And I was bold.  Not only did I step away from the blog, I joined up with National Novel Writing Month and am now 14,000 words deep into a work of fiction and loving it.  I don’t know whether it’ll be any good.  I don’t know how I’ll feel about the whole venture in a month.  I don’t know whether I’ll go back to the blog.

But I do know that I’m really glad I took the gamble.

I always wanted to be a person who wanted just one thing and went after it.  But the truth is, I’m a person who wants a lot of things, and sometimes that means I have to step away from one dream and step into another.

Who knows where it will lead.

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October 17, 2012

Fear in Sheep’s Clothing

Small Figure Painting by Finch Arts – Click picture for details

I write a lot about fear. They say “write what you know.”

I’m something of an expert in being a scaredy cat. I’ve been doing it since birth. As a kid, I was afraid of loud noises, the dark, spiders, water (especially the ocean), and Santa Claus. And you still don’t want to see me when some eight-legged thing comes into view. Or perhaps you do – if you enjoy watching other people’s hysterics.

When I was little, fear was so straightforward. It had a specific cause – a clap of thunder – and a specific result – me, crawling under the coffee table.

As I get older, fear is trickier to identify. Sure, when I’m afraid to turn the lights off after a particularly edgy episode of Murder She Wrote (I wish I were kidding), that’s pretty easy to see. But the trigger isn’t always so clear.

Sometimes I’m not sure what’s making me afraid. And sometimes – and this is what I’m really trying to get at – I don’t even know that what I’m feeling is fear.

Recently I signed up for a new type of exercise class. It was something that I’d heard about other people doing, and it sounded interesting. But as I neared the day of the first class, I started thinking about how inconvenient the time was. I started to wonder whether I really had time to go or whether it might be better if I just skipped it so that my afternoon routine would go more smoothly. I headed to work the morning of the class with a bag of workout clothes on my arm, but I was beginning to think it just didn’t make any sense to go. It would mean my dog would be at home alone longer, that I’d get home late and have to rush to get dinner ready and prepare a blog post for the next day and probably get to bed late. The whole thing was very inconvenient. Instead, I decided, I’d just take the dog on a longer walk and call it a day. And then around lunch time, the instructor emailed all of us who had signed up to say how excited she was that we were coming.

And I realized I had to go.

And then I realized that my heart was pounding. My breathing was shallow, and my hands were trembling a little on the keyboard.

I was scared.

I was really scared. I was scared of trying this new thing. I was scared of being in a room with lots of people I didn’t know doing something I didn’t know how to do. I was scared of watching that process in a floor-to-ceiling mirror. I was scared of the uncomfortable feeling of being vulnerable in my own body.

And all my chatter about inconvenience and my busy schedule had absolutely nothing to do with inconvenience or my busy schedule.

It had all been about fear, and I didn’t even known it. If the instructor hadn’t emailed, I may never have.

I’d like to tell you that I went to the class and that it was wonderful, and I was so glad that I overcame my fear.

But I can’t.

I did go to the class.

It was awful. I hated it, and I cried after it was over. And I vowed never to do any class like that ever again.

But of course, it stayed with me, as hard things tend to do. Over the last few months, I’ve remembered it again and again – mainly the way I felt beforehand and the way I felt during the class – uncomfortable, exposed, embarrassed, weak. For a while I thought about how there must be a lesson in there, and it must be that I’m supposed to go back to that class and push through my fear and learn to love it.

And I suppose that would be one option.

But I decided that I don’t have to recognize my fear and overcome it in the same breath.

Maybe right now it’s enough to see that it’s there and begin to move, slowly, in the direction of courage. For me, the result is that I’m training for a 5k race, something else that makes me afraid in similar ways – of appearing weak, of experiencing physical discomfort, of not doing it well enough – but something that feels more attainable.

I’m starting off small, but every time I finish a training run I feel strong and courageous.

I don’t know if I’ll ever make it back to one of those classes, but I hope that I keep challenging myself. The biggest fear for me as a creative soul is that my creativity will stagnate, that I’ll get stuck in a rut and remain at a stand-still forever.

The experience in that class, awful as it was, certainly got me moving.

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September 26, 2012

Grow Joyfully Through Your Limitations

Ready Set Grow by West Eighty Third

A little over a year ago, I got a digital SLR camera after feeling like one of the last bastions of the point-and-shoot in the blog world. I was instantly smitten with the weighty feel of the Nikon in my hands, the pleasing click of the shutter, and the crisp images.

I wandered around everywhere with the strap around my neck, first taking pictures of all the things you’d traditionally take photos of and then branching out to try to “find” beauty in those things I hadn’t normally noticed with a camera in hand.

And within the files and files of images, I began to find some gems. It seemed that I had something of an eye for photography. At least as an amateur, I was doing quite a good job.

I pondered taking a photography class back then, but I decided against it. I wanted to keep delighting in the process of taking pictures without worrying about whether I was doing things the “right” or “best” way. I didn’t want to know whether I was obeying the rule of thirds. I just wanted to know whether I liked my photo or not.

And that worked out just fine for a while. I even opened an etsy shop with postcards and notecards of my photography and participated in a craft show where I sold framed pieces of my work.

But in the last few months, I’ve begun to bump up against my limitations. I’ve begun to find myself in front of a beautiful scene, unable to capture it with my lens. I don’t know the best setting on the camera for a particular moment or why certain lighting gives me stellar images and other lighting can’t be managed even with a flash.

The tipping point came last week on my honeymoon in Hawaii. I snapped photo after photo of an absolutely stunning sunset, and I couldn’t get the lighting right no matter what random setting I tried. I couldn’t take a picture that showed it like it looked to me in that moment.

And that’s when I decided it was time to grow.

It was time to be thankful for whatever natural talent I have but also time to recognize that without some instruction and education, it can only take me so far.

As someone who battles perfectionist tendencies, I understand why I have been wary to take a photography class. I can get so caught up in rules that I forget my own joyful process. I was afraid that learning the rules of photography would rob me of something that I love. But in Hawaii, I realized that I’ve gotten to a point where my joyful process is being inhibited by my lack of education.

So I stopped by my local photography shop and picked up some brochures on their classes, and I’m signing up for Digital Photography 101. I’m going straight back to the beginning.

I’m trusting that there’s room in my creative process for both knowledge and joy.

Is there a place for growth in your creative process? Where have you reached limitations?

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