There Ain't No Ballerinas in Hiphop and more...

Frequently I have clients who can’t decide on an idea/project/step .

“There’s so many!”

This is often the illusion of thinking there’s a “right” one to start with. Or a right way to start. That's stressful. 

High pressured expectations are up there in the top five reasons we procrastinate, are overwhelmed, and get paralyzed ...  then feel stuck and may I add, cranky?  

Lowering expectations is paradoxical brilliance because it’s one of the only ways to  produce work we end up loving. The process is relaxing so genius is more willing to have tea with us. Everyone’s got genius, just sometimes it’s hanging out at the bar down the street because there’s too much pressure at home.

 What I sometimes say is,  "Just decide on anything, particularly if it's in the direction of a little zing of curiosity laced juju, an inebriation with incoming possibility, and an invitation  to that altered state of consciousness we love so much, .... creativity. Pick the project that makes your childlike spirit exclaim,

“THAT ONE and also maybe THAT OTHER ONE too.” (Two or three projects is a good number for many, some prefer one.)

  Don't Let Your Want for Perfection,
Become Procrastination

 Once in the process, #first_name#, your decisions can become instinctual, at least for a little bit, but you have to suspend the need to do it perfectly because that’s like having a boss breathe down your neck and intuition gets steamed up when that happens and steamed up intuition is hard to grasp.

Staying with it, we get information we couldn’t possibly get anywhere but IN the process. Deliberation can be debilitating, ready-fire-aim!.

Smart questions:

How can I make this fun?

How can I simplify this?

How can I lower the pressure?

Just asking these questions make the process more enjoyable, which will beget perseverance, which brings confidence ,which is a conduit for intuition, which makes for easier decision-making… I’d show you a flow-chart but my juju is pointing me toward painting.

. I can hear my watercolors calling, red is the loudest, obviously.

There Ain't No Ballerinas in Hip Hop  

I wasn't prepared for what happened in hip hop class, but I'm glad it did.

all rights reserved to be imperfect

(R) 2023 Jill Badonsky

Last Podcast The Reason

or wherever you get your podcasts

"Comedy is tragedy plus time,
but the time is different for everyone."

- Mike Birbiglia

“So much of what is neurotic or damaged about me is the thing I tap into to be creative or to write or to create comedy, it’s all from the wound in some way.  I find myself swimming in it creatively and in my imagination to create stories. “

-Writer, director, comedian, Judd Apatow
 
 

“Be careful, lest in casting out your demon you exorcise the best thing in you.”

― Friedrich Nietzsche

    Listen as you read

   Begin Again

   This episode begins when I was three years old sitting in a movie theater and having a moment       when Disney’s 101 Dalmatians started playing on the big screen. Rich red velvet curtains swung     open and through the dark, colored light projected a gigantic musical cartoon with puppy dogs,      cats, and a lady villain. In that moment I began a lifelong love affair with cinema.  What we loved     as children carries over, indelibly, to adulthood.

The first encounter I had with a kitten was in the parking lot of a New Jersey barn turned to shoe store around age 4. I remember being enchanted with a little furry creature who ran when I tried to pet it; the moment still plays in my head as if it were yesterday.  Cats have been ruining my furniture ever since. 

And …  I remember the first time I made my parents laugh.

Humor

Making my parents laugh was the only way I could get their attention other than putting a thermometer on a lightbulb to feign impending death.   My role in the family was that of clown and comedian. Humor became my #1 coping skill, … and I needed a lot of coping skills to deal with the consequences of my impulsive, impatient, awkward behavior;   something with which you experience when you are highly sensitive and have ADHD.    

When I was five, we moved from New Jersey to Miami and my family joined Kings Bay Country Club. Kids waited in line at the ladder to climb a high diving board and jump into the Olympic sized pool beneath. When it was my turn, I’d climb to the top, frolic like a clown down the board to the edge, then stumble into the chloride sea below. I resurfaced as fast as I could because the most important part of the whole act was seeing my parents laugh.   

Jumping too Soon

One time I jumped too soon off the diving board.  I just missed landing on top of six-year old Seth Kleinberg. A pear shaped Mrs. Kleinberg wobbled over as fast as one could wearing gold high-heel sandals. In her loud  floral one piece  and New York accent she shouted, “ You almost killed Seth!! What is the matter with you, you’re a terrible little girl.”

My parents activated their emergency child disownment mode and put magazines in front of their faces. No allies there.  I did see Seth … but it was shortly after I jumped off the diving board so all I could do was wiggle in midair as best I could to avoid him.   Fun fact: Wiggling in mid-air doesn’t really change where you land, gravity is a fairly stubborn like that, but still, I was close, BUT NOT ON TOP of Seth.

I did not like being yelled at by Mrs. Kleinberg, it ruined the rest of my swim. I wasn’t used to being shouted at by adults; my parents’ discipline of choice was a stern look of disappointment paired nicely with a heavy sigh. I thought the words “terrible little girl” were terribly hyperbolic– although I didn’t know the word hyperbolic wback then. (Hyperbolic means of, relating to, or marked by language that exaggerates or overstates the truth). Mrs Kleinberg exaggerated and overstated the truth in front of the world and  I did not rebound too quickly. I hang on to embarrassment as long as possible because evidently my obsessive mind seems to enjoy the torture it delivers.     

Heart Break

Like my childhood love for movies and cats that turned into adult passions, the diving board incident represented the impulsiveness that followed me into adulthood and made jumping too soon into abyss of life’s  awkward moments a common occurrence.   I jumped too soon into unsuitable jobs, purchases I later regretted, hot tubs, and romance.  Not too long ago, I jumped way too soon into a romance with who I believe was a poor representative of the male gender. As a child, I believed that when you ask a prince, “So how long since your last relationship ended, your majesty?” he would answer honestly. This guy told me he was out of a relationship for two years, so I jumped off the high dive of discernment into the dangerous undercurrent of infatuation;  he was the lead singer in a rock and roll band, and you know how that is.  The infatuation rendered me delusionally hopeful when I should have maybe taken a little more time to see who he was.  Turned out his last girl broke up with him two WEEKS (that’s 14 days or 336 hours) prior to our first date, not two years (a decent amount of time to get over someone) and he was still seriously hung up on her. Four months later when she saw he was spending time with someone new, all of a sudden she had renewed interest in him and plotted to win back his affections … which wasn’t hard since they never faded. So, as the gentleman he was, he told me that I was wonderful, but he was still in love with someone else and that it was best we cease all courting behavior. Just kidding.  He was no such gentleman. He didn’t say I was wonderful, nor reveal her actions, his feelings at all or any kind of decency at all. Instead, he took me to New Orleans. [music] Little did I the purpose of them trip was to deepen her envy so he could win her back,  nothing more was I, than a pawn in his deceptive ruse. I tried wiggling in mid-infatuation, but like gravity, it didn’t change where I fell.   And yes, I know what you're thinking, it was a free trip to New Orleans, but he treated me like an extraneous annoyance the whole time so not even the beignets and jazz music could mollify my anguished confusion because I had fallen for him. Well, okay, the shrimp and grits were good, and so was the jazz, but I assure you, if he was ever in a pool under a high diving board, I would jump right on top of him even if his mom was watching.    

Creative Remedies

“Laughter is carbonated holiness.” ~Anne Lamott

There, I feel better about the whole thing now because I wrote about it and put sound effects and music behind it. Humor can lift us out of the abyss of awkward and painful moments so I’m glad it’s been along for the ride.

When one jumps off life’s diving boards too soon, gets a scolding from Mrs. Kleinberg, and a heartbreak from a lead singer in a rock and roll band, so be it. Hurray! I bet you have some stories too, we all do, … life is a tapestry of stories, woven with creativity and the eventual healing that comes from said weaving.  Some of my tapestry is woven with silly string because humor is my out of jail card .  My childhood love for laughter is stoked by stories that were once painful and now sting less because in a story I can fictitiously jump off a high dive on top of a scoundrel without a the consequences of a law suit.   If you’re a highly sensitive person and/or of the ADHD tribe… good news, according to valid studies other than my own first-hand ones, chances are you also have heightened creativity and humor. We get to celebrate those qualities in writing, art, poetry, music, podcasts, and stories that didn’t used to be funny, but now, with a some shrimp and grits, they are…     

And public service announcement: It’s best not to jump too soon into a relationship with a writer if you are of a dubious character ,  you may end up in someone’s podcast.

In my Wild Abandon workshops at Omega and in Italy, the first thing we do is address intimidation, comparison, and high pressure expectations by giving permission to be human. Once out of the way, we are free to be kids, proclaimed artists, writers, and photographers - letting loose so fast (and recklessly, often blind) our work is filled with energy, mystery, and instinctive genius, not to mention playful madness, but I did anyway.

Join me:

Wild Abandon at Omega Institute of Holistic Sciences: New York

October 1-6, 2023. A week of immersing ourselves in Wild Abandon writing, art, photography, and good times in a forest in the Hudson Valley.   Register here

Art Walk and Creativity on the Italian Riviera 

October 14-20, 2024 Plenty of time to save up for gelato! 
I'll be providing the creative part of a tour to the Italian Riviera. Here's the link to sign-up      For all levels from beginners to travel-hungry pros.

A Muse's Daydream continues to explore misadventures that led to Wild Abandon art and my quasi brand of sanity. This story is from a past where my ADHD and my poor life choices met literally and figuratively with hitting bottom (or in the literal case, a large boulder) and how that led to the discovery of writing and art as a sanctuary and a reason to live. 

For Friction Reasons
Listen to the audio, music, and sound effects while reading (or while doodling recklessly).

“ADHD, also called attention-deficit disorder, is a behavior disorder,  characterized by inattention, impulsivity, and, in some cases, hyperactivity.  ”  

I’m not “some cases” of hyperactivity unless we’re referring to my mind which is often everywhere except where it should be, which is dangerous when an emergency brake is involved.    

Let me explain. Several years back, I lived on a steep, boulder-strewn hill in the high desert outside of San Diego with an incompatible boyfriend for far too long, … and yet, just the right amount of time. 

One December day, I returned home from buying some festive pink and green ornaments, design courtesy of Martha Stewart and groceries. I opened the trunk of my car and hurried the groceries into the house but when I came out, eager to retrieve my new stylish Christmas ornaments ….my car was gone.

This is what my eyes looked like: 

Actual size

I froze. I stared hard at the spot where my car used to be as if doing so would suddenly make it reappear. I stared longer than a psychologist might warrant normal. My state of shock teamed with my imagination  and constructed the following implausible stories:

• In the 30 seconds I was gone, someone stole my car.
• Maybe I parked it at the bottom of the driveway and forgot.
• It will be back in a minute.
• It was not back in a minute, an hour ,… or a hope.
   

I literally had to force myself to look down the steep, concrete driveway because a sickening dread pressed heavy on my chest.

I didn’t hear any screaming, a good sign.

I didn’t hear a crash, that’s weird.

I spotted it.  Just to the right of the driveway, my car was on perched halfway up one of the boulders in the front yard.

Dramatization, not actual size.

Strangely, there was no damage to the car (or the ornaments), but more importantly no one had been in the path of my runaway car. Kids lived on that block.  An older couple lived right across the street. It could have been horrific!

That I was relieved was a colossal understatement.

The artist part of my brain briefly admired the composition of Red Car Climbing Beige Boulder with Scattered Pink and Green Ornaments. That moment was quickly replaced by my decomposition of Embarrassment, Sadness, and Shame.

I called my boyfriend, he called a tow truck company, the tow company called the fire department, for friction reasons - if the car scraped against the boulder it could cause a fire.  Two members of the fire department and one man from the tow company arrived. All chuckled in disbelief, HAHA… They had the car carefully towed back to the driveway, and waved good-bye.    I wanted to hide

This was my wake-up call. I would be more mindful from now on so nothing like that would ever happen again.  “I am grateful for this momentous turning point in my life,” I announced to the Christmas tree as I hung the ornamental survivors of Runaway Car 2005.    I released a sigh of belief in this new chapter called Paying More Attention So I Don’t Kill People.  

I wish that’s what happened, but it’s not.  I didn’t kill anyone … but two months later, I came out of the house, and …  my car was gone again.

I forgot to secure the emergency-brake for a second time. Again, thankfully, it rolled into the front yard, but this time it didn’t land on the boulder, it crashed into the boulder and totaled itself. I don’t blame it, I didn’t listen enough the first time.

Self-Loathing

I was totaled too. I was drowning in self-loathing. I wished some nice person would throw me a life-preserver and make it okay. My boyfriend treated me like I was an imbecile; I should have had myself towed somewhere else, … for friction reasons.  I did not catch fire but I felt like an imbecile, and went inside to hide under the covers, and cry.

While I was under there, I started writing and illustrating my second book, The Awe-manac: A Daily Dose of Wonder, a book created with the intensity of someone needing a break not only from disturbing consequences of absent-mindedness, an emotionally abusive relationship, and deep self-loathing, but from the emotional wreckage that included cutting ties with a toxic family. A perfect storm for an escape from reality,

As I wrote and illustrated it, I experienced how writing, art,  and humor could usher me to a sanctuary of sanity and then, resilience. I had a burst of visceral … self-like. My illustrations were imprecise, reckless, and inconsistent, because … so was I. Art allows for variations on recklessness. In fact, if you are confident in your recklessness, it becomes your style. It became mine. 

"From the moment I held a box of colors in my hands, I knew this was my life. I threw myself into it like a beast that plunges toward the thing it loves." Henri Matisse said that from the moment I said "from the moment...", not me.

But I did throw myself into art and writing, not quite like a beast, more like a squirrel.

I still am compromised in other areas of paying attention, but the concentration gleaned from writing and art drifted over to paying attention to important things in life like the taste of watermelon in the summer, how music is medicine, and turning off the   in the kitchen.   

Writing and art became a reason to believe in myself.  Finding a reason to believe in yourself can be a life saver, I assure you, it was for me.

In my Wild Abandon workshops at Omega and in Italy, the first thing we do is address intimidation, comparison, and high pressure expectations by giving permission to be human. Once out of the way, we are free to be kids, proclaimed artists, writers, and photographers - letting loose so fast (and recklessly) our work is filled with energy, mystery, and instinctive genius. And playful madness.

Join me:

Wild Abandon at Omega Institute of Holistic Sciences: New York

October 1-6, 2023. A week of immersing ourselves in Wild Abandon writing, art, photography, and good times in a forest in the Hudson Valley.   Register here

Art Walk and Creativity on the Italian Riviera 

October 14-20, 2024 Plenty of time to save up for gelato! 
I'll be providing the creative part of a tour to the Italian Riviera. Here's the link to sign-up      For all levels from beginners to travel-hungry pros.