What’s Your Vision for 2020

2020 Vision

I don’t make resolutions. Why bother with a mission that gets broken in the first week? Instead, I opt for challenges. Some short term. Some long term.

I do choose a word for the year. Last year it was “clarity.” Did I gain clarity last year? Perhaps a tiny bit. I did finish the memoir. I didn’t publish it. Why? Because I still need a little more clarity. It’s a work in progress until I figure it out. I’ll carry that word into 2020.

And, I’ll add a new word. This year it is “compassion.” There I’ve said it. Now, as to what that means to me. I see it as letting go of some of the baggage of the past to make room for peace and understanding going forward. How else can one develop compassion? We’ll see how that goes.

Now about those challenges. I’m stuck.

I signed up for #1wordpromptchallenge on Instagram figuring I could do anything for one month. But that seems like such a long time. Maybe I’ll rethink that.

Commit30 seemed like a good option. That’s one day less than the 31 days of January Instagram commitment. Seemed doable. That is until I discovered that it means you commit to one thing for 30 days. Then you choose another commitment for the next 30 days. And so on. It’s never ending and I can’t think of more than two things I want to commit to: No sugar and No Spending. Notice, I said “want” not “plan.”

I could choose the Top 10 Favorites list series. Oh, but what would those lists incorporate? Would I have to tell my 10 deepest secrets? 10 fears? 10 sins? Now that is just plain scary.

The options to on and on and on. 7 Things to Do for Yourself in 2020, 30 Days of Joy, 40 Questions to Ask Yourself Each Year, Success Maps, 20 Goals in 2020, Daily Gratitude, Writing 20 Minutes a Day, Writing a #50wordstory every day, Habit Trackers, Affirmations, Mind Maps.

AHA… I have just had a brilliant thought. I was thinking all these challenges involve writing, blogging, journaling, or posting to social media. Those are all accountability challenges. In the end we only must be accountable to our own selves. So, in that case, I’m going to choose to do whatever pleases me on any given day. Today I stayed in bed until noon, created a vision board and ate waffles for brunch.

What’s your vision for 2020?

Pen Names and Memoir

Homeless Bound book cover

Memoirs should never be written under a pen name. At least that is what I have been told. I’ve also been told that we need to “own” our story – therefore, our name must appear as the writer. Otherwise it could be taken as frivolous fiction. But here’s the thing: I plan to publish my memoir Homeless Bound under the pen name M.Z. Bull. Obviously, it’s not for the sake of anonymity. Rather, it comes as a request from the grandson I happen to be raising who was shocked to see my name in large white letters on the proof copy. “You can’t do that,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s embarrassing,” he said.

“What’s embarrassing?” I asked.

He pointed to the author’s name.

I have nothing to hide. If you turn the book over and are surprised to see a familiar face, you may already know I have lived in my northern California home for over fifty years. Marjorie Witt has appeared as herself in Story Circle Journal, Street Spirit (Justice News & Homeless Blues in the Bay Area), talkingsoup.com and here, in this blog. So where does M.Z. Bull come from? I think you might already know.

The Proof has Arrived

Homeless Bound

I knew this would be the day thanks to Amazon’s tracking devices. While meeting with my writer’s group, I kept my phone next to me, in silent mode, glancing at the tiny screen with each vibration, stalking the texts. “Your package has left the facility.” A while later, “Your package is out for delivery.” And then, “Your package is two stops away.” I tried to listen to everyone read but the distractions kept coming. Buzz, buzz, buzz.

I would be a useless critique today, my head following the path of the Amazon delivery truck, but I tried to be a good listener. The phone was silent for a bit. I looked back at the last message. Two stops. They should have delivered it by now. Maybe they got lost. Maybe they lied.

It was my turn to read. “I didn’t bring anything,” I apologized. “You see, I thought I would have my proof copies to share.” I held up my phone. “They’re two stops away.” I used my allotted time to talk about keywords, back of the book blurbs and the benefits of self-publishing.

Buzzzzzz. I looked down at the phone. “Delivered.” Suddenly it was real. I could run home, rip open the box, and hold the proof of my efforts. And so I did.

I ran my fingers across the shiny cover. I flipped to the back side, read the blurb. It needs some editing. I checked the interior. It needs some editing. My job is not done. But even scarier, as I hold this piece of work in my hands, I think, is this something I truly want to release out into the world?

Memory Triggers Inspiration

Sometimes it takes just a little bit of luck and sometimes you just happen on to something that brings with it a whole flood of memories. Thanks to someone I met two years ago at Silver Lake Sandbox when I visited Michigan, I stumbled on her FaceBook post announcing this new book by Ann Chandler. Terri was kind enough not to just get Ann to sign the book for me but also put us in touch with each other. Two days later I held the book in my hands.

Yesterday I dug through a box of old photos from my dad and found a bunch of shots from the early 50s. Then came the memories. Dunes, dune scooters, swimming, sunburns, bonfires, the lost village, rowboats, speedboats and platoons and my little green toy truck lost under all that sand. Strange sometimes what comes to mind.

Meanwhile, there is a short reference to the Silver Lake dunes in my upcoming memoir. It’s a meditation of sorts that gets me through difficult times:

I was six years old when I first climbed the razor back dune behind the cottages where we spent our summer days. I never once gave up in my climb to reach the top of that shifting sand and that struggle later came to represent the struggles in my life, literally two steps forward and one step back, but  it was that stubborn step forward that counted.

I sit on top of the tallest sand dune between Silver Lake and Lake Michigan and feel as though I have reached the top of the world. To my right is Silver Lake, a mirror shining within a frame of small cottages. To my left is Lake Michigan, big as an ocean stretching into infinity.

I feel the warmth of the midday sun, burying my bare feet under the hot layer of sand. I lie back and sink into the fine white sand, cradled in its soft formations, snug and safe. I close my eyes.

I am quiet as my mind clears, letting go of the daily trials, giving them up to a power greater than myself. I listen patiently, waiting for some guidance. Sometimes it comes, sometimes it doesn’t. It will happen in God’s time, not mine.

My mind is at peace and my body follows. I am safe, comfortable and everything is good. I know that all will be well.

Gently I return to life, opening my eyes ever so slowly. I roll to my side and push off, tumbling down the dunes, free from my burdens, ready for action.

As I rise to standing, I look up to the top. Then turn and walk away knowing that I can return anytime, anyplace.