When I was about 11 or 12 years old, I would rush home from school, grab a snack and turn on the Brady Bunch.  It was a light-hearted show, sweet and yet always offered a lesson or two for devoted fans like me.  Each episode would focus on one Brady kid...this time it was Bobby's turn.   Bobby (the youngest of the 6 Brady children)  told his mom that something was stuck in his craw.  Alice, the witty housekeeper,  (who by the way, was probably the wisest of the group) mentioned that idiom to Bobby earlier in the day when he wasn't responding in his lighthearted, kid brotherly type way.  "Stuck in my craw."  I think of that saying often when I cannot describe how I am feeling.  Like today for instance... I really do not have anything that is flat bugging me..but yet, there is indeed something stuck in my craw.  What exactly is a craw?  I'm a bit afraid to look it up, but I think it might have something to do with a bird.

Most of the time, I can walk it out.  If I am feeling "off", a good 3-4 mile walk will take care of it.  For some reason,  today was different.   I walked, talked to I always do, sweat abundantly and yet nothing was resolved.  The day filled up with good things & happy people (except for the mom in the blue SUV that hated me for going around a temporarily parked Fed Ex truck, in front of the bank.  She thought I most definitely did not have the right-a-way.  She let me know that I was indeed WRONG for INCHING out carefully.  She then backed up dramatically so I could barely INCH on by...all while yelling at me with her 2 kids in the car.)   Even that didn't kick what was stuck in my craw.  Now I am probably stuck in her craw.  Good.  She needs one more thing to yell about, apparently.

So what is it then?  My age?  I hate the thought of that thing looming.  That woman thing that happens in your 50's or earlier.  Nah..not that.  Google said that I have nothing to worry about.   Tired?  Maybe.  Hungry?  Always.  Thirsty?  Yes.  But craw-worthy?  No.

So it lead me to this.  Sitting down and writing.  Oh...right.  Now I remember what is bugging me.  I haven't been writing.  That gentle, little  angel voice that says, "Get up early and write just a teeny bit...  you will feel so good and start something wonderful" ...if ignored, will eventually turn into a swirling vortex of doom and create all kinds of reasons to never write again.   Why is it so hard?  It's called resistance.  And resistance is a bitch.   It will make you do things like clean your sock drawer before the night of the big exam.  It will make you eat the entire pantry, before you pick up your guitar and strum a note.  It will make you weed the garden before you find your lonely paint brush.  Why is that?  Because resistance is real.  It is evil and it is waiting at the starting line to trip Mr. Bolt.  This mystery shield will keep you from doing the things God gave you the desire and gifts to actually do.   After you break through the invisible bubble of doubt, one can create masterpieces.  Or a really cool chalk figure on the sidewalk.  Whatever it may be, for some of us, it's just hard to start.  I do not think the teen and the husband in my house have this affliction.  They easily start projects without the monkeys dancing in their heads.  The husband will write a new song and perform it that night.  The teen will sit down at his computer and create electronic music for hours and not even think about EATING.  How weird is that?  I always think about eating.  Even when I am eating, I think about eating.  Like what can I eat for breakfast tomorrow morning...when I am currently eating lunch.  Sometimes I cannot wait to wake up and have coffee.  So much so, that I will dream of coffee in my sleep.  Pretty sexy, I know.  But seriously, French Roast is so beautiful.  With some 1/2 and 1/2 and raw sugar.  That is like coffee porn.  Anyway..

So resistance.  I read and re-read this book called, The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield.  It is my current bedside reference to life and art book.   It speaks of this resistance and how to kick it's ass.  I love this book so much.  But now I find that a super-resistance is happening.  (cue the James Bond theme)....( I love Shirley Bassey).  I find that instead of writing OR practicing my guitar, ukulele, penny whistle, singing...I will ...I THE book on the very subject that it's trying to help with! Irony?  Not really.  Resistance at it's best?  Yes.  Maybe, next to Alice, Steven Pressfield is the wisest.

All I know right now is that besides craving a big steak, I am actually sitting at my desk writing.  And that is good.  And for now, nothing is stuck in my craw.  Problem solved.  Did I create art?  Probably not...but I might be on my way.

So if you resonate with this today... go and paint.  Yes you.  Take it from me, Steven Pressfield, and the angry SUV will feel better after you do.

Thursday, August 18th
7:19 pm
The comfort of my uncomfortable chair & old desk.


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