Morning Pages - Week 2 Day 4

1

I started my exercises, thinking exercises. You know, the kind that brings you back to your most awful and most wonderful memories and make you remember shit from the past so that you don't leave any pages unturned and carry the weight over to today. Yes, that kind. It's not fun and it's vastly personal so I'm still debating whether or not to share stuff that happened to me and obviously might not mean the same things to you. It's hard to depersonalize your  own past and put it out in the open in present day as if it's somebody else's past, somebody else's story and you're just the storyteller. It takes courage and I have to have that courage because I signed up for this, nobody else. No matter how hard some parts of this 12-week process are, I said I would do this so I will deal with it. In another blog post, not today. 

One thing I will tell you though is that Julia Cameron, author of The Artist's Way, pushes the reader to believe that s/he is a very talented and creative individual, whom needs to be reminded of his/her capabilities; and reminding begins with you. You have to remind yourself that you are talented so that your talent's shy little head can start poking around. Reminding in my case means writing. So everyday I sit down and write stuff like Oh I am so talented, I am a brilliant writer, I do this so well and so on. When you do this, you are supposed to provoke your Debbie Downer side so that it starts speaking out. That side is what keeps you blocked, or trapped or whatever you might want to call your problem, so you want to work on eliminating it. The more you write how great you are, the more that side will try to convince you of the opposite. I didn't believe it at first but even I was caught off guard when I found myself thinking I write like shit as I was completing my 20th sentence writing "I am a brilliant writer". It was so sudden and sharp but quiet at the same time, talking way back in my mind, my Debbie Downer whispered that I wrote like shit. 

2

Probably because I did see results in exact order that Julia Cameron explained, I decided to just go with it. So now, I sit down at the kitchen table every morning writing I am a brilliant writer for at least 25 times, waiting for my dark side to speak up. The idea here is that dark side has a reason to have moved into your head. What is it? Discover it, deal with it and get rid of it. Easier said than done. I did figure out a few memories already. Now the only thing I need to do is invent a time machine, go back in time, destroy that memory, make sure it never happens or differently if it must, get back on your machine and come back to present, where you already are a famous writer because those bad memories that kept you blocked this whole time, never really happened. Simple, no?

No. So what? I don't know. I've fucking given up on trying to know everything, to be Ms Know It All. I don't know but I'm hoping Julia will tell me in the following weeks and if she doesn't? Screw it, I will have written hundreds of pages of good morning blabber. I would take that over not writing any day under any circumstances. So really, with or without answers, we all win here. I am not trying to sell you on this book by the way, no worries. Salesmanship stops when I get a pen in my hands. Other than those precious times though, I can't stop selling something. I am always either selling an image or a vision or an opinion or worst case scenario a product. Aren't you? Screw you! Yes, you are. We all are always constantly selling something and the problem, personal dilemma, depression, whatever it may be for you, starts when you don't believe in what you're selling. 

So you've just told your best friend that you're in love with your boyfriend when in fact you can't even stand his being and you know you can't. The only way for you to accept that person goes through you changing him. Oh you're so screwed. You'll probably waste a long time of yours and his, not to mention you will add to both of your misery. But go ahead tell your friend he's the one and you love him so much.

3

Wait a second, I like this, what else? Let's think about it here guys. You might have told your aunt a few days ago that you love your fucking job. You just loooove, love, love, love working at the bank as a risk analyst. LOVE IT to death. That's right, you will die doing it if you don't stop...like...yesterday because you know you don't enjoy it. You don't like it, you never have but you aunt helped pay for your college degree on finance with her hard earned money cleaning hotel rooms since 1985 so you didn't have to. Go ahead, tell her you hate it, tell her it was a mistake and her money was wasted for nothing because you don't want to do it anymore. You would rather clean hotel rooms than analyze financial risk. Tell her that! What's that? You can't?  OK wait until she's dead. Then maybe you might quit. 

Let's not forget that troubled sister you've been supporting for god knows how long. She is so delicate, so young, so clueless of the real world you have been facing since you were 16. You don't want her to go through the same troubles but at the same time you're fucking sick and tired of being the big sister, aren't you? You want to be taken care of sometimes, hell you deserve it more than she does. What did she do all her life? Be pretty, be smart, read a lot of books, eat all the right foods and wear all the right clothes? You could have done those easily but you were never given a chance, only a role. The big sister role that you are tired of playing but when your mother asks you how things are, you say "Great, she's great. I love her and I am happy supporting her. She will become a great XYZ." Bullshit, you don't even think she can make an omelet on her own but you prefer lying. Well, you shouldn't have sista. 

I don't know...Examples are endless. These are just what comes to my mind first. Love, work and family. Whatever your little lie could be, you have to stop it. Or else? Honestly, nothing would change but that is precisely the problem. 

Artist Date 1

1

I went to a park for my first official artist date, which was a highly spontaneous decision. Because of a tiny little argument with my husband, we dived right into our typical weekend dilemma instead of lingering on it: he wanted to be at home while I wanted out. Especially thinking that the weather was confused outside thinking it was spring instead of winter, I skipped hesitations like I should be with my husband on the weekends, or I should do nothing but chilaxing (relax + chill) on the weekends. I hit the road running. 

It really was a spontaneous decision though because I was actually out for laundry not self discovery, which is not the most rebellious activity I should admit. It is the exact  opposite if anything. After all, cleaning was one of the earliest responsibilities used to define womanhood. It was right when this feminist / activist / nature-friendly / outdoorsy person ], who lives inside of me, started jumping up and down screaming STOPPP that I decided to stop. My whole being is because of her harassment anyway. There's not a single moment, when she stops talking, it's only a matter of how loud she is and she's probably not even a real woman, more like a little boy.

2

When you step out the laundromat door, you have two options. You can either go right and reach Central Park or go left and reach the Riverside Park. I have exactly 29 minutes before I have to put my clothes into the dryer. Riverside is not my best option here only because it's closer but also because it's right by the water, Hudson River. Having lived in Ankara for 24 years (a pretty dry, inland city) I can't help appease my thirst for water. This one is a no brainer. I turn left and start walking towards Riverside Park.

With my first steps I start thinking about this book I finished the week before. It's about famous authors and their daily routines. What I would expect for a male author lived in 1800s London to be very different from a female who lived in late 1900s United States turned out to be in fact surprisingly similar. Walking was one of those rituals. One who wants to write also wants to walk. I think it has to do with how the writer gets a chance to air out what's inside his head to let some sunshine into his thoughts as well as how he invites new thoughts into his head in the meanwhile. It could be because of few pages moved nicely into my subconsciousness or simply because I too prefer to be walking while talking to myself without even knowing it; I'm not sure of the reason but I obviously preferred to be walking out in the open for my first Artist Date. 

3

By the time I arrived at the marina, it was clear to me that I wasn't there to clear out my head that day, I was there to let new thoughts in and create more chaos in there. New sights, new smells, new people, new conversations were all the little details that made my artist date absolutely perfect. I want to leave you with some of these awesome details of life that winked at me on that perfect spring-like Saturday morning. I was thrilled to watch:

 

A woman who wore one tiny bell on each of her running shoes. Appropriate to her choice of shoes, she was in fact running but for those running ahead of her, she sounded like a biker trying to open her way through. With each step she took, the person ahead was sliding to the right and giving her way only to find out she wasn't on her bike but she was on her ringing running shoes. Watching the reaction on their faces while they watched this lady breeze in through the crowd of runners was indeed a detail not to be missed.

A couple in their 70s doing Tai-Chi moves that looked like love making through fight moves or tango through war, ying through yang and love through death. It was as though they stopped time with each move and started back with a swing of their hands. I've never seen people their age move so smoothly and inspiringly. I don't know how to describe it well.

If I had an amazing experience wathing them, just imagine what the Mexican guy walking by thought of them. He had the sweetest shocked person expression I have ever seen. It didn't seem like he came from a culture where women were allowed to fight, let alone fight against men in equal circumstances or at age 70. He was surprised but you could see easily that it was in a good way. It seemed more than anything like he wished his wife or daugther or sister did exactly what that woman was doing when they reached 70. It seemed as though he himself was going to encourage women around him to be more of a gogetter than sit around and wait for it . It seemed as though he was going back home to teach his loved women how to fight life so that he could fight with them and not for them.

I loved my Artist Date and all the details I got to observe. I also love New York and everything in it. I am grateful that I live in a city that provides me with an endless source of inspiration. I feel like story of Dee vs. New York City is just beginning to unfold.

 

Morning Pages - Week 1 Day 5

Sorry folks, today I'm going back to basics. I learned several languages until today but the one I learned listening to the sound of my mother's voice rules over others sometimes. See you tomorrow.

 7:02AM

1

Bazi yazilar Ingilizce'ye cevrilmiyor; Ingilizce hic yazilamiyor. Turkce yazilmasi gerekiyor bazi cumlelerin. Bugun oyle gunlerimden biri; cumleler hep Turkce cikiyor elimden, Turkce kalmak istiyor. Oyle nefes almak, bir nefeste oyle kalemden kagida akmak derdindeler. Bilmiyorum, buyuk ihtimalle dun canim Muslum cektigi icin bugun de canim anadil cekiyor. Ama siz soyleyin Sensiz Olmuyor'lar, Sebahat Abla'lar dinlenirken nasil Ingilizce yazilsin o laflar.

Seviyorum aslinda Ingilizce'yi. Simdi bana kizacak onlarca adam taniyorum bunu dedigim icin ama bazen daha kolay bile yaziyorum Ingilizce. Cunku oyle olmasi icin dusunulmus gibi sanki bu dil; hayati kolaylastirsin gibi. Dunyayi sarip sarmalamis olmasinda bunun ne kadar etkisi var bilemiyorum ama daha pratik, daha analitik, daha bilimsel bir dil sanki.  Dusunceler kafamda daha kolay sekilleniyor Ingilizce yazdigim zaman. Amerikalilar gibi kelimeler de hemen siraya giriyorlar kafamda, cok sistematikler. Hicbiri otekinin onune gecmeye calismiyor. Turkce? Tam bir sirk. Ne sonu, ne basi olan uzun metrajli sinema filmi ya da molasiz üç perdelik opera. Hicbir kelime susmuyor, hepsi bir agizdan bagira cagira konusuyor kafamda. Birakin kalemimin beynime yetismesini, beynim Turkceye yetisemiyor genelde. Kelimeler onde, ben arkada saatlerce kosusturup duruyoruz. Sonuc? Ben kisa cumleler kuramiyorum.  Turkce...fazla duygusal. Ben duygularimi Turkce'de yasiyor, beynimi Ingilizce'de calistiriyorum sanki.

2

Gecen annemle telefonda konusurken konu Elif Safak'a geldi, ya da pardon şa-ha-fak'a. Simdi adini boyle yazdim diye onunla dalga gectigim dusunulmesin. Sevdigim bir baska yazarla bulusmalarimizdan birinde o bu sekilde telaffuz etmisti adini, hatta o tiye de aliyordu. Benim de hem cok hosuma, hem de cok komigime gitmisti bu telaffuz; o gun bugundur agzima yapisti. Her Elif Safak dendiginde ben de icimden şa-ha-fak diyorum. Isimler cok onemlidir, sakaya gelmez aslinda. Elif Hanim'in kendisi de bu konuda cok hassastir; Araf'ta karakterleri uzerinden birkac kere tekrarlar bu konuya olan hassasiyetini. Bu yuzden Shafak diye piyasaya cikmasi bana daha da garip gelmisti. Allahtan adi Duygu degil. Duygu oyle mistiklestirilebilecek, ne bileyim ortadogu havasi kazandirilabilecek bir isim de degil; direk kitleme ismi. Son bes senede kendimi kac kere su muhabbetin ortasinda buldugumu akliniz hayaliniz almaz:

-Hi there!

-Hey!

-I'm XYZ, very nice to meet you.

-I'm Duygu, pleasure to meet you.

- ....

- :)

- ....

-Duygu. Dooigoo.

- ...

-Like D, U, Y, G, U. Dooigoo.

- ...

-Dee. Call me Dee.

-Oh OK! That's much better! Ha! thanks :))

-Yeah, sure.

Ben vazgectim. Kendi ruh sagligim icin vazgectim Duygu Duygu ugrasmaktan. D de olur. Hatta isterlerse DA desinler, Duygu Asena gibi olur, gururdan geberirim. Duygu Asena bir tarafa, dunya obur tarafadir cunku. Alin butun Elif Safaklari koyun oteki tarafin icine, Duygu Asena bambaskadir. Tek uzuntum onun kaleminden yeni kitaplar okuyamayacak olmam diye dusunurken bir gun anladim ki her bir kitabini elli kere okusam da olur, sikmaz Duygu Asena, anlatir, gosterir, kesfettirir. Elif Safak heycanli bir metresse Duygu Asena olum doseginde insanin sacini oksayan bir omurluk hayat arkadasidir. Onsuz ne modern Turk kadini olur ne de Turk kadininin aydinlattigi Turk edebiyati. Umarim Elif Safak bol bol, bin kere onun kitaplarini okumustur da kendi yaydigi isik biraz da olsa oradan geliyordur. 

3

Yeni kitabi cikmis. Sevindim. Bana da yeni bir gorev cikmis oldu. Elif Safak oyledir veya boyledir; "butun kitaplarini okumam sart" dedigim yazarlar arasina girdi bir kere. Girdi ama bu iyi mi kotu mu bilemem. Eskiden heyecanla, şevkle saldirirdim kitaplarina cunku kelimeleriyle sevisirdim resmen. Simdi dedigim gibi bir gorev oldu artik onu okumak. Sanki son kitaplarinda kelimeler önde, sessiz sedasiz tek sira gecip giderken, arkaplan gurultusunden, gizli sakli niyetlerden okudugumu anlayamaz oldum. Kelimeler sessiz; gurultuler cigirtkan, pişkin. Bunu ne kendine ne de bize yapsaydi keske. Simdi ben bir gorev bilinciyle okuyorum kitaplarini; eski aliskanliklarimdan kolay vazgecemedigim icin, kelimelerini ozledigim icin degil.

Yeni kitabi, Ustam ve Ben. Ingilizce yazip sonradan Turkce'ye cevirmis. Kendi dedigine gore daha kolay yaziyormus Ingilizce. Buyuk ihtimalle tek dilde hakimiyet kurmus -hatta belki onu bile tam yapamamis- bir yazar icin iki dile ayni seviyede, ayni rahatlikla hakim olmak akil almaz bir durumdur. O yuzden de "mumkun degil" der, imkansiz! Sanki imkansiz diye bir sey gercekten varmis gibi...Ben inaniyorum (belki de inanmak istiyorum). Daha rahatim diyorsa oyledir. Gerekceleri de mantikli. Bir de cirkin araklama yakistirmalari var biliyorsunuz. Ben henuz kitaplarin ikisini de okumadim ama en kisa zamanda bu durum degisecek. O gun bir kere daha oturup bu konuyu tartisalim derim. Simdilik tek yorumum, bu kadinin -kitaplarinin fonunda gurultucu sesler olsa da olmasa da- beyninin carklarini seviyorum. Ayse Arman'la yaptigi bir roportajda benim kullanmaktan sonsuz keyif aldigim spesifik bir benzetmeden bahsettigi an cigerlerim gogus kafesime sigmadi sanki, kisa devre yaptim bir an. Bu kadin dedim...beni delirtiyor. Deliligi cok bilmislige bin kere tercih ettigimden olacak bu kadinin bende biraktigi etkiyi seviyorum. O yuzden de onunla ilgili elestirileri dillendirmekten kaciniyorum; bu dedikoduyu iki kitabi da bitirdigim gune kadar erteliyorum.

7:45AM

Morning Pages - Week 1 Day 3

7:20 AM

1

Today is Friday and not just any Friday but the one before Christmas week, which can only bring us to one conclusion: today is in fact a Saturday disguised as Friday. Noone in the US will actually work. There will be heavy pretending and long idle hours. Even if you wanted to work, your colleagues or your contacts in other companies will take that away from you pretty quickly. Yeah, no one works on the Friday right before Christmas but we all make good money.

I'm thinking what if we shut down all companies on days like this and not pay white collars, what would happen? How much money would countries actually save and what would they do with that money? Would the government pocket it or would it do something that is actually useful for its citizens? I'm probably being paranoid, sorry. You see I'm from Turkey. Beautiful, beautiful place to visit. I mean where do I begin? Gorgeous scenery, unearthly food with a history that can go back so far that we could probably say this is where mankind started out its civilization journey. I love my country, love it to death. But I decided not to live there, right? Why was that? It's because of the biggest mistake we did back when we were struggling to define how to exist within a cohesive system as a society; we created governments. Why, oh why did we do that....That system is not working anymore...We need to come up with a better solution to coexist. It might have been a good solution hundreds of years ago but it's definitely not what the 21st century men need anymore.

2

About Turkey...Well let's put it this way, Turkey's government has become so dysfunctional that there is not one single societal area, where we're not suffering. Primary education - left crippled; cannot keep up with established education system's running pace thanks to technological achievements. Healthcare - barely breathing; if your doctors are overworked and your pharmacists are grossly underpaid, well overall health levels do not improve. Pretty simple, isn't it...Finance - OMG; no accountability, no transparency, no legality. Basic human rights...Freedom of speech...Free press...Gender equality...Religious freedom...Urban development...Improvement of life expectancy....I mean I will stop here. Like I said, I cannot think of one single area, where Turkish society is not suffering right now. Is that to say that US is doing a much better job than Turkey - or any other country- in all of these areas of concern? Phew. Absolutely not all of them, but some of them to some degree. 

Having lived outside the US for 24 years, I know very well that there used to be a huge misconception about living in the US. To outsiders, life here seemed...well...richer, right? And more colorful, better even! Roads were rainbow colors and traffic police were unicorns. Well maybe not, but you get the picture. That image was wiped out clean after 9/11 and the international turmoil that followed.

I came after 9/11 in fact, knowing that it wasn't as pretty in the US as it once seemed to the world. People were poor and unhealthy -which is inevitably a never ending cycle. There were quite a few psychopaths and guns were free, which consistently kept leading to shocking school shootings that left families in unimaginable pain. And then there were natural disasters that wiped out big cities. Help was less than insufficient and people were too tired, too desperate to even feel angry. What was behind all this drama? Government.  I am telling you, we, the mankind have to come up with a new solution to continue our existence. We can keep living as separate  nations or agree that we are the same kind regardless of skin color, the way we chose the worship a higher power or culturally unique shit like how we salute each other. You know...We might do things differently but we are the same. It's not like one of us is an ant and the other is an elephant. We are all human beings.

Earth is too tired for our societal class shit. We cannot keep consuming anymore, we just have to find a way to minimize consumption. Earth is done people. We consumed it. What's next, Mars? And then what...I don't know...Thinking about us as mankind depresses me. But thinking about us as Turkish nation, also depresses me. I think the only way I don't feel too desperate about future is by thinking about us as my husband, my cat and I; and my family; and my friends. Sometimes even all that is too much and all I want to think about is me, myself and I.

3

So that is the reason I preferred an underperforming US government to a dysfunctional Turkish government. I was tired of constantly watching a suffering nation, whose only concern was "us, as in Turkish nation". For mankind to evolve, man first needs to evolve as an individual. If you're no good for yourself, you will never be good for anyone to do anything. If where I live doesn't provide me with the best means to let myself learn and evolve, I will move on. Pardon my straightforwardness but the way we used to know nationalism as it has been since beginning of time is not helping us anymore. That is not to say, we all need to lose individual cultural identities and act as one. On the contrary, we should definitely protect our identity but we need to work with each other, not against. 

I'm pretty sure that is the exact reason for many others as well to immigrate to the US . And please don't misjudge the concept of immigration. When I say immigrant, I really mean every single person living in the United States of America. Everyone here is an immigrant, it's just a matter of when, not if.

I didn't chose to live here because I thought it was a super power nor did I think unicorns controlled the traffic. I chose to live here because I wanted to evolve, be better as an individual so that I can do better things for people around me, for the country I was born in, for countries that I really like and for the world as a whole because I want the world and everyone in it to survive and thrive. You cannot survive if you don't take care of yourself.

8:09AM (I'm definitely late, shit)

Morning Pages - Week 1 Day 2

7.20AM

1

I am so not awake yet. My hands are so mushy, I can't even hold my lucky pen straight. It felt so wrong to go to work yesterday because of the day before. I was off and it wasn't even one of those cleverly calculated days off, like the Friday before a long weekend or the Thursday of New Year's eve. It was a Tuesday; so wrong according to CALTOS (Corporate America Logical Time Off Standards -just made that up, sorry) but I had a great time nevertheless. 

Anyway so the day after, I was inevitably whatsapping a lot at the office, and facebooking, and instagramming, and spotifying, and staring at the screen. I think the girls were even ignoring me on the whatsapp chat group; it could be the fact that I kept sending messages like:

"OH MY GOD I AM SOOOOOOOOOOO BORED!!" or
"ALRIGHT! That's it! I'm coming over to your workplace for the rest of the day" or

"This is such a fucked up world we're living in guys...." 

From angry to determined and then to emotional...So yes, I was ignored and it was a long day.

I keep thinking about that waitress woman, who quit her well-paying job to enjoy life and become a waitress at 32 to support herself. 32 is too young to say "Screw it, I'm just going to go my way from now on" and too old not to worry about all the kids out there fresh out of college, who will potentially do a better job for a fraction of her salary. I wonder if she's really happy and enjoying life or if this is one of those made up stories bloggers tell just to attract some attention to their blog. By story, I'm not referring to her quitting her job and becoming a waitress. I believe that part. I'm questioning if she's telling the truth about being happy. Isn't there just a tiny bit of doubt still alive deep within her heart? Is she really sleeping like a baby at night having thrown all her professional potential out the window at age 32? GOD I hope not. Her blog post was spreading too much hope to be superficial and far from truth.

2
If you can't stop lying when you write then maybe you shouldn't write. Those who express themselves with ease through writing are usually less apt at lying. That is precisely why they prefer writing at first place. Let's be honest here; when you're at work or at a friends get together or parent teacher conference, how much of your real thoughts do you keep to yourself not to disturb the socially acceptable level of human interaction and how many times do you lie within 10 minutes when you're talking to others? How many times do you lie to yourself? A lot; don't be shy. You cannot do that when you're writing. You have to tell the truth or else you will look like a big phony wannabe writer and fail. That's why I want that 32-year old woman to be telling the truth on happiness. I want her to succeed.

I can never forget what Ernest Hemingway said at an interview with the famous 

Paris Review, 

"The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shockproof, shit detector. This is the writer’s radar and all great writers have had it".

I always knew one could only tell the truth through writing because I, myself could never lie with a pen in my hand but it was that sentence that showed me not only do true writers not lie on paper, but they can also not be lied to. Isn't that great: to be able to see through people? Everyone is in fact so transparent that it's sad when hearts are pumping blood into brains so that mouths can spit out bullshit. You just feel like saying " Excuse me here for a second, that's not the right end for shit to come out. Let me get that for you and wipe your mouth clean. Let's chat again when you take your mouth off your tooshi". Don't you feel that a lot? I do. And what do I do if I'm face to face with that person? I politely smile and nod in understanding. So grown up, no? 

But wait a second, is it only literature where one shouldn't lie for popularity or for whatever idiotic reason? I mean, what about other forms of art? Can photographers lie about what they want to express through photography just so their work can appeal to a greater number of people?  

3

Take this chic for example. When I first saw her work, I thought it was brilliant because obviously she was depicting New York City as a jungle and its dwellers as animals. The most mundane activity like riding the subway was in fact a weird and possibly dangerous reflection in a parallel world where we were all defenseless, naked in other words. Brilliant, right? I know. But the more I looked at her photos, more disappointed I felt because it was only her! Despite all our efforts to destroy animal life, there are still more than one animal kind in the jungle. So maybe am I not on the right track anymore about what her work should evoke in human soul? Once I am derailed from the connection I established with her work of art, I can't get back in because all I can see from then on is her naughty parts.

She can be an extremely talented artist but are people really admiring her art or her tits? And fine, let's say she wants to express ideas through nudity. I'm all about a-la-naturale. Awesome. But why is it that only she poses for the photos? I mean, why the hell not use a fat, hairy guy or a cute little Jewish kid or I don't know Mexicans, Africans, Asians, freaking eskimos, I don't know. Why herself all the time? And would she do the same if she was not as hot as she is? These are all good questions to ask, right? And I'd love to be able to ask her personally one day. In the meanwhile, she's probably getting her 25,043,304th hit on her website. I think you can sell anything with a naked body but if you can get people to value your work because you undressed your soul, you become timeless.

But what do I know?..I'm just a white collar girl, who's officially late for work. Can I still see through you and not buy your bullshit? Probably so. 

8:01AM

Morning Pages - Week 1 Day 1

6.22 AM

1

Here I start again, back to square one. My mission is to throw up all that troubles me into this piece of paper so that my creative juices can flow freely all day long. And of course there's the blogging part. WTF!? Should I be proud to present my third freaking blog to the world or ashamed that I might have won the most inconsistent blogger award of the decade? Not really sure on that...The important thing is to try...no I'm just kidding, it's not the important thing. If you're attempting to do something, you might as well try to be the best at it. Don't get me wrong, I AM a proud member of Generation Y, with a "what matters is trying not winning" type of world view; I just couldn't quite figure out yet how to love my failures as well as successes. I'm probably bullshitting. Sorry. What I meant was I am scared shitless of failure and I'm trying to disguise it under "I don't like it..." and I know many of you do too but let's keep focusing on me for another 10 minutes. 

Is it because of fear of failure that I picked an easily acceptable line of work in society instead of what I was always meant to do? And by society, I really mean family and friends. Do you remember that riskier, sweeter path to the most devilish dreams that we all had for ourselves but our parents kept underlining security was above all? Yeah, that. When you're a kid, it's cute to want to be singer. But as soon as you're done with K-12, singing is not cute anymore or wanting to be a dancer is childish at most or painting can only mean you'll be a starving artist begging for change on the streets? WOW. With such imagination, your parents should have been artists, not you! Mine never said such things but I was still too scared. What the hell!? Not only do I not have any excuses for not doing what I wanted but also at the end of the day it seems like I'm the only one to blame for not doing it. I'm happy to take on that responsibility but at what cost? Disrupting the peaceful routine of the family I'm trying to build in an effort to fulfill my teenage dreams before I reach 30 ?! Maybe, yes. Am I brave enough to take on that responsibility? Fuck no, but I'm trying. 

2

This thing that I'm doing here will last 12 weeks. I will write all this cry baby stuff everyday for 12 weeks straight and we will find out together at the end if I can succeed in figuring out what the hell it is I am meant to do in this life and if I actually have the guts to pursue it however challenging the road may be. If I ever slip, even for a day, please do e-slap me in the face and help me get back on track. Better yet, if you want to start trying with me, come along and we'll be cry babies together. Remember, all you have to do is write down 3 pages of whatever comes to mind everyday for 12 weeks. (and there's more but that's the tricky part and there's always a tricky part because this is real fucking life, not the inside of Alice's Rabbit Hole.)

Problem is I do not know if this is what I will always and forever want to do. Will I still be dying to write when I'm 40? Or better yet, why am I questioning what will or will not happen 15 years from now (OK, 12 years. Jesus!) Forget 40! Forget 30 even! There should only be today. To - day (Although 29 is my lucky number so I have serious expectations from next year, just so you know). I mean if someone told me at 18 that I would be living on the Upper West Side of New York City as a married woman with a husband and a tiger -in the form of a cat- in our tiny but tasty (please!) apartment with 2 bedrooms, I would have thought s/he was high. Or that I was high for that matter. If that same person told me I would make my living from finance and not literature, I would have been convinced this time that I am definitely high. 

3

It would have probably sounded beyond boring to 18-year old Dee because her absolute rule was to never work at a 9 to 5 job, right...To never have to sit at a desk in an office for 5 days/week. Well, isn't it ironic...Don't you think?..That is EXACTLY what I'm doing, except I can never leave at 5pm; more like 8pm...So yes, I changed, my expectations from life, the idea of life being limitless, people around me, ideas in and around my head, my city, almost everything in my life changed since I was 18, except for one thing, which is now my constant. The urge to write is still here with me. That alone is good enough of a reason to try The Artist's Way.

Let's get one thing straight about this workshop by the way. It won't always and only be about 3 pages of daily "Oh my God I don't know who I am anymore" shit. There's this exciting part of it called The Artist Date, where I will go on solo dates with myself - or my inner artist rather. And since this is one the best cities on the planet when it comes to arts and creativity, I will soon start telling you all about all the interesting and unique exhibitions at world famous museums or about the very exclusive performance of this unique, indie rock band, the lead singer of which will of course be playing a giant African horn/pipe. I know he will be playing that because there's this cool white guy, who comes to Times Square station every so often to play it on the subway and absolutely mesmerizes everyone around him. We are of course mesmerized by the sounds and saliva that find its way out of that giant horn. That guy was in fact my inspiration for a crazy New York artistic example. So there, I'm dedicating today's 3 pages to you, Mr. Very White guy, who plays the giant African horn on the subway to make godly sounds and saliva. If only I had a photo of you but I don't. Here's a photo that shows what you play. This is the kind of extreme that will dominate my artist dates. Love, love my dates, and writing, and New York, and all of the above. 

Source: http://forward.com/articles/108771/from-the-kol-israel-orchestra-to-a-pygmy-choir/

Morning Pages from September 5, 2013

6:20 AM

1

I'm up. I wonder why I am not questioning being up right now. I thought I would because that woman said so. What's her name...I forgot now...I was never good with names anyway. But I cannot go off topic right now because some part of the purpose here is to learn how not to wander off when I'm writing. I can't help but wonder what the reason is for my limitlessness when trying to stay within a single subject. Is it because I start with already built in presumptions in my head about how a certain subject should be? Do I overthink things before I even begin putting ideas into actions? Am I one of those people who know it all? Is it because of this reason that all I touch turn into shit before it turns into anything. Wow. Just when I was worrying about how to find three full pages of words, I'm about to finish the first. It's raining emails on my phone by the way. NY 1 morning weather report says "Good morning Dee. Today will be emaily. Just like yesterday, and the day before, and the week before, or the month before. Fuck. The year before. Your life will always be emaily dear Dee." 

What? Shit. Company A is trying to tell me something but I couldn't care less. I ignore. I'm choosing to ignore Company A right now, and rest of my emails. And just like that, I have 90 fucking emails sitting in my inbox waiting to be replied to. It took me as short as 3 days to fall behind in my emails. I hate emails. My boss says she had a thousand of them waiting at some point but she worked through the long weekend trying to clear them all out. Now, she has 125. It's been three days since we started work again though. If she accumulates 50/day, she should be at 275 again. That's back to one fourth of the original 1000 she had. Wow she's screwed, which means I will be screwed at some point. Right now, I'm still at 90. I can keep ignoring. 

2

It's 6.28am. I finished 1 page in 8 minutes, which means I will need at least half an hour every morning to do this. I thought of calculating how much time was required last night right before I went to sleep. There I go again, opinionated already how my "system" should be before I even begin trying my system. Am I confusing being opinionated with something else? Do I think that people around me are pretty heavily opinionated? My friends, my family. Do they want to improve themselves ceaselessly or are they satisfied with what they've got so far? Is it enough to keep them going until the rest of their lives, whenever that might be. Like my friends back in Turkey...do they all want to move to Istanbul because it's the only town favorable for change and opportunities? For big fish/ big sea kind of stuff...Where else can one go if one doesn't want to stay put in Turkey? Nowhere really. Jesus It's all about titles and attributes these days. What titles have I ever had? Right now I have a big one, professionally at least. I love that word: professional. Fuck titles. I feel like a 15 year old girl most of the time. A 15 year old, who is very much overwhelmed by the titles and responsibilities of a 28 year old. Only 2 more to go and then my life is pretty much over. STOP IT. Life begins at 30. 30 is the new fucking 21. They're going to build a chain brand soon called Forever 31 and they will sell sexy lingerie and smart books. Right next to each other too because you know, beautiful people are also smart and need to read. Anyway what else...oh yeah titles...

3

I'm also a wife. It's been about 15 days now that I owned that title. World's most difficult fucking title. Wife. Wait though...Something doesn't quite add up here. If wife is a more difficult title than Area Director of Revenue and if takes much more responsibility to carry that title, then what the hell am I doing every day from 8am to 8pm in that black/gray/white office and why am I not at home? Well , could it be bling bling? I guess when first idiotic men created "money" they never stopped to think 6 billion people would wake up everyday only to think how much they hate money. That's what we do. We act, we don't think. Let's think here for a change. What would you do if money didn't exist. What would I do? I would write fictional stories about facts. It's been 21 minutes now actually since I started writing. So why the hell am I complaining still? But she said I would do this...Julian Cameron - and I swear I didn't Google it, I just remembered- I think I got smarter after 2.5 pages of nonstop blabbering. That's what it is, pure blah blah blah. No cohesion, no grammer, no beginning no end...that's exactly how she wants it though."Don't worry about anything, just write 3 pages everyday, no breaks and no typing. Handwritten" It's pretty much old school diary keeping, only loaded with 21st century New York problems. I also used my lucky pen, not sure if a lot of people have a lucky pen but mine is very fine and has blue ink. The kind that high school teachers use when they grade papers. Teachers in Turkey specifically. Fuck, I miss that place and all the bullshit in it. It's my bullshit after all. It's been about 3 years and 2 months since I was last there.  My mom visits all the time. In fact she will come again in 9 days with my aunt. It'll be us girls hanging out together just like old days and I would love to write about the old days but I'm amazed at the fact that I'm nearing end of page 3 and I have at least 3 more pages full of random stuff I want to talk about. I'm helplessly watching the thoughts on my mind racing to become words on my paper. I will stop now.

6.49AM

What is this?

I woke up. I thought I would feel ridiculous sitting at the kitchen table at 6 in the morning while I could be snuggled up in bed with my husband and start snoozing my alarm clock around 7 until 7.45 BUT I didn't.

I thought I would question in depth the necessity of waking up at 6 am only to try (and possibly fail) to scribble down bits and pieces of writing that has an off chance of coming close, at best, to literary writing BUT I didn't. I thought all these things because she said I might have. Julia. Julia Cameron. She's the author of the book that got me doing this at first place- the morning pages as she refers to them. The book is called The Artist's Way.

Am I an artist? She said I would ask that question. The answer is "I hesitate before I can answer" (She also said this would happen, she's a clever one I'm telling you) If I cannot say yes then the answer must be no. But no. It's not no because I cannot answer NO either. What am I? Just another human being trying to figure shit out. Since Julia already correctly presumed 3 questions (and answers) I asked myself, I decided to try her routine a little.

It starts with me, waking up. If I can get my ass off that bed and drag my feet to the kitchen table, where I sit down and write down 3 full pages of early morning blabber before I take any caffeine into my system, I succeed. As simple as that. No other rules. No literary concerns, no grammer mistakes, no content guidance. Just me, three pages of blank paper and a pen. Nada mass, except morning pages are not meant to be shared with anyone or even read by me. That is the big rule in this game. I...like rules better when I call them. So my rules for morning pages will be:

1. Be purely de(e)caf.

2. Be as honest and open as you possibly can (that means I WILL be honest. No offense)

3. Share the heck out of it.

Parental discretion is absolutely advised and on a more personal note, please remember that all art is born from real life and you are a real person so please, don't take shit personally.

Let's go.