Jennifer Gandin Le

Our beloved best friend, Mister the Dog, died peacefully on Tuesday, his head on Chris’s knee, in the care of our kind-eyed vet. Mister was 16 1/2.

His health had declined so much that we finally knew we were avoiding the hard decision for ourselves, rather than for his quality of life. I’m very grateful to the warm folks at Austin Vet Hospital, especially Dr. Palvino, for sitting with us as we struggled with our decision, and gently let us know that it was okay to give Mister this gentle exit from a body that had lived long, deep, and well.

Still, I hear his paws on the wood floor occasionally, and every time I get up from my desk, I start to go down that hallway to check on him. Riding the waves of grief.

I’ve been deeply moved by the response from our friends and community. Mister touched so many lives, including avowed anti-dog people who found themselves strangely compelled by Mister’s independent, dainty, polite ways. I’ve even heard from a few friends who said that their interaction with Mister inspired them to become pet-owners themselves. How did one orange, fuzzy creature find his way into so many hearts across the country?

Even though he lived a long, rich life, even though we spent all day working at home with him for his last years, even though we knew it was coming — it hurts.

We miss our friend so much.

I’ve invented something incredible. It might change my creative life. It is the physicalization of the brain dump, the morning pages, the swamp, Anne Lamott’s radio station KFKD.

It is the CRAZY BOX.

This is where I put the thoughts that need disposal. The thoughts that keep me inactive. I gave it four different faces, because the demons show up with different attitudes and it helps me watch for them.

I believe in the power of words, of language, of writing your desires and mantras on paper. So at first, it felt weird to give my negative thoughts space on paper, making these torturous thoughts visible. Will it make these devils come true? Will this become my future?

Here’s the great thing: the Crazy Box is like a nuclear containment device. Even better — a magical nuclear neutralization box. Once you slip the paper in, the box strips its power immediately.

Here’s how I’m using it:

You write the thought down that makes your shoulders slump, makes you feel “less than,” makes you feel discouraged and like giving up. Yeah, that thought.

Or the secret blasts of megalomania that derail you from the actual work. I know I’m not the only one who has them.

Get them out. ALL OF THEM. The really specific ones, the ones about your best friend being smarter/prettier/more successful than you, the ones that know all your deepest shame and remind you of them often, the ones that short-circuit your enthusiasm into apathy.

Write it down, put it in the box, let it go.

Once a week (or day or hour, depending on how quickly your box fills up), I empty the box by the trap door on the bottom, and take it outside.

BURN IT. I happen to have a cauldron in my backyard for such purposes. Now, you might not be a earth-mama-hippie-writer-nerd-with-a-yard, so use whatever disposal method you prefer (I enjoy the purifying energy of fire).

It helps to have a few friends nearby as witnesses, to make sure everything gets released. I also wash my hands once I’m inside, to really really really get all that sticky energy off.

I warn you now — as soon as I put this box into effect, I found myself grabbing for scraps of paper alarmingly often to write down mean thoughts in my head. That’s okay. Tear up a ton of scrap paper and leave it close by. I think it’s better to interrupt my workday five thousand times to expunge discouraging thoughts than to work straight through and let those thoughts sink into my groundwater. They are toxic and, eventually, they’ll cause creative insanity.

How do you dislodge your crazy thoughts?

~ ~ ~

P.S. I work in public health, so when I say “Crazy,” I don’t mean actual mental health issues like depression, anxiety, or bipolar disorder. I mean the average, annoying, nagging thoughts that strip your energy and make you feel less than the divine creature in human form that you are.

P.P.S. Why is this a Love Thursday post? Because it’s another way I’ve found to love and adore myself and my creative life.

Six Austin women just graduated from the Mama Gena School of Womanly Arts Mastery Program, and on July 3rd, over 20 of their friends and loved ones gathered to celebrate their achievement and commitment to pleasure.

I’ve been part of the Sister Goddess community for over three years, but this was my first SG gathering with my digital camera, and with my new Sigma lens, perfect for portraits.

I had an absolute blast being the surprise and unofficial photographer for the evening! What photographer wouldn’t want to be in the midst of such beautiful, happy, alive women?!

I’m pleased by how many photos came out well, especially considering that there was no way I was going to be able to capture the supernatural beauty of every single woman at the party.

I learned a lot about how shallow the depth of field is when the lens is open all the way (only a tiny spot of her shoulder is in focus here!):

And how to take close portraits without being too intrusive. (I still think I’m too shy to get the really golden shot sometimes. More to learn!)

This is my favorite thing about being in a group of Sister Goddesses (whether or not they’ve been through Mastery) — there is a bright energy, a sense of mischief and play, that can loft you up high for days afterward. In this kind of room is one of my favorite places to experience a powerful sense of the Divine.

Congratulations, graduates! May all your desires come true, and even better!

The delicious rain and gray weather this week have relaxed me and made me sleepy earlier than usual, which, tonight, resulted in me being wide awake at 2:45 a.m. Instead of lying in bed with my racing thoughts, I got up and got online.

Here are three good things I’ve found in the last hour:

1) Everett Bogue’s blog “Far Beyond The Stars,” especially this post about “why what you don’t do is more important than what you do.” He has some very smart things to say, though in some posts, it is so clear that he’s writing from the center of his experience as a 25-year-old white man in the U.S. This is not to say that his work has no value, only that it’s worth considering the source as you read.

2) My very smart friend Josh’s blog, and his post featuring Nick Drake’s “From the Morning.” Nick Drake, I have discovered, is perfect middle-of-the-night-can’t-sleep music.

3) These charming letters from popular female bloggers to themselves at 20.

I work from home full-time building at least three businesses: my creative writing career, my editing business, and, with my husband, Chris, Emotion Technology. I’ve been self-employed for over six years, and I love it. It comes with its challenges, no doubt, but for me, the sacrifices are worth the privilege of being able to set my own schedule, choose my colleagues, and have zero commute.

One of the biggest challenges began three years ago, when Chris also started working from home. Since we’re two different people, we have different working styles, and merging them can be tricky.

Maintaining respectful relationships with your co-workers is important no matter where you work, but when your only co-worker is also your spouse, business partner, best friend, and roommate, the stakes are high. If I snap at him for interrupting my train of thought, it means more than an awkward eight hours at the office.

Your highest integrity and kindness is on call all day, every day.

There is literally nowhere to escape.

Which is why I loved Dr. Brené Brown’s post yesterday called “They Don’t Need Us to Be Sorry, Just Present.” She’s talking specifically about the relationship between social media careers and family, especially children, but I gobbled up her concrete tips on how she’s trying to honor both.

Especially this one:

2. I’m employing the Nordstrom method of engaging. The salespeople at Nordstrom always walk around to the front of the register table to hand you your bag. They never reach over the counter. I’m trying to do the same thing. I’m trying to never talk to my kids over the top of my laptop or while I’m staring at the screen.

If I’m working and they need something quick (e.g., Where are my goggles?), I’ll pause, look them in the eye and tell them. If they need more attention, I say, “I want to talk to you about this. Give me ten minutes to finish my work.” Obviously, if it’s important, I shut the top and physically turn my body toward them. I started this a few months ago and now both of my kids will often say, “When you’re done can you . . . “

I don’t have kids, but that last example makes my heart melt with gratitude and joy anyway. What a gorgeous thing to model — two-way respect between work and family. Both of those satisfy basic human instincts in different ways, and this whole oil-and-water dialogue we’ve got going in the U.S. about work and family is so 2000.

When I’m feeling compassionate towards myself, I consider our work-at-home arrangement as our personal activism toward forging a new kind of family partnership — another paradigm to choose from. It’s time.

Last week, we made it to free afternoon yoga at Ruta Maya Coffeehouse — “Happy Hour Yoga,” as they call it. Turns out that 5:30 p.m. is a fantastic time to stop everything and move your body.

We sat on our mats and waited for the class to begin. A young guy in a beige delivery uniform walked up to the small stage, his hands full of slightly battered but alive potted orchids, begonias, and other flowering plants. He made several trips up there, and one or two students got up to take a plant.

When class began, the teacher said, “These plants are donated by Travis; he works at a nursery and they would otherwise be thrown away, so please feel free to take what you would like.” I took the plant above, with its tiny, beautiful flowers. He made me wonder about what simple acts of generosity I could easily make to brighten someone else’s day.

Here’s to Travis, protector of imperfect plants and joy activist.

Love Thursday tumbled over into Friday! I found this via the delicious Dr. Christiane Northrup. It’s about a year old, so it might have made the rounds before, but it’s worth watching again.

I love you!

Even though the poor little grass blades were folding up and leaning over, we held off until today to water our lawn because some sources said it was supposed to rain. (Chortle, chortle, Austin-in-June.)

One of my favorite things about summer is placing the water sprinklers in the yard. Some of summer’s best sensual treats are the tick-tick-tick, the soaked-wet pants leg from trying to get the spray just right, the sound inside the house of stray droplets slapping the siding when the wind blows.

Did I mention that I really love this new lens? I love seeing every single drop of water flying out to feed the lawn. (The sunlight looks like I waited too late to put the sprinklers out but I promise, that’s just what it looks like in Texas during the summer any time after 7 a.m.)

I haven’t yet run through a sprinkler this summer. That definitely needs to happen.

It’s always worth looking up.

Especially on days like this.

On my way back from my dad’s house today, my camera was burning a hole in my car, to abuse an old expression. (There was no actual fire involved, thank goodness.) I’d passed a hundred different scenes I longed to photograph on the drive out there, but when you’re going 70 miles per hour, by the time you’ve spotted something to capture, you’re already too far past it. Plus, stopping on the side of those back roads is not advisable or possible with such non-existent shoulders.

So I promised myself that, on my return drive, I would stop somewhere and take some photos. I chose Mission Tejas State Park because of its incredible tall pine trees, perfect examples of the Piney Woods region that covers most of eastern Texas. (The phrase “piney woods” puts me straight back into elementary and middle school, when we learned all about the varied ecoregions of my enormous home state. I need to brush up on that info; it’s been a while.)

I parked my car and walked out along the path. It was so quiet-but-loud — no road noise, no airplanes overhead, no air conditioners whirring outside, but the sounds of wildlife cascaded over me as I stood still. I heard at least three different bird calls, insects chirping and clicking, the trees swaying in the wind.

It is astonishing how quickly nature can ease my spirit. I wanted to pitch a tent right there and spend three days just lying under the trees, watching the sky and listening.

Relaxing was easy, but capturing the towering stature of the trees was more difficult. Six months into my first year with a digital camera, I find myself bumping up against the edges of my skill more and more often these days. It’s satisfying and frustrating at once. Rather than take a class, which I’d love to do sometime, I’m learning the hard way: raw experience, repetition, and by watching how other photographers work in their craft. Is this what they call experiential learning?