writing workshop

Using Your Words for Light and Levity

using your words

Announcing the first roll-out of 52 Beautiful Thing’s Virtual Writing workshops. My goal is to keep us connected and our spirits light – even if we pause from the pain for 60 minutes or so. I hope you can join me this month at one or both of the virtual sessions outlined below.

Share with a friend. See you soon.

Using Your Words for Light and Levity: A Virtual Writing Workshop

Being a human is hard. Knowing how to take care of ourselves and see the world with hope is a practiced skill. Join me in a one-hour virtual writing workshop. You’ll learn how to use simple sentences, poetry, and writing prompts to reconnect to joy and possibility in an uncertain world.

Come with pen and paper and willingness to be silly and seek out the good.

Each Class is limited to 15 spots

Cost is $25

Registration is a 2 step process:

1. Pay for your slot here

2. Then Pick Your Time and Register on Zoom

April 25th at 10 am MST

OR

April 30th at 6:30 pm MST

Questions? Send me a note.

Sleeping. Bag.

Two words. Packing. List.

I clicked on the link and scrolled, seeing all the usual suspects. Toothbrush, pajamas, jeans, clothes for yoga.

Then I stopped.

Two more words.

Sleeping bag.

spring-fed-images-jkwbOfd3xJI-unsplash.jpg

Photo by Spring Fed Images on Unsplash

Of course. One sleeps in a sleeping bag when they head to camp.

I never went to sleep away camp as a kid.

I went to week-long church camps and slept in cabins and bunk beds. I roasted s’mores, sang songs, and hated the group games.

Never, though, have I flown to another part of the country for a summer away.

I was too shy, too much of a home body, too little like Lindsey Lohan in the Parent Trap.

That’s going to change next week when I launch myself out of my comfort zone to head to Camp TDP – a camp experience specifically for grieving young adults. I should probably watch Hallie Parker and Annie James to prepare.

I’ll be leading a writing workshop using wordplay and other writers’ wisdom to bring words to our grief stories.

Me – standing in front of people – experimenting as I turn my pain into purpose to help other people tell their stories.

In conversations this week, people have been asking me where I’m going.

“I’m not really sure,” I respond. “I’m getting on a bus at the airport with other brilliant bereaved people and they’re taking me there.”

Yes, I have the address and the appropriate phone numbers and emergency contacts in my phone. Mostly, I’m trusting the process and willing myself to be an eager introvert in a typically extroverted space. In shaking hiking boots.

I also scanned the agenda seeking out other introverted activities. I keep imagining myself standing in the woods, nodding inward to my chubby inner eleven year old self. When I lift up my head, I’m 30 and competent and brave. I’ll bring my jeans, a Colorado flannel shirt, my Chacos and puffy vest for protection. And bug spray. Lots of bug spray.

Last week, I ran a dry-run of the workshop with a few friends here in my community. Walking them through exercises and listening to feedback made me nervous. Sharing our grief stories is tough work. It was also empowering – connection building makes my heart leap.

Inviting people into their pain requires vulnerability and risk. And I think….. I think…. I’m ready.

I’m ready to share my story out loud. I’m ready to use my talents to help others tune into their experiences. I’m ready to make awkward jokes, stumble over my words, and try something new. I need not be a polished professional to make an impact. What a beautiful thing.

Now to find the sleeping bag. Will that fit in a carry on?