I’m always reading books about how to change, and I’m always telling my friends about the newest book I’m reading about how to change. This hasn’t changed, but I’ve found a new book to add to the list: How We Change (And Ten Reasons Why We Don’t) by Ross Ellenhorn.
“Finally. Someone who understands that change—changing anything about ourselves—isn’t a mechanical process, and takes more than a YouTube video and willpower (whatever that is). Ross Ellenhorn explains why making even a simple personal change is so damn hard: it stirs a deep existential crisis and takes great courage—we have to take responsibility and face the terrible prospect of disappointing ourselves. The great big secret in this book is that the capacity to change grows not out of staring down our shortcomings but in showing kindness and compassion to our imperfect selves.”
-Hara Estroff Marano, editor at large, Psychology Today, author of Nation of Wimps
This book is helping me a whole lot. I’m reluctant to mention it because that’s another sticking point with many people, according to Ellenhorn (and me). Once you tell others, or even yourself, that you’re making a change, you face immediate heightened expectations and the prospect of disappointment. Before you announce your new change, there is no tension between who you are now and who you want to be once you’ve made the change. That sudden arrival of tension tends to whack out your everyday life.
I’ve gotten to a place in the book where he talks about humility, hubris, and shame. I see how labeling myself an artist and writer makes me feel as if I’ve “arrived,” full-fledged (that’s hubris). Even though I spend very little time actually writing and making art (that’s shame). I’m not putting myself down, it’s just nice to get some clarity about what’s going on (that’s humility). I have written and I do write, so in those ways I’m a writer. But I’m not pursuing writing. I put a lot of energy into thinking about writing and just as much into thinking about why I’m not writing. I have felt stuck like this for a long time.
Ellenhorn works with people who have persistent mental illness—like me. For us, there is an enormous added expectation any time we begin to change or show any indication that we are changing. Not only am I hypersensitive to my actions/inactions, there is a team of people who are honed in on my every move toward or away from my goal. Everything I do seems to carry a lot of weight. It always means something! That’s a great reason not to change. If you don’t change, people kind of ease up. They don’t act like cheerleaders if you do well, or console or counsel you when you hit a snag. You’re off the hook if you same it. Just this week I’d done a drawing for a friend of mine for her birthday. When I showed it to my therapist, she said, “Wow, that’s great! Have you been making more art?” I said, “No.” It was pretty hilarious because I’d been reading this book and I spoke to her about it and her reaction to my drawing. She said she’d cringed to herself after she said it—she wished she hadn’t, but she didn’t mention it until I brought up the subject. This is exactly what I don’t need.
I’m a writer. I say I’m a writer. People ask me, “Have you been writing?” To me, the question is a trap. If I say no, there’s an implied “why not?” or disappointment whether spoken or unspoken. If I say yes, I feel a kind of muffled hip-hip-hooray coming at me. I don’t fault people for asking—it means they love me—it means they value what I do—it means they want me to be happy. We have one thing in common: we both want me to do what I want to do, what I dream of doing, to make it happen.
I came up with a metaphor for my calling myself a writer, and how I tell everyone, “I’m working on a memoir.” It’s as if I’m saying, “I’m a pastry chef,” and pronounce, “I’m working on a cake!” But I haven’t made the cake. I have everything assembled: measuring cups, bowls, beaters, eggs, flour, sugar, a pan to pour it into, an oven to bake it in, a rack to cool it on, a cake stand to put it on. But instead of making the cake, I’ve been working on the frosting—the concept of the finishing touch—the final step that will “make the cake.” In other words, I ain’t doing shit, because my goal is a cake I can serve up, not a collection of piped roses and the words, Created by Heidi MacDonald. I started working on it in 2004, have a title and about 130 pages written, which isn’t insubstantial, but it’s not complete. I’ve written some more recently, but I haven’t gone in the kitchen and made “noise with the pots and pans.” No, and lately, I ain’t done nothing to save my doggone soul, but I believe this book is gonna help me Shake, Rattle, and Roll.
[I’m listening to the audiobook version on Chirp. Chirp is an app that makes audiobooks available for a deep discount for a limited time. I really like it! I’ve never paid more than $5 for a book. Once I buy it, it’s mine, but I can only listen to it on the app. It’s made by the same people who created Bookbub—which offers discounts on ebooks through kindle and other platforms. I recommend them both. I haven’t tried monetizing anything yet. This is a baby blog for now. You can find them at www.chirp.com and www.bookbub.com]