Betsy Horvath

Category: Deep Thoughts

  • The Trouble With Assumptions

    I think that the trouble with making assumptions is that you believe they’re true even when they’re not. That’s especially a problem when you’re making assumptions about yourself. Please do not misunderstand me–it is certainly a huge problem when we make assumptions about other people, too, but in this blog post I’m talking about issues that come from making assumptions about ourselves, how we work, and our creative process.

    For example, one of the interesting developments that’s come out of this extended period of being alone with myself is I’m noticing some interesting assumptions I’ve been making about how I work most efficiently. And it’s also coming to my attention that some of these assumptions are, well, wrong.

    For instance, for a looooooong time I’ve made the assumption that my best creative time was in the morning. I don’t know why exactly, since I’m not especially a morning person. But it was an iron-clad, certain thing. If I wasn’t creative in the morning, then I wouldn’t be creative at all that day.

    By the way, it was also an excuse. If I wasn’t creative in the morning, then I didn’t have to be creative at all that day, because of course I couldn’t. But I digress.

    So, when I started doing some non-creative work, and I could set my own hours for working, I, as a matter of course, decided to work in the afternoon. That way my morning would be free to let my creative flag fly before I switched back to being a muggle.

    Except that’s not what’s been happening.  And I finally realized that I’ve been almost waiting out the morning, waiting for the time of the non-creative work to come. It felt like it was hanging over me, like a weight that was about to drop.

    I decided to question my assumption about how I work and change it up. Heck, I wasn’t being productive anyway, so why not?  Why not just get the other work out of the way and then write and be creative and flit like a little bee from flower to flower? Why not see what happened?

    And guess what? It turned out to be a good move.  Getting my other work done earlier feels like I have a get out of jail free card for the rest of the day once it’s finished, and that gives me the mental freedom I need to be creative. Even better, I also find that I actually do get some creative stuff in before I start.

    In other words, changing up my schedule, and not operating the way I THINK I operate, but listening to how I actually operate, worked.

    So, I guess all of this is just to say, challenge your assumptions about yourself. Don’t assume that something you’ve always believed about yourself is true. Because sometimes, my dears, you’re wrong.

     

     

     

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  • Moving Forward

    Author’s Note – I debated whether or not to write a blog post this week. The events swirling around all of us, combined with a very sad loss for me personally, seemed so much more important than anything I could possibly have to say. But then I realized that was exactly what I had done in 2020. I held off on my creative journey and kept waiting for a good time to move forward again. Except there never was a good time. Something always—always—happened. The result was a creative paralysis that I’m still trying to break.

    So I decided that I had to keep moving regardless. Like a shark. Even if my little creative light is feeling kind of dim at the moment and all of us are dealing with much bigger things.

    And thus, a blog post was born.

    This post features Betsy, of course. Also present is Harry, who a White Rabbit and the Guide on Betsy’s Quest to become a successful independent author. Better still, The Muse, who needs no introduction, has decided to show up to offer some guidance. Thank heavens.

    Let’s see what’s going on…

     

     

    *Betsy is sitting in the field surrounding the deep lake at the center of her mind* *She has her knees pulled up to her chest and is staring out at the water in the lake* *It moves back and forth, back and forth* *An unexpected wave splashes up and Betsy ducks her head* *Water washes over her* *The wind gusts and the tall grass of the field whips violently* *Betsy raises her head to stare out at the lake again*

    *Harry hops up to crouch beside her*

    “What’s wrong?” he asks.

    “I’m sad,” Betsy tells him without looking away from the lake. “And I guess I feel lost. I don’t know which way to go. I can’t seem to move.”

    “I thought you were getting past that.”

    “So did I.” Betsy shrugs and puts her chin on her updrawn knees. “But then lots of things happened and it all got dark again. Maybe I should just sit here for a while.”

    “Huh.” Harry looks around. The field is brightly lit with a ray of sunshine, but all around them is utter blackness.  “Yeah, I see what you mean. It’s pretty dark out there. I can’t see anything either.”

    “I know,” Betsy whispers. “Everywhere I look. I mean, how can I move when I can’t see in front of me? How do I know which mountain I should head toward when I can’t even see that it’s there?” Betsy looks at Harry with tears in her eyes. “What do I do?”

    *Harry shakes his head and settles on the grass beside her*

    “Where do I go?” Betsy asks.

    *Harry shakes his head again*

    “And this is the challenge of trying to live creatively in the midst of difficult times,” the Muse says. She steps gracefully across the field and drops to sit cross-legged in front of Betsy.

    “Muse?” Betsy blinks at her. “You came back from Bimini?”

    The Muse shrugs her shoulder. “It seemed like a good idea.” She holds up a finger. “But listen to me. You keep jerking me around and I’m gone for good.”

    “Oh.”  Betsy rests her chin on her knees again. “I guess I’m screwed then.”

    “No.”  The Muse smiles, reaches over, and lifts Betsy’s chin. “All you have to do is move.”

    “How can I move? There’s so much going on, so much swirling around and around and around. Everyone is angry and upset and frightened. I can’t even see the mountains. How am I supposed to move?”

    “You move because you have to.” The Muse holds up a hand when Betsy starts to protest. “Listen, I know that it’s been a lot. Not just last week, or last month, or last year, but always. There is always a lot. I understand that things build, and if the darkness gets darker it can be hard to find your way. I get that right now you’ve gotten to a place where you can’t even see the mountains you’re aiming for. I know that you just want to sit still. But you have to move and press forward.”

    “Why?” Betsy droops.

    “Because, my treasure, that is life. More, it’s your life. If the darkness gets darker, you will feel more and more trapped until you won’t think you can find your way out of it at all.”

    “Is it too late?” Harry whispers.

    “No.” The Muse smiles. “There’s always time to make a decision and there’s always time to move. It just gets harder the longer you wait.”

    “What should I do?” Betsy asks.

    “Stand up.” Muse directs. Betsy, Harry, and the Muse all stand.

    “The thing is,” Muse says, “you’ve been letting yourself get pulled OUTward. But you have to go ONward instead.”

    “To the mountains.”

    “Yes.”

    “That I can’t see.”

    “Yes. It’s okay.  The most important thing is not really the destination, or even being able to see the destination. The most important thing is that you don’t stay still. That’s how statues and unhappy lives are made.”

    “I guess that’s what I’ve been doing, isn’t it?” Betsy asks. “I’ve been staying still. And then I was going to move, but a lot of stuff happened, so I didn’t.”

    “Yeah, you’ve been afraid to move anywhere because the world is so uncertain. But the world is always uncertain, and waiting for it to not be that way is pointless.  You have to move because that’s what creativity is all about.”

    “So when I stayed still—”

    The Muse gestures to the darkness around them. “The creative process goes dark. And the longer you wait, the darker it gets.”

    “Will I ever be able to see again?”

    “Sure. If you start walking, you’ll chip away at it every day.”

    “The world seems different now. What if I fall?”

    The Muse shrugs. “What if you don’t? Look, the truth is that we just don’t know what’s ahead. Look at 2020. Look at last week. We don’t know what’s coming. Not even me. The best we can do is try to expand, not contract. Life is about the journey, not the destination and all that jazz.”

    “I’ve heard that before.”

    “Some of my best work. Remember, you’re not making a journey if you don’t take a step.” The Muse looks at Harry. “And you, too. Just keep doing what you know you need to do.”

    Harry bows his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

    The Muse vanishes.

    Betsy looks at Harry. “Do you think she’ll come back again?”

    Harry shrugs. “Not if we stay here.”

    “Okay.” Betsy draws in a deep breath. Closes her eyes. Points. “Let’s head that way.”

     

    Remember, my friends – there’s a lot of crap happening in the world these days, but in our lives—and for our lives—it is important that we keep moving on our own personal journeys.

    To be continued…

     

     

  • Further In

    Let’s face it, most people have found 2020 to be pretty darned stressful in a whole lot of different ways.  As thing, has piled on top of thing, has piled on top of thing, the pressure has mounted for just about everyone.  There is SO MUCH change happening right now, and it seems to be happening all at once. I mean, seriously, can we just have ONE normal week? Just ONE? (The answer to that is probably no, by the way.)

    And now, in addition to everything else, we’re coming into the holiday season, which most of us think is stressful in a good year. Thanksgiving during a pandemic. Yikes!

    Unrelated photo of me taken late last week.

    Yeah, a year like this, one with so much upheaval, can be paralyzing. Even worse, it is distracting. Because, gentle reader, in my humble opinion, our real jobs while we are here living this short, wonderful, beautiful life, is to grow into the best versions of ourselves we can be. And if you are busy dealing with the mounting pressure of the current moment by yelling about it, or running away from it, or ignoring it, or fighting with relatives about social distancing, you don’t always take the time to look inside yourself to see what’s going on in there.

    But, this year, although incredibly difficult in a lot of ways, is also a year of opportunity.  This year is one of the ones where the illusion of what we have told ourselves  is “normal” gets peeled back a bit, and we are given a glimpse of what lies underneath.  This is a chance for us to use the upheaval and, as C.S. Lewis wrote in the Chronicles of Narnia, go “Further up and further in.”  This is our chance to look at ourselves when we’re not lulled into sleep by the comfort of the normal.

    Which, of course, is much easier said than done.

    Still, and this might just be me, I think everyone can benefit from looking at the assumptions they’ve made about themselves every so often. And this year, while we’re re-evaluating everything else we’ve believed was normal anyway, is a good chance do it.

    That’s what I’ve been doing in some areas of my life. Sometimes I have affirmed, or re-affirmed, the assumptions I had made about myself. Sometimes I’ve realized those assumptions either aren’t true or were driven by fear. But the most important thing is, by challenging my beliefs about myself, I’ve been able to strip away some deadwood and start moving forward again.  A little bit. Tottery little baby steps. But moving forward in spite of it all.

    So I invite you all to join me. Yes, everything around us is noisy and chaotic. Yes, everything around us is changing. But that’s only to be expected.  Life is change. Take advantage of the fact that nothing’s normal anyway and really look inside the old melon. Go further up and further in. Hey, what else are you doing? Yelling? Hiding under a blanket? Eating chocolate?

    Okay, you can still eat chocolate.

    Another unrelated photo of me taken earlier this week.

     

     

  • Some Thoughts About Waiting

    Some Thoughts About Waiting

    If nothing else, I think everyone here can agree that 2020 has been one heck of a year so far. It has been so difficult in so many unexpected ways for so many people, and it’s not over yet.  Everywhere I turn, I see people talking about what a horrible year it’s been, and how they can’t wait for it to be over so they can get going with their lives again.

    Hey, I get it. I do. I’ve felt that way, too–especially as I wrestled with some stressful personal challenges on top of all of the world challenges. Can’t this year just be over already?

    But here’s the thing – this big old universe of ours doesn’t give a damn that people think 2020 ends on December 31 and 2021 begins on January 1st. The world doesn’t care about no stinking arbitrary divisions of time. All of the problems we are facing today are not going to magically disappear at midnight on December 31st. They will all probably still be with us, with some new ones added for good measure.

    Sorry.

    In other words, there’s no point in waiting for the year to end before you begin. It’s a waste of time to wait to live your life until there aren’t any more problems, or until things are “settled” again. We can’t wait to live simply because this happens to be a difficult time in our history where things are changing at the speed of light. We can’t postpone living our lives just because everything and everyone is in upheaval.  We just have to find a way to move forward in spite of it all.

    I’m talking to myself here.

    I’ve been thinking about this because I’ve been having a lot of trouble finding my creative mojo these past few months. A LOT of trouble. Shocking, I know. It’s hard to be creative when everything around you is in such a state of flux. I keep telling myself that I’ll finish my book once things have calmed down. I keep postponing other things I want to work on because those goals seem stupid when there are so many problems in the world that are much more important than anything I might produce. I tell myself that the timing is bad. I tell myself to wait.

    I am wrong.

    I might think that I should wait because the sand under my feet is constantly shifting. I might think I should wait until things are stable again. I might say the timing is bad now, that it’s not a good moment for me. I might tell myself that I need to wait until life has gone back to what passes for normal before I move forward.

    I am wrong.

    The truth is, there will never be a problem-free time, in our world or in our lives. This year is particularly stressful for a large number of people, but things are happening all the time, whether we acknowledge them or not. That’s just the way it goes. There is always some kind of upheaval.  The sands are always shifting. We may not notice, but there is always change and movement. That is reality.

    If I look for a reason to wait, I will always be able to find one. And if I always wait, I will never move.

    The fact is, no matter what’s going on in our society, time flows. Time does not stop just because we do. And our time is finite. And our time is precious. And you can never get that time back. You may not want to celebrate your birthday this year, but that doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen anyway.

    The reason I write is because doing it makes me a better person. Yes, I want other people to read what I’ve written, but the main value in it for me is the act of creation itself. It is in the DOING of it.

    That means NOT moving forward diminishes me. So by spending the past six or seven months waiting for the world to settle, waiting for the time to be right, I have made myself smaller. I have boxed myself in. Me living in a constant holding pattern adds nothing to me, and it doesn’t benefit anybody else either. Living in suspended animation only causes atrophy.

    So I’m going to put my head down, turn off the news and social media, and take that step forward without worrying about the timing. I invite you to join me. I know that it’s still 2020, but let’s not wait any more. Let’s just get on out there and go do it. Let’s live our best, most creative, beautiful, wonderful lives today.

     

    PS – Just because this song has been in my head all day, here’s a video of Pentatonix singing their cover of “Can’t Hold Us.”

    PPS – If you don’t know Pentatonix…. What?!? Where have you been? And, just FYI, they’re an a cappella group. Although you’d never know it from listening to them.

    PPPS – They’re so young in this video! Look at the babies!

     

     

     

     

  • Dreams About Dreams

    Dreams About Dreams

    I used to have a recurring dream about birds.  Not a, “tra la la, I’m dreaming that I’m skipping through the woods and look at all of the happy birds,” kind of dream.  This dream was not a happy one.

    First, some background.  I used to own pet birds–specifically zebra finches and peach-faced lovebirds. Nobody loved the lovebirds but me.  They tended to be loud and obnoxious and their screech could resonate through the house and reach down deep into the pit of your soul. It could get very annoying. The zebra finches tended to be cheerful and weren’t nearly as bad.

    Pet birds are a commitment.  With care, they can live a while. I could be wrong, but I think my lovebird that lived longest, Daisy, was about 15 when she died and the zebra finches all lived to be at least 10 (with two notable exceptions). Daisy was a bit of a spaz, and once I started sharing my life with cats as well as birds, she got even more high-strung.

    To be clear, Daisy died of natural causes, not at the paws of the cats. Two of the zebra finches weren’t quite as lucky.

    Anyway, all of that to say, I used to have pet birds.

    And for years I would have a recurring dream about birds.

    In my dream, I would come across a huge cage of lovebirds and zebra finches in some dark and forgotten part of the house.  Most often I would stumble across the cage in the dark, dank basement of my childhood home.  Sometimes I’d find the cage in a closet, or even in a locked room. But the cage was always tucked away, neglected, forgotten, and full of lovebirds and zebra finches.

    In the dream, I would be horrified to find the cage, to see how many birds were in it.  Dozens and dozens of birds, all crammed in the cage together.  The cage would be filthy, and I would wonder how the poor birds managed to survive, because they never had any food or water.  I would be aware that they were my birds and I had somehow forgotten that they even existed.  I had neglected them and left them alone for a very long time.

    Of course, in the dream I would give the birds food and water. As they fell on the seed and water cups, I would clean the cage.  I would promise them that I would never forget them again.  But I would always leave them in the basement or the locked room or the closet or wherever I had found them.

    Although I had that dream many times over the years, it took a while before it occurred to me that it might mean something. Eventually I realized that the birds in my dream represented… me.  My hopes. My dreams.  And I was locking them up in a filthy cage, putting them in the basement, and neglecting them.  I might make an effort to feed them occasionally, when I remembered them, but for the most part I gave other outside forces priority.

    And yet, as in the dream, once I realized what might be going on, I didn’t change a whole lot.  I left the birds in their cage in the basement and told myself I’d remember to feed them more often. I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice but to keep going on as I was. Maybe I didn’t have a choice.  Maybe I did.

    Then my life changed rather abruptly, the way life often does, and it became something else. And I no longer had the dream.

    Until last Thursday.

    Oh, it was a little different.  There was only one bird, and it was a parakeet this time.  It wasn’t in a cage, but instead flew to me. It was lost and looking for help.

    I put it in a shoebox. Not to hurt it, but because I wanted to keep it safe.  I didn’t forget about the bird this time, but once I was in a safe place and let it out of its box, I realized I had forgotten to give it food and water.  I realized that the bird had been free, and I had trapped it because I was afraid and wanted it to be safe.

    So.  What does it mean?  I have my suspicions, although I have to work it out more fully. I think my subconscious is trying to send me a message that I’m getting a little bit off track. After another tussle with depression, I’m finally getting myself back together again, I’m finally writing again, finding my feet again, but it seems like something might still be out of step.

    I think this dream might be my warning that I’m in danger of putting myself in a box again, trapping my dreams in a cage.  I think I need to look at my priorities and my actions and figure out what’s going on.

    And, unlike when I had the dreams before, this time I need to make whatever changes are necessary. This time, I want the birds to fly free.

    “Hope” is the thing with feathers (314)
    by Emily Dickinson

    “Hope” is the thing with feathers –
    That perches in the soul –
    And sings the tune without the words –
    And never stops – at all –

     

    And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
    And sore must be the storm –
    That could abash the little Bird
    That kept so many warm –

     

    I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
    And on the strangest Sea –
    Yet – never – in Extremity,
    It asked a crumb – of me.

     

  • Start With Today

    This isn’t exactly what I thought I’d be writing about this week, but, as we’ve seen this year, plans change.

    So, right around Tuesday last week, my life-train suddenly derailed.  Not a horrible derailment in the grand scheme of things, but a derailment nonetheless.

    I wish I could tell you it happened because of an exciting incident full of pathos and intrigue. But honestly, it was a surprise.  I, mean, I was doing good.  Chugging right along. Cars on the rails. All systems normal.  And then… then… BOOM.  Suddenly I’m in a ditch with my wheels spinning in the air.  Suddenly I’m deep, deep, DEEP into a reading binge that I couldn’t seem to find the will to stop, not sleeping AT ALL, eating like CRAP.

    Mistakes were made.

    And for the whole week, I accomplished pretty much nothing of any use. Including writing the blog post I thought I’d be writing.

    When I finally blinked myself awake on Friday, I found that I’d lost days of my life without anything productive whatsoever to show for them.

    I submit to you that I am a walking, talking, poster-chid for how something that is definitely good–reading–can also be the dynamite blowing up any good intentions. I’m not sure why I get obsessive about reading, but if I’m not careful, it can be a catalyst. Or an excuse. Or an escape. Maybe for you it’s shopping, or social media, or binge-watching Netflix, or playing video games.  I guess it doesn’t matter which obsession we choose, the end result is the same–days of our lives missing that we will never get back.

    That’s when the regret and guilt come.  So reliable I can set my watch by them.

    Generally speaking when I have an incident like the one I had this week, and the regret and guilt come, I respond in one of two ways.  Either I try to escape the consequences, so I go deep down into the rabbit hole again.  Or I try to make up everything I should have been doing all at once so that I can fool myself into believing I’m still on track.  Of course, then the pressure of trying to meet those impossible expectations has me breaking again. It’s a vicious cycle.

    So, as per usual, when I blinked my bleary eyes open on Friday morning, my first thought was – “AAAAHHHH!  I’ve wasted so much time!  I have to make it all up!  I have to do it all now! Go, go, go!”

    My next thought was, “You idiot! Look at all the time you’ve wasted. Well, you might as well just keep reading.  No point in trying now.”

    But then, something that is not usual happened.  Either my brain short-circuited, or I had an epiphany.

    I suddenly thought, “You can’t make it all up and you can’t avoid it.  It’s not possible.  That time is gone and putting unrealistic pressure on yourself will not bring it back.  Trying to escape the consequences of your decisions won’t make them go away. You might want to turn back time, but you can’t.

    All you can do is start where you are.  Move forward from where you are.  Start with today.  Okay, it’s not Monday now.  It’s not Tuesday, Wednesday or even Thursday.  Forget the goals you had for those days.  Those days are gone.  What were Friday’s goals?  Start with them.”

    Huh.  Start from where I am?  Go figure.

    Deep breath.

    The things I wanted to do during this past week still need to be done.  So they’ll go on the schedule for next week.  But next week I’ll have the experience of the past week to look back on as a warning for where I stepped wrong.  I think I can see where the train went off the rails now, so if I feel that same wobble, I’ll know to beware.

    The train will go off the track again, it’s inevitable.  But I can’t go backwards and try to make it all up.  That’s impossible.  We can’t turn back time.  We can’t change the past.  We can’t avoid the present. All we can do is press forward into the future and try to make better decisions next tune.

    As you think, you travel; as you love, you attract. You are today where your thoughts have brought you; you will be tomorrow where your thoughts take you. You cannot escape the result of your thoughts, but you can endure and learn, can accept and be glad.

    James Allen

    PS – The whole time I was writing this post, I had Cher’s song, “If I Could Turn Back Time,” going through my head. The lyrics don’t exactly fit what I’m talking about here, but, hey.  I see no reason why I should be the only one with an earworm, so, here’s the video.  As a side note, it’s been a while since I’d seen it, so I’d completely forgotten that Cher, at the time a middle-aged mother of two, was dancing around on a ship full of sailors wearing what amounts to boots, stockings, a jacket, and a strategically placed black ribbon.  *bows low in awe*