Dana Bowman Creative

Tiny Brave.

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Do you ever feel like you live a life squished down? A small life? A dusty one?

Ever feel like you don’t make a difference?

YEA ME NEITHER. I TOTALLY MAKE A DIFFERENCE. I AM AMAZING AND SO ARE YOU.

I’ve decided to stop questioning my contributions. I make a difference. And so do you. We get up each day, and we do the thing. And then we do some of it again, and again… We tweak some parts and mess up on others… And then we proceed to do it all over the next day. It is Sisyphus. It is numbing. It is monumental. And it is hard.

It is the bravest contribution ever: The Continued Doing of Life.

(Also: I kind of feel that as a fifty year old woman just existing in this world is Big Time Bravery).

I went on a run this morning and felt energized and exhausted, all at the same time. I felt invincible and Iron Womanish, and then headed to my coffee shop where I tripped over a non-existent something on the floor and totally wiped out. There, I started an article about my faith, and immediately felt imposter syndrome about my lack of faith.

It’s very likely I’ll eat something healthy and all green and crunchy for lunch, but then later I’ll scarf Reese’s because I know my husband bought some and HE HID THEM IN THE HOUSE. (Game on, husband).

Bravery is not one big long Hallelujah Chorus of awesome. At least, not in my case. I just can’t maintain it for that long. I can do bravery in short bursts and then breathe a lot after, inhaling and exhaling through the regular goofy and pain of Dana (also paired with fear, lack of confidence, comparison, sadness… all the icky stuff because human Dana).

Bravery works well on an instagram post. Or a tiktok. It’s cinematic and it’s sexy but it, like sex, it should REALLY NOT go on and on and ON. I mean… that would be… well you know what I mean.

So, take my word for it. We are brave every day. It might be tiny brave, but it counts. Tiny brave counts. It really does!

Finally, to really drive home the fickleness of bravery: Here is a pic of my new glasses. They were a brave choice. I love them, but the guy at Target said, “Cool glasses. You look like Jeffrey Dahmer.” So, you know. Truly, not really the vibe I was going for but #itiswhatitis

Safe places

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Welcome to my brain. It’s a little weird in here, but also very kitschy. It’s a New Girl episode where they’re all a lot older and less drinkie. I’d watch it.

Also, my brain today is back in a safe place, so it’s humming with ideas.

I long for spaces that match my insides. If you are a literal person, like my 13-year-old son (aka “the lawyer”), that kind of statement is followed by an “Ew, MOM.”

But I bet some of you understand. I long for spaces that allow me to take a deep breath in, and then out, and feel all *equally pressurized.

Here are some spaces that do NOT help me to feel all equally pressurized:

  1. The vet. More on this later, but I have had wayyyy too many visits to our local vet lately (they are wonderful and lovely and lovING, but still, no no, not my safe place).
  2. That one place in Walmart towards the back where that guy in the red button-down is trying to sell you new cell phone service and NO MATTER how much you focus your eyes straight ahead, he still manages to sidle up and you have to do that awkward slow-walk, but you’re also still moving to show him you have places to BE in the Walmart, and no you don’t need a new cell, but also you don’t want to be mean because he’s just trying to make a living? That place.
  3. Actually, all of Walmart, really.
  4. Any school supplies aisle right now. Even in Target, where the cool school supplies hang out.

Places that help me to feel safe? Well, here’s one of them:

Nice product placement, Dana. Shameless plug.

You might recognize this coffee house – I was here a few weeks ago for my solo writer’s retreat. I’m back just for a few hours of writing.

It’s safe here. My insides match my outsides here.

Other safe places:

  • My front porch
  • The dinner table unless there is a casserole involved. Casseroles are my nemesis.
  • My back stoop, especially if Rey the Good Dog is with me (She’s a leaner. Do any of you have doggos that like to lean on you? It’s very grounding).
  • A church pew
  • Cody, Wyoming (I visited there long ago and I rode a horse named Jumper which was apt. I’m coming back, Jumper. Wait for me).
  • Anyplace accompanied by a good book. I’m reading The Lioness right now and it’s so gooooooood.

These types of places allow me to actively rest. Then, about four minutes later I’ll have a little burst of ideas, which I’ll have to write down (I usually end up texting myself which can be super awkward if I accidentally text Darrel, my pastor. It’s kind of hard to explain a text that says: ANXIETY BIRDS to my pastor. But you know? I’m sure he aimed for understanding. He always does. Especially with me).

Oh, and here’s another safe space: Anywhere Rey naps. Need proof?

VOILA:

I mean, honestly.

Do you have spaces that help you breathe a little easier? Create a little more? Do they help you fill up, overflow, contribute?

I think space is crucial to creativity. And notice? I used this weird term *equally pressurized. I NEVER said my space helps me feel “balanced.” That’s just a term for gymnasts and 20 year olds.

Where are your safe places?

Would you like to get some ideas to help plan your own creative retreat? Click below:

Kittens and fudge and wifi.

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I’m writing this from the fourth coffeehouse in two days. Also there was boba tea in there at some point and a really good burger.

I’m on a writer’s retreat, ya’ll. Sustenance.

There has also been fudge. But only purchased, not consumed. Yet.

Oh and some frozen lemonade thing that really didn’t seem all that lemonadey. I need my lemonade to smack me in the mouth with its tartness. This one just sort of booped me in the nose. It’s ok, lemonade. You be you.

But Dana, you ask. When are you actually writing?

IN BETWEEN, SILLY.

On this retreat I have:

  1. Had a very serious talk with my Calendar. We got eye to eye and I said things like, “Ok, Calendar. Cut it out. I’m in charge. I AM. You’re not the boss of me.
  2. Added about 6 more things to Calendar.
  3. Wrote a blog post and a newsletter.
  4. Finally finished the book synopsis I talk about here.
  5. Worked on chapters 1 and 2. All the while there was a constant soundtrack in my head to the tune of: “What Do You Think You’re Doing, Dana, You Total Fakezoid.” It has a snazzy beat.

I want you to realize, dear reader, that imposter’s syndrome is very common. I think I could seriously win a Pulitzer and I would still be all “It was probably a fluke and someone out there by the name of Dana Bawman is really ticked off that I stole her Pulitzer.”

But here is what I learned while I was here:

  1. Coffeeshops regularly chose really interesting music. I am currently listening to showtunes in Japanese. Thanks Reverie Coffee for the culture. Also, you make a lemon cream croissant that is to die for.
yes my love.

2. If I listened to all the voices in my head I would be home making a blanket fort with my cats and as great as that sounds one cannot achieve your highest potential when that is ALL that you do. Don’t come at me, cats.

3. People are really nice. While here, I have had recommendations for food, walking paths, books, and the best burger. People are interested in what I’m writing and they are all about encouragement. People are just amazing.

4. I will never be as cool as a barista.

Don’t allow your inner voice to shut you down. If it keeps telling you all sorts of negative things? That’s not an inner voice. That’s an inner a$$hole. This sounds really weird and ew and like something from a David Cronenberg movie and I hate his movies.

David, if you’re reading my blog, I’m sorry.

(spoiler alert he’s not reading it)

I will have to say, though: if blanket forts with your cat are your thing? Do it. It does sound kinda cool.

In conclusion, I leave you with a whole heck of a lot of writing yet to do, but also this video of fudge. You’re welcome.

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/MtnRDPPGw-0