Dana Bowman Creative

Here you go: My Annual Top Ten Thankfuls!

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I don’t really remember how long this tradition goes back in my blog. I know I’ve been posting my thankfuls wayyyy back on Momsie (the blog that started it all). Here’s one that I wrote the PROVES BRIAN AND I ARE STILL MARRIED , which was an exciting read. Also, there’s lots of badly lit pictures of Steve on that post, so there you go. Biggie Meows ALWAYS was on my thankful list, and yes I still miss him.

And as one who really understands the concept of gratitude (being in recovery is an automatic pass into Land Of The Super Grateful because we can’t help ourselves. We’ve made it out alive, after all. Not everybody gets to be so lucky) I LOVE to post my Top Ten Thankfuls. It just makes me happy.

So away we go:

10. New opportunities. I am currently working on getting certified to become a book coach with these folks. The program is a LOT. Like, I think it will take me about six months if not longer to get there. There’s homework. My sons and I work together now, muttering and typing (why do muttering and typing always seem to go together?) But the program is exciting as it is rigorous, and as a writing instructor AND a writer, I think it will be a perfect fit.

9. Running. I’ve been running at least three times a week now. I started out walking every other block, and now I am able to run it all. 🙂 I’m proud of myself for this. Last year, I had pretty much decided running was no longer possible, but I really missed it. I missed the feeling of my feet on the pavement, and that glorious and painful sprint at the end. I missed the cold mornings. So, look at me, running again. It’s a flipping miracle. Also, on the days that my run feels like I’m jogging through peanut butter I’m going to go back and read this post to, uh, adjust my attitude. I think that should be a new hashtag, btw. #peanutbutterrun

8. Um… my health? I don’t know how to sum this up, but this past year health-wise has been, to say the least, challenging. Hearing issues have been a big problem. I have tinnitus, and so my ears are always doing this weird shrieky thing (Have you seen Dumb and Dumber? The most annoying sound in the world? Yea, that. (By the way, I have actually never seen Dumb and Dumber in its entirety. My husband, however, has seen it multiple times. This pretty much sums up our marriage.) And then there’s menopause, where your hormones attack you and make you feel crazy about it. At one point, about 8 months ago, I wondered if this was just it. If I was going to feel like crud forever. Guess what? I am indeed not going to feel like crud forever! I am crud-free about 75% of the time! It’s fabulous!

7. Steve. There, I said it again. I’m grateful for him, and how much I loved him, and that my eyes still tear up pretty much anytime I think about him. I am grateful I loved my big boi so much. He was my furry muse.

Biggy Paws

6. And so… Rey.

She’s trying very hard to come in between me and my laptop.

Rey has been a great comfort to me while I grieve for Sir Meows a Lot. She comes over and presses herself up against me, and then tries to crawl in my lap which is awkward because the girl can take up SPACE. I admire her confidence. I always imagine she’s just sort of softly muttering as she attempts the lap-sneak, all “Pardon me… say… I might sit… don’t mind me I’m just gonna.., yes, HERE we go… oopsie, ok, just gonna squeeze through while I… ” and voila! Really uncomfortable cuddles! Watch this vid to get a glimpse of it in action. It is a thing of beauty.

5. My husband.

Also, he’s tall.

His name is Brian and he is often mentioned here. I wrote pages and pages about him in both my books. He’s a never-ending fountain of somewhat annoying but well-loved material. When I did stand-up last summer, 99.8 % of my material was under the heading: WHY. HE KEEPS DOING THIS and it was a hit. The best part is he sat there during the set and laughed too. That’s because he is generous and loving and has a lot of patience, which come to find out is shockingly necessary when you’re married to me.

4. It seems rather like I should put my sons in here too. Right? Right.

My fourteen-year old is now as tall as I am, and he is learning to drive. While this is occuring (the driving not the height), and I have the misfortune of actually being in the car with him at the same time, I have learned to practice deep-breathing and what I like to call “Shrieky-whisper-prayer-driving.” Charlie is smart and focused and will probably run a large corporation one day because his absolute passion in life is telling other people what to do. So, go forth and boss people around, my son. I adore you.

My twelve-year old, Henry, smiles and winks at me about 67% of the time as he gets out of the car to go to school. He is also smart and driven and won’t ever run a large corporation because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. He dreams of making it into the Air Force and flying planes. Without hurting anyone’s feelings. He has the attention span of a a very nice squirrel toddler on crack, but I forgive him because also he really loves my cooking. I adore you.

3. Sayings like: It’s always darkest before the dawn.

What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger.

We’re gonna keep on, keep on, keep on, keep on dancing all through the night.
We’re gonna keep on, keep on, keep on doing it right (Ok, I stole that from the Brady Bunch).

If this year had been a motivational poster, I’m the kitten.

I mean… I guess there are worse things.

Who else had this poster ?? My sister had it on her wall 🙂

Here’s the thing. It is actually pretty dark before the dawn. But then, WHAMMMO. Dawn happens. Like every day.

And, I am strong. I was doing a plank earlier and Rey came and laid ON me (Again with the “lemme just… pardon me… I’m just going to sit right on here… “) so I’m basically ready for an Ironman.

And there has been some grooving in my life lately. A lot in fact. I can’t help it. I just can’t help it.

2. Yellow Converse.

Through the magic of Tiktok (something I thought I would never hear myself say, tbh) I have found funky, colorful, creative women who thrift weird art and like to play around with clothes. Sometimes they even pair (*gasp) plaids with stripes. The whole #wearwhatyoulove thing is a hashtag I can get behind. It started when I had to get more headshots for speaking things, and I decided to bring two pairs of shoes: pointy serious ones or my yellow converse. My photographer asked me, “Which ones make you feel more like you?” Yellow converse it is. It seemed, at the time, an audacious move. But then I asked myself, “What Would Brene Do?” and I wore them. And from there, it’s been a joyride into color and texture and just loving the creativity of it all.


1. Faith. Both in God and in humanity. Perhaps this won’t make sense to some of you. Some might feel like faith is a cliche. Or a speck of something, insignificant or annoying. Some might thing also that humanity has been circling the Great Toilet Bowl of Life for a while now (social media really has a handle on that and I really do hope you saw what I did there). I completely agree. As one who has found my faith shooketh all over the place in the past year, which also, not so very coincidentally, cracked open my Pollyanna-ish views of people in high places… it’s been a lot. It’s been hard. I have been frustrated and overwhelmed and at one point, I just told God I was mad at him and I wanted to break up. I’d been duped. I didn’t sign up for this. I wanted my flannel-graph Jesus back.

But, Jesus persisted. In his most human and godlike form (no flannel unless hipster Jesus?), he sat with me through it all. And then he walked with me, read with me, prayed with me. He didn’t give up on me. I’m not going to give up on him.

Besides. He helped me get sober and for that I owe him my life. Just my life. Nothing more.

So, there you go! My Top Ten Thankfuls. I would like to add one more as a bonus. It’s my blog and I can do what I want:

You. I am grateful for you, my dear reader. You are such a blessing to me.

Have a very Happy Thanksgiving and remember:

#eatdessertfirst

Waddle on, my sober friends. I am grateful for you. You know who you are 🙂

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

After Silence, better.

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One does not intend to disappear. But I did, for months.

There are a few reasons. And, if you are at all familiar with me (it’s been awhile, I know), you know I love lists. So…

A List of Reasons Why I Disappeared:

  1. Uh. Covid.
  2. Covid again.
  3. Depression. Probably b/c Covid.
  4. Menopause. ???
  5. Yea, no, I’m not going to put “???” with “Menopause” like it’s not a thing. It was a THING y’all, and it still is. Mix it liberally w/ #1-3 and it was craptastic.
  6. I left my original publisher, for other reasons that are just my own, and then promptly felt all adrift and lost and didn’t know what to do with myself.

Perhaps this list is similar to a creative list of your own. I mean… #6 might be a bit niche-y. But, have you felt stuck and small and adrift? Well THAT’S BEEN ME FOR A WHILE NOW.

But, in the incandescent words of my muse, Eminem: “Guess who’s back. Back again. Shady’s back. Tell a friend.”

Look. I’ve had a lot of time to sit and ponder. A good portion of my summer was me, literally, lying on my back and pondering the ceiling, as I was so sick that reading, writing, and even Netflix were impossible. It was like I was simply forced to just… be. And be very still. And at first I hated it, and then I hated it some more. And then? I noticed something.

I kept getting ideas.

The reason I am a writer is because I have all these ideas that keep floating up, and then I write about them. But while I was dealing with #1-6 above all my writing stopped. But the ideas? They quietly, flutteringly, floated up at me. They kept coming. And one evening, stuck in my sick room, just me and my ceiling, frustrated and sad about it all – I started to cry and as the tears slipped down my face (gravity) to pool into my ears (you know you’ve had this happen) and I had an idea: Tears are ways to stopper up sound. And sometimes silence is good. Total stops are good. Being STILL is good.

It was both an idea and medicine at the same time.

That idea and all the others that would gently float by me – they gave me hope. And I recorded some of them (I texted myself or wrote them down in on a notebook, as one does when one is a Writer) and I realized two things:

  1. I still have ideas and God kept them coming even in my darkest hour. Maybe even because of my darkest hour.
  2. In the incandescent words of my muse that old guy in Monty Python? I’M NOT DEAD YET.

Thanks for listening, folks. Keep listening, if you want, to hear more about creativity, our brains, and how we must value our creative selves if we want to survive this world.

I’m honored to have ye.

Oh! And actually? I did a bit of shopping while I was prone, and I bought this. It was a crucial purchase.

“You’re too old and too uncool” – and other lies we tell ourselves.

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(This post was shared with you from Momsieblog)

So… Are you done at 51?

This question, in all it’s poetic glory, surfaced in our newpodcast today. We were talking about what it’s like to be fifty. To feel a bit invisible. To wonder about whether our synapses can still accept new information.

SPOILER ALERT: HECK NO YOU ARE NOT DONE.

You are not done at 51 even if:

  1. You feel tired. Listen. We’re all tired. The entire world is tired. It’s ok.
  2. You feel invisible. As stated above, it’s a thing. You turn 50 and then you become non existent. You give up and start wearing skorts. But invisibility is a wonderful thing at times. Just ask Harry Potter.
  3. You are a weensy teensy bit menopausal. Ok, this one is just for me, but you know. If you are a uterus person and you are of a certain age, it’s gonna happen. There are pros and cons. I don’t have time to cover them all here but I will say this: Those cooling mattress pad thingies that cost crackamillion dollars on the amazons? BUY THEM. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. JUST GO.
  4. You are constantly reminded by your eleven year old spawn that you are: “The like oldest mom in my class! Even older than my teacher! By like a lot! We talked about it and made a chart and yep you are IT!”

All of these things are things that happen at 50. They especially tend to happen if you are:

  • female
  • silver-haired (which sounds weird but go here. You’ll see).
  • A bit late in the baby-birthing game so you are in that weird limbo of totally menopausal but also still stuck talking about minecraft all the time
  • any combination of the above but the female thing is kinda crucial

I’m not one to brag* but lately? I have started a podcast, figured out co-hosting, not completely made my co-host mad at me not even once, and also managed to keep my kids off screens 30% of the time for the first two weeks of summer.

CLEARLY I AM THE BOSS.

If you are feeling kinda… done? At 51? Or 21? or whenever-one?

You’re not. It’s just not a thing. I realize that mullets are a thing, and mom jeans are a thing now, and yes, Bennifer has become, yet again, a THING.

But: BEING DONE IS JUST NOT A THING.

So. Carry on, mommas.

PSA: Naps are a thing though. #priorities

*not exactly the truth.