Dwelling in inspiration and what inspires you

Malcolm inspires me!

Something I noticed this week while dwelling in inspiration... I was inspired. All week. Fancy that. Talking about what inspires me, actually inspires me.

Did the same happen for you? I asked you on Facebook and Twitter what inspires you and some of you responded. I bet that in that moment you were inspired. By simply calling to mind and sharing your inspirations. Useful to note. And to remember when you're feeling uninspired.

Thank you for playing this week! I had fun and I hope you did to.

To cap off inspiration week, I'm sharing what inspires YOU.


Facebook Responses:

BOO BOO JAMES
Woman with a Parasol in a Garden by Renoir
Sympathy for the Devil - Rolling Stones
Fools Gold - Stone Roses
Glory Box - Portishead
The Godfather, Macbeth, Gene Kelly
Really good acting

JENNIFER BECK FURBER
David Bowie
Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust
Nobokov

ADRIENNE BOURNE
My kids
JD Salinger
American Girl by Tom Petty
Dorothy's Red Shoes
Any speech by MLK
Sesame Street

PAM WEINERT
I am inspired by people who succeed against all odds..like making the impossible possible..by people who never give up, never quit, and do not stop! That's what inspires me.

LISSY WEISS
Anything Mazzy Star, Radiohead, Cat Power, Joy Division, The Cure, Feist, Lykke Li, The XX. The song Crystalized by the XX is a great song to get me going.
And anything by Lady Gaga..If I want to say anything more specific, I would have to say Bad Romance by Lady Gaga. Music in general I think motivates me the most.
And I really like paintings by Renoir and Gauguin after visiting Paris.

NATHANIEL ROSS
The understanding that we're not going to be here forever, and that every day on this orbiting hunk of space rock we call Earth there's opportunity to attempt something GREAT. Whether it be to give a great smile to someone on the street, make a great meal for friends or family, or create a great work of art. The opportunity inspires me. Oh, and all that music and literature and stuff are just vitamins for the soul!

JULIE BURROUGHS DUNNE
Cleaning out the closets and scrubbing the house makes me feel energized and re-focused.
I also feel more inspired to appreciate what I see around me when I focus on taking care of what I already have.

PORTER KELLY
My mom, who is very different from me but has an unusually big, open heart
My amazingly talented friends
My dog who loves unconditionally
The vast range of beauty in nature
GREAT movies, music, books and TV of all genres
The girls and women I work with at WriteGirl
My nieces and nephews

MEGAN DOUGLAS
Bjork's Army of Me always inspires me to kick some ass. Eminem's Lose Yourself inspires me to either get to the gym or keep working out, depending on where I hear it. Prince inspires me to embrace my sexual side. My husband inspires me to be a more giving of myself.

JANET TAYLOR
My students

Update- 10:49 PM 10/28/11 Megan just posted this on my FB page and I wanted to include it. Sending healing vibes her mom's way:

MEGAN MILES HAHN
My mom. She's battling brain cancer and I don't think I've ever met a more upbeat positive person. 

Twitter Responses:


@whmike - MICHAEL SHUTT
Don't laugh, but Stacey Francis (in the over 30s) on X-Factor is inspiring me these days.

(Thanks for responding, Michael. You were the only Twitter response to the inspiration question. And I did check out Stacy on the Youtube. She can sing!)

My extremely scientific analysis of this extremely technical study is that music is a common inspiration. Hooray for music! It's hard to answer the question, isn't it? Because there are just so many things that inspire. That's a good thing.

Good night. Have an inspiring weekend!

And feel free to keep this conversation going. Keep sending me what inspires you and I'll keep writing about it. Deal? Deal.

You May as Well be Poor in Europe...

In the Fall of 2007 when Bob was still making the big bucks, we won six nights at two five-star luxury hotels in Europe at a silent auction for charity. We were the only bidders. It was a deal, it was for charity and it would make an amazing second honeymoon. The hotels were- Badrutt’s Palace in St. Moritz, Switzerland and Chateau Grand Barrail in St. Emilion, France.

Fast forward eleven months to us both being unemployed and near penniless. But we still had these two hotel stays, enough frequent flier miles to get us to Europe and a lot of time. We talked about it, do we let them expire, or do we go? It seemed crazy. The euro was so much stronger than the dollar at the time. Almost double. We were running out of money fast. But we thought about it and figured that we would have to find a way to eat here just as we would if we were there. I talked to my mom about it and she said: “If you’re poor anyway, you may as well be poor in Europe” and her logic agreed with us. We would eat in markets, not restaurants. We’d walk and take public transportation. We'd only visit free attractions. No pricey museums. We'd interact with locals. We’d live like backpackers and stay in hostels in between the prepaid luxury hotel stays. How hard could it be?

We booked a flight and scheduled the hotel stays for September. If we got jobs in the meantime, we would just let our new employers know that this trip was scheduled. We figured the house would sell itself while we were away. We even anticipated having to figure out the signing of documents while we were abroad. We thought for sure we’d at least come back to an offer. Perhaps even a bidding war over our wonderful house that was being sold for a song. It all fit logically. We’d be crazy to let this trip expire. And even though money would undoubtedly be tight while we were there, we’d find a way to make it work.

When we left, we still didn’t have jobs. Bob did have a possibility, though. He had interviewed with a very large and reputable non-profit foundation that seemed very interested in him. We both thought he had it in the bag. So there was at least that. The carrot dangling before us. We thought, “Fine, we’ll go… let the 'universe' to its work and come home to multiple job offers as well as offers on the house.” We counted on that. And so we moved forward with our plan. We sold my cruiser bike, saxophone and guitar and Bob’s old iPod just before we left to have money for food. We boarded our non-stop flight from LAX to Dublin on Aer Lingus full of nervous anticipation. I ordered a glass of wine. They charged me 5 euro. And so it began. The magical disappearance of money.

I remember going to the first hotel in Paris- this wasn’t one of the prepaid hotels- and thinking we were totally and completely insane. That we should turn around and fly back to California immediately. We were out of our minds to be here. Not to mention we didn’t ‘deserve’ to be here. Visions of us stealing rolls off of other people’s café tables in order to stave off hunger flashed before my eyes. I was convinced: we would hit bottom here. In Europe. Buried alive under the weight of the all powerful and gloating Euro: “Look how strong I am you stupid American dollar. I will crush you!” And in French it sounded even worse. A beautiful accent painted on a horrible reality. What the eff were we doing here?! How stupid could we be?!

Two days later- after 48 hours of "trying to enjoy Paris" and "live in the moment" while suppressing a massive anxiety attack- we were on a train headed to St. Moritz. To the Alps. To prepaid luxury. To a complimentary fully stocked mini bar. To a room with a view of the most beautiful mountains in the world (at least that I’ve had the privilege of seeing) and a stunning alpine lake. To a king sized bed. To plush bath robes and slippers. To breakfast buffets and free internet access. To Swiss chocolate on our pillows every night. To endless hiking trails through Heidi country. To a once in a lifetime opportunity. To the reason we were here.

When the TGV (French High-Speed Train) pulled away from the Gare du Nord that morning, it was still dark. We both fell asleep almost immediately. I woke up to muted light and morning fog across the French countryside. This was a good train. We glided. We didn’t rock or click. Or sway nauseatingly. But glide. Smoothly. Peacefully. Bob continued to sleep soundly by my side. It hit me. I hadn’t been on a train in Europe in 12 years. Bob had never been on a train in Europe. This was his first. We were really here. I was on a train gliding across the French countryside with my husband. I let that sink in. There was truly nowhere else in that very moment I would rather be. I found my breath. A deep and satisfying inhale. Finally. I let it out, opened my journal and this is what I wrote:

Being on this train has been the most peaceful I’ve felt this trip thus far. Something about being carried… cradled. It’s comforting. I’m just along for the ride, not navigating or driving. Money has been a major stressor- or the lack thereof, rather. Major. Bob and I have some serious creating to do. Major miracle working. I know we can. I know we’re capable of it. Being here- abroad… so far away from home has had almost the opposite effect I anticipated. I expected to feel carefree, but it’s actually brought our reality into sharper focus. We’re swinging from branch to branch and the next branch is there…. I can see it… we just haven’t been able to swing ourselves far enough to grab a hold. This causes a feeling of doom. What if we don’t grab it? What if we fall? How will we ever climb back up? That is what causes my anxiety. It buries itself in my chest and esophagus- it presses on me making sure I feel the severity- the desperate need to grab that branch. Launch myself. Fly. And that’s what there is to do. Let go. And fly.

-The hotel in St. Moritz: Badrutt's Palace
-The hotel in St. Emilion: Chateau Grand Barrail
-The WONDERFUL charity that benefited from our European Vacation: Corazon de Vida

The View from our Badrutt's Palace room in St. Moritz:



Dinner in St. Moritz consisted of cheese, ham, bread, plums and a 2 euro bottle of wine we bought at the local market:



Breakfast in St. Emilion consisted of the French equivalent of Frosted Flakes, an orange and a bit of chocolate that we bought at the tiny and only market located 5 kilometers from the hotel (we couldn't afford to rent bikes or take cabs which meant that we walked at least 10 kilometers a day in St. Emilion) and complimentary coffee from the room: