The book isn’t exactly a manifesto for creatives. Any tome that uses the word, entrepreneur, belongs on an end-cap at Office Max. But, I kept reading because Fields’ voice pulled me in. Before long, I was reaching for a post it note to mark a page or two . . . or seven. Here’s the laundry list including editorial comments:

1. There is often a great divide between creating exactly what you sought to create and creating what you were capable of creating. p. 130.

The book I wrote doesn’t resemble the book I started to write. Thank God for the process because my initial premise sucked in comparison to the actual words on the page. Yeah me!

2. Be true to the process, actions, and rituals that you can commit to. p. 134.

Finally, I don’t have to feel guilty for taking a walk in the middle of the day, or wearing my mom’s old cardigan sweater while I’m writing. Being an obsessive news junky is part of my process. Reading every book on the NY Times bestseller list isn’t. I don’t watch television, but I do collect visual images on Pinterest. I’m a bitch without morning pages, and I like to have the work almost done before I let anyone read it.

3. “Oh, sweety, that painting is so beautiful. You’re so talented” Or, “Great job on that math test. You’ve got a real gift for numbers.” Such comments sound innocuous enough on the surface, but are textbook examples of unintentionally programming your kids to adopt a fixed mind-set, capping their perceived ability to learn beyond what comes easily by attributing success, performance, and mastery to a perceived talent or gift, by implicitly discrediting work as the primary source of growth, mastery, and success. Instead of focusing on talent and ability, . . . say things like, “I’m so proud of how hard you worked on X.” I focus less on the outcome and more on the process, framing tests, trials, or contests as opportunities to see where you’re at and to learn how to use them to inform your work going forward. p.137.

Guilty as charged. My kids are talented, but as a former fine arts teacher, I know that sweat is most valuable gift.

4. Exercise and AT [Attentional Training], are extraordinary creation force multipliers. Together, they are capable of transforming not only what you’re capable of bringing to life, but how you experience the process of creation. p.147.

Fields runs a yoga studio. He carries a Hefty bag of praise for meditation. But, AT can be defined as learning to pay attention. Creative ritual helps. A routine helps. Having a strategic goal helps. Learn about setting strategic goals from writer, Bob Mayer, here at Write It Forward. When I’m stuck, I go for a walk. When I can’t focus, I listen to a sound track I created for my work in progress, or I turn on High Focus by Kelly Howell, beta brain wave therapy. Whatever works, use it!

5. Harvard commencement speech, J.K. Rowling in 2008: I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realized, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life. . . . The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more than any qualification I ever earned. p.183.

If there’s a silver lining to landing on your butt, J.K. Rowling found it. I wanna be her when I grow up.

6. “When you go to zero, all falls away. When you arrive at the bottom, fear of judgment has nothing to grasp on to, because fear is an anticipatory emotion . . . and you’re already there. You’ve cratered, you’ve been judged the whole way down. You no longer have to anticipate how it feels; you’re living that state. How much worse could it really get if you tried to innovate your way out of the abyss and failed again? Why not try?” pp. 183-184. also, “Without fear of judgment, your tolerance for uncertainty skyrockets. . . .”

I’ve been all around the fear of judgment ferris wheel, but until now, I’ve never considered how lucky I am to be judged unworthy by my peers. Why not try? There’s nowhere to go, but up.

7. “In the case of what I’ve identified as going to zero, be sure to explore the three key questions as well: What if I fail, then recover? What if I do nothing? What if I succeed?” p. 190.

Of the three questions, What if I do nothing? is the most pointed. It’s the question I must remember to ask when I feel like quitting. Should I die, sad and miserable, because I didn’t get what I wanted out of life? Or, should I die, fighting for my dreams?

Jonathan Fields’ Uncertainty is a must read. Skim the business guru stuff. I did. The best parts are worth it.

A few miles from home, I found this public art installation, Making Hay by New York artist, Tom Otterness. The 18-foot-tall figures made of steel and hay are definitely out of the box.

“Can you help me?”

The collar was too loose. I adjusted it, and the dog walked obediently.

In conversation I learned the golden had belonged to a friend, who was too depressed to care for it.

“She hasn’t gone to the bathroom in two days. Should I take her to the vet?”

“Is she grieving?”

“I don’t think so. She seems happy with me.”

The dog looked great, happy and beautiful, but change is hard on everybody. “She’s fine, Give her a few more days.” It was the answer the lady wanted, needed.

It’s funny how we look for answers from perfect strangers. I walked on thinking, what a good scene for the opening of a novel. A character, who doesn’t make friends easily meets one randomly walking someone else’s dog. The second character has trouble making decisions, and she’s insecure about the ones she’s already made.

I’ll never see this woman again. I don’t know her name, the dog’s name, or her depressed friend’s name. But I was able to solve her problem. Is that how things start? Randomly. I’ve always lived by the concept of “meant to be.” Maybe, I’ve assigned too much meaning to events. What if life is more a spin of the wheel than the synchronicity of the soul?

I told myself to keep my eyes open. Move forward.

I’m not a Tiger mom. (If you’ve been under a rock in regard to parenting trends, see the article here.) But, since the high school orchestra visited Coco’s school last year, she’s wanted to play the violin. I explained, “You’ll have to learn to read music.” She taught herself notes and fingerings on a dollar store recorder. I said, “Wait until fifth grade. Then you can learn with your friends in the school strings program.”

“I want to play the violin now.”

After she made her big sister watch an entire PBS concert featuring Itzhak Perlman and YoYo Ma, I gave in.

Last June, we agreed to lessons on a trial basis with a rented instrument. We found Miss Winnie, who is Chinese like Coco. She played second violin in the Shanghai symphony. She is a luthier, which means she makes violins as well as plays them. Coco adores her. Once a week, I sit outside a practice room and listen to my nine-year old explore a world that belongs only to her.

This week she gave her first public performance. In the school talent show, she played for 350 of her classmates. Where did she find the courage? I’m not a Tiger mom, but it’s possible I have a Tiger child.

North Star was once the epitome of cool. Was. I found an empty parking place next to Macy’s. Times have changed. When you walk around in your own Great Recession, self-preservation dictates geographic restrictions. Too painful to shop at Ann Taylor or Talbots? Go for half-off at Marshalls.

My old favorites are gone. No more Baby Gap or Pottery Barn Kids to waltz through. Sharper Image, Bombay Company, Picture People–no more. The bookstores disappeared long ago. Coach is still alive, along with Williams-Sonoma and The Brighton Store, but with their mark up, they can afford a few looky-loos. I was the only customer in J. Crew, despite Michelle Obama’s endorsement. Though, forty-three dollars for an embellished tissue tee is a reach for me. I’ll be scouring Target for the knock-off.

Nothing I’m saying is new. Those of us, formerly of the middle class, live with it. Everyone else can read about it on Huffington Post. But seeing is the shocker. This broken-hearted consumer forgot a maxim. When I can’t buy, they can’t sell.

I found what I went for, but I missed the mall of 1996.