Making and Doing
And come to my writing workshop in NY!
Happy summer, friends! It seems impossible lately not to insert an asterisk after such an enthusiastic greeting—some version of Happy summer, friends!* even though the world is a cruel hell pit of suffering, stupidity, injustice and doom.
Asterisks aside, I do hope you’re finding beauty and joy in each and every day. I hope your summer (or winter, if you’re in the Southern Hemisphere) has so far been a happy one. When I went hunting for a happy picture to run with this newsletter, I came upon this photo of myself holding a cake I made a long time ago:
It struck me immediately as the one to run, not only because Friday is Independence Day in the US, but because it calls forth in me precisely what I wanted to write about in this little summer (winter?) missive to you, my dear subscribers: the simple truth that making and doing things feels good. It makes us happy, or at least content. And it does that especially well in times like these, when so many of us are feeling like we don’t know what to do, or we doubt anything we do will matter, or we think we can’t do a damn thing because we feel so beaten down by the things that have been done to us or others we care about. When we feel lost in sorrow, spent with rage, sunk by despair, or simply bewildered by it all.
Every time I’ve made or done something, I’ve felt better. It’s a fact I’ve returned to over and over again in these past months/years/decades in order to save myself or toss a lifeline to someone else. Action and creation are a salve, a balm, a cure.
Perhaps making and doing things is so powerful because in doing or making you break out of stasis. Even if only fleetingly, you get unstuck and, afterwards, have proof of that. Something exists because you made it. Something happened because you did it. You baked the cake and decorated it attentively and inexpertly. You showed up at the protest with longing in your heart and a smile on your face. You shot and edited the footage and now you’ve got a movie. You stitched the scraps of fabric together and ended up with a quilt. You put the seeds in the soil and eventually a flower bloomed. You put one foot in front of the other and then looked back and realized you’d covered all that ground on your own steam. Your troubles were not over. Your problems were not solved. But you had something. You did something. You could not deny that. You made it this far and making it this far meant you could keep going.
About three-quarters of my life is staked on that humble belief.
I think this idea I have about making and doing things being central to our ability to save ourselves when we need saving—or at least prop ourselves up—is connected to a feeling I’ve had for a long time about teaching writing. At the end of my workshops I often say that teaching feels like my spiritual practice and what I mean by that is I believe that when we do or make things—as we do when we write—we’re deepening and often finding our connection to self, to others, and sometimes even to the divine (whatever your conception of that may be). We’re asking, answering, and grappling with the beautiful and hard questions that give our lives meaning and purpose. We’re telling the stories we’ve longed to tell or been afraid of telling or know we must revise so we can survive and thrive. To be a part of that experience as teacher, to guide others to their own awakenings and illuminations through writing, feels sacred to me.
And of course I don’t think it’s only through writing that we can achieve that. It’s through all the aforementioned things—making the cakes and communities and movies and quilts and flowers and tracks in the dirt on a long, difficult trail—and a zillion other things too. But when you do it through writing, wow.
Speaking of which, I’m leading a writing workshop at the wonderful Omega Institute October 10-12 and I’d love if you’d join me. You can attend in person on the beautiful Omega campus in Rhinebeck, New York, or you can sign up for the online class, which you can attend via the livestream or watch later at a time of your choosing. (In fact, all participants—whether you are registered for the in-person experience or the livestream—will have access to the video of the workshop for a couple of months afterwards.) Please come! It’s always a fun and special weekend and October is an incredibly gorgeous time of year to be in New York.
Before that, I also I have a few other things coming up this summer:
On Sunday, August 3, I’ll be giving a talk at the Willamette Writers Conference in Portland, Oregon. The conference is full of great classes, speakers, and useful sessions offered by writers and other professionals in the lit biz. It runs from July 31-August 3. You can find more information and register here.
On Wednesday, August 6, I’ll be at Cinema 21 in Portland with my beloved friends Jeremy Power Regimbal and Maggie Doyne, where they’ll be screening their beautiful documentary, “Between the Mountain and the Sky,” which Jeremy directed and Maggie is featured in. The film is screening only once in Portland—at 7pm that evening—and I’ll be interviewing Jeremy and Maggie afterwards. The film is about so much, but at core it’s very much about the power of making and doing by leading with love. If you want to come, I recommend you buy your tickets now, as it’s sure to sell out.
In September, I’ll be at the Happinez Festival in The Netherlands, in Utrecht. The festival is billed as “the largest spiritual festival in Europe.” I’ll be appearing along with all sorts of interesting people who have a lot to say about doing and making happy, meaningful lives. My appearances are on Friday, September 12 and Saturday, September 13. You can get more information about the festival and register here. I’d love to meet some of my Europe-based subscribers, so please find me at my book signings after my talks and say hello!
As for this newsletter, I’ll be back with another installment of my “Tells Us” series in early August, when we’ll be hearing from the fabulous and wise Chloe Caldwell, who has a wonderful new book coming out called “Trying,” which you can pre-order here.
Until then, happy summer, friends. Full stop. No asterisk.
xCheryl
P.S Scroll down to: 1. See a sweet cake my daughter made and 2. Listen to this newsletter if that’s your jam.
P.P.S. If you’ve been trying to become a paid subscriber and can’t, it’s because I’m still on hiatus from my paid Dear Sugar newsletter, so all payments are on pause. Thank you anyway. I appreciate you.
Click below to listen to this newsletter.
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Cheryl!!!
It's your fault I am on Substack, and I just wanted to say thanks. I attended your Omega Institute workshop last year and it sparked something in me that I didn't quite know I needed. The very first thing I posted here was something I wrote in your workshop. Eight months and almost 550 subscribers later, I have unburied my voice and my passion. I've connected with other writers and readers and with myself in meaningful and soul-filling ways. So truly, thank you!