Prompt #3:
trampolines & trauma, the bravery to say what we *actually* want
process/product is a newsletter dedicated to sharing the the nitty-gritty of the creative process. As a subscriber, you will get bi-monthly creative prompts. The first few months, the prompts will be offered to all subscribers. But for the sake of facilitating an energetic exchange between you and me, bi-monthly prompts will become a paid subscriber perk by May.
After the update on how the last prompt went for me, you can scroll down to find the newest prompt. All subscribers will get the first half of the newsletter for free, but come May paid subscribers will be the sole recipients of the bi-weekly prompts
Update on Prompt #2:
i finally went to the trampoline park.
if you have never been in one of my Artist’s Way cohorts, you probably had no idea that this is something that i’ve been talking about for years— five years, to be exact.
at the start of every Artist’s Way cohort, I discuss the concept of Artist’s Date.
An Artist’s Date is a weekly solo date meant to be about play. It helps each of us learn the difference between what you think you should do and more about what you actually want to do. What sounds fun to you? Then, do it.
i use the same example, every year:
If you have the chance to go to a intersectional feminist discussion section or a trampoline park, you go to the trampoline park.
That isn’t to say there isn’t something wonderful to the intersectional feminist discussion, but is that what you inner child wants? Or what you— the intellectual adult— wants? Or worse: is that what you you should want?
i’ve used this example at least once a year for the last five years. i’ve said it— OUT LOUD— for half a decade. for five whole years, my inner child has been screeching GET ME ON A TRAMPOLEEEEEEEAN, BITCH!
but i’ve deliberately ignored her because i am so terrified of breaking my neck— plus, i am roughly 100 pounds heavier than the last time i spent my life on a trampoline.
why am i talking about trampoline parks?
let me explain:
when i did Prompt #2, my life pie showed me that there is not enough adventure/play in my life.
and so i was forced to ask myself: what feels like an adventure in Central Minnesota?
when we moved here, i had researched where the nearest trampoline park was located. my version of a secret interior life is always knowing where the closest trampoline park is— i knew it was close, closer than it would be in LA. and so i made a mental note. then, i did nothing for six months.
but as my time here runs short, as we are gearing up to leave Minnesota mid-March, I told my current Monday Artist’s Way cohort: I AM GOING TO THE TRAMPOLINE PARK THIS WEEK. practically panting, i bought the ticket in class, as if they were holding my hand while i did it because i knew if i didn’t buy it right then and there, i never would.
come Wednesday: I was terrified.
what if i was the only adult? what if i hurt myself? what if i peed my pants?
but i had already paid the $14ish dollars required for entry, and i wasn’t willing to let that go to waste.
i signed up for 11 AM and got there around 11:15. when i pulled up to the strip mall, i saw two school buses parked outside. i muttered, Here we go, under my breath.
the dude at the front desk looked at me quizzically, asked, “Any other jumpers with you today?” i almost shouted “NO. JUST ME. GO BIG OR GO HOME.” and he laughed. he had me sign out a digital waiver (just in case i wanted to come again), then he handed me a sticker: “I changed your time, so you have more time to jump.” i put 12:30 onto the leg of my Universal Standard Next-To-Naked bodysuit, put on brown toeless grippy pilates socks, and walked up the stairs:
the only way to describe it: a field of trampolines. from wall to wall, there were stretches of trampolines. some of them had pseudo hurdles you could jump over, others were just strips of trampoline where you could run back and forward, ad infinitum. the place with packed with teens.
but my inner child went feral, and she forced me to just run from trampoline track to trampoline track, accidentally slamming my body into unsuspecting pre-teens. SORRY, i yelled, as i flew into another trampoline, feeling as though i was one of them but knowing distinctly that i really was the only adult jumping.
after 45 seconds of sprinting, my adult body forced me to stop. i sat on a track of hot pink padding to catch my breath. i noticed two sets of girls, also sitting to the side: watching me. and i thought to myself: let’s fucking GOOOOOOOO.
i jumped into the walls and slid down. i did russian split jumps, over and over, my toes flying to my hands. i jumped over the hurdles, hesitating just before jumping over, for fear of falling— then, i fell. a lot.
all of it reminded me of how much time i spent on a trampoline as a kid.
my parents placed a trampoline in our back yard, next to our lemon tree. it had cobalt blue padding on the springs and a mesh net to keep us from flying off and landing on cement. the goal of the trampoline was to get me to practice my rotations for figure skating. i absolutely did spend countless hours jumping, alone, spinning multiple times in the air. but more than that, my brothers and our friends spent so many hours playing popcorn, threatening to launch each other over the netting.
it wasn’t until i stopped to lay on the trampoline at AirMaxx that I remembered that feeling, of jumping with my brothers and our friends. of laying on the trampoline and playing endless games of Mafia, made more treacherous because the trampoline could betray any shift or movement. so many happy memories lived with that trampoline, which over the years rusted due to disuse, then was trashed when i was away at college. and i couldn’t help but feel deep sadness when i came back and it was gone.
my inner child needed this trampoline park more than i could have imagined.
but then she got bold: I wonder if I can still do a flip.
after watching all the boys do front flips and back flips and sprint into the walls and bounce off and sprint into the other wall and bounce off… my inner child got competitive. she had something to prove. i looked at the two sets of girls, still sitting.
I freaked, said: baby we are 32 and we are heavier now. WE COULD BREAK OUR NECK.
but she was all: …We should try.
so, i told her: …. Let’s fucking go.
i tried to jump over the hurtle because the thought of throwing my body was terrifying— as if diving over the hurdle could was softer, psychological speaking. but as i got to the hurdle, I hesitated: screeched to a halt. but a pre-teen boy bounced by by and shouted, YOU CAN DO IT.
i yelled back: I’M GONNA BREAK MY NECK
he yelled back: YOU’RE NOT GONNA BREAK YOUR NECK.
and somehow, that give me the confidence to try. nothing like a nice lil boy to restore your faith in humanity— and maybe even myself?
at first, i sort of flipped over the hurdle and landed sitting on it. i laughed. then i did it again, and landed bracing against it. then, i jumped high enough to not touch the hurdle at all.
one set of the girls clapped, and i smiled back.
i noticed both sets of girls had gotten up and started jumping. i clapped for them, as they jumped over their own hurdles.
my inner child repeated me: let’s fucking GOOOO.
and so i attempted flip after flip after flip, landing on my butt and my back. but never my neck.
did i pee my pants? a little. did i break my neck. no.
but after about an hour of jumping and trying: I LANDED A FRONT FLIP. and to tell you the truth? i’m still riding that high.
who needs drugs when you can go to the trampoline park? or better yet: give your inner child exactly what they need.
it was the best Artist’s Date i’ve ever been on, and it only took me five years to finally do it. sometimes… good things take time.
but more than anything, i’ve come to see the ways in which i ignore what i actually want or need. the impulses and the hurts that feel hard to name and heal.
what lies below the surface, the dreams and impulses and hurts and harms: they’re worthy of being named, and acted upon.
this week, i want you to think about your inner heart’s secret desire.
with it being February and Valentine’s Day having come and gone, everyone’s thinking about love and their coupledom or their lack of it. no matter what you’re romantic situation is, i want you to put your romantic life aside for one second.
this week, i want you to admit to yourself what feels to embarrassing, shameful, out of reach to name: what does desire look like when it doesn’t involve someone else?
Prompt #3: What do you shamelessly want?
this could be an easy prompt, the answer at the tip of your tongue. as i like to say: first thought, best thought.
but if you find yourself asking, “What do I shamelessly want?” i’d recommend you take yourself on a walk or a swim or a drive, no music or podcast, to meditate on this idea.
all i want for you is to get close to whatever it is: your true desire.
if the idea scares you? journal about it. call a trusted confidant. or talk to your version of your higher power.
but i am in favor of claiming what it is your heart desires, no matter how it may seem to others. no matter how silly or unreachable or unrealistic. because your shame or fear or embarrassment is less about the desire itself than it is what you think other people will think about it.
and if Arnold Schwarzennager has taught us anything: it’s that you have to get clear on your vision.
let your passion guide you towards what you actually want, not what you think you should want.
if you haven’t done so already, check out the last prompt:
Prompt #2
process/product is a newsletter dedicated to sharing the the nitty-gritty of the creative process. As a subscriber, you will get bi-weekly creative prompts. The first few months, the prompts will be offered to all subscribers. But for the sake of facilitating an energetic exchange between me and you,
as always:
i’m dying to hear what comes up for you.
ALL MY LOVE
XOXOXO,
PAULINA
Trampolines are so fun. Glad you indulged yourself!