Ann Imig's Blog

Whether you’re preparing for a presentation at work, delivering a toast, writing a personal essay, or tempted to jump on a storytelling stage, lists and letters can serve as portals to your story. Join me Monday at DreamBank Madison for this beginner-friendly workshop with quick tips for writing and sharing your personal narrative. Participants will write a short piece and volunteers will workshop their writing aloud, for the whole group to learn. All are welcome — especially those nervous about public speaking. FREE registration here. Space is limited, so snag your seat!

The post Join Me for Lists & Letters appeared first on Ann's Rants.

The Thank-You Project by Nancy Davis Kho

Three years ago almost to the day, I received a letter from my friend Nancy. She described the letter as a way to mark her 50th birthday, by thanking the people, places, and things that helped her live a blessed life.

I describe that letter as a masterful connect-the-dots of our friendship; one rendered with such care and craftsmanship, that I still get choked up to see the pattern of us, revealed.

“What I love most about this joyful, life-affirming guide is that it feels like a letter itself, written to me by a smart, kind friend who truly cares about helping me be happier — and knows just how I can do it.”

Mary Laura Philpott, author of I Miss You When I Blink

Nancy led me along the beads of our story– meeting online through blogging, meeting IRL at conferences (and dancing like fools at said conferences), performing on stage in LTYM events, rising to the call of social action, and supporting each other while raising our respective families.

Nancy’s letter project brought unexpected benefits to her during a tough year. Not only did writing the letters lift her through grief and loss, she heard back from (and reconnected with) many of her recipients. Nancy printed out all her letters, and bound them to keep by her bedside. Years later, reading her gratitude letters still gives her an instant pick me up.

“Sweet and wise, this hopeful book will inspire readers to honor those who have made a difference in their lives”

— Publishers Weekly

Another unexpected benefit? A book deal! The prize of a decade of devoted writing for Nancy, and a roadmap toward gratitude and increased happiness for the rest of us.

A Gratitude Roadmap (and giveaway!)

Gratitude and happiness go hand-in-hand — and The Thank-You Project provides an easy-to-follow approach for creating more of both.

Who helped you become the person you are today? As Nancy Davis Kho approached a milestone birthday, she decided to answer that question by sending thank-you letters to the many people who had influenced her, helped her, and inspired her over the years: family, friends, mentors, teachers, co-workers, even a couple of former friends and exes. While her recipients always seemed genuinely pleased to read the letters, what Nancy never expected was the profound and positive effect the process would have on her. As it turns out, emerging research proves that actively appreciating the formative people in your life, past and present, can lead to a lasting increase in your happiness levels–and The Thank-you Project offers a charming, entertaining roadmap to see, say and savor your way there.

The Thank-You Project Launches Today (Dec 3rd, 2019)

In celebration of Nancy’s book release, I’m on my way to meet my writer friends for the festivities in Oakland!! Live in the Bay area? Join us! Or..

Follow all the fun on social media #ThankYouProjectBook BUY A COPY for everyone you love!: teacher gift, holiday gift, milestone birthday, new year resolution, self-care ALL OF THE ABOVE. The book even looks like a gift with beautiful art inside and out Music maven that she is (a real-live DJ), Nancy created Spotify playlists to go along with each chapterWIN A COPY. Leave a comment to win a copy by midnight 12/9/19. I’ll choose a winner randomly and announce it Tuesday 12/10/19

“A genial volume about a fun approach to showing others how much they mean to you.”

– Kirkus Reviews

The post The Thank-You Project Book: A Gratitude Roadmap and a Giveaway! appeared first on Ann's Rants.

This summer I signed up for Robin Wise’s Finding Your Voice online writing course with guest teacher Emily McDowell. We get a photo prompt every other day, totaling 28 prompts. I hold myself accountable to every prompt, writing both fiction and non. Occasionally, I share one on the medias.

#sagewise prompt 18 photo by Jim Champman



My Anxiety Shire

The lawn never dries in back. All summer the rain and humidity gets trapped in its Rapunzel tresses, breeding mosquitoes and anxiety.

You can mow a dry lawn in 45 minutes. You can zone out and enjoy the back and forth motion, the satisfaction of turning chaos into neat rows–crossing one tangible thing off the household mental and physical load.

Not our backyard.

Wet grass clogs the mower–which promptly shuts down after one pass–kicking back a yard waste Bundt cake before sputtering to stillness. We wait a few seconds and try the pull-start more than a few times to get it going again. Multiply this sequence times ten or twenty to completion.

Our kids help mow the lawn, which eases parenting minds and labor – well, my mind specifically.

I hold a constant tally of all the work I did as a child compared with what we ask of our children, multiplied by all the life skills left to teach them. Next, I cross-reference this labor equation with the number of hours our boys stare at screens instead of playing outside, reading, drawing (or I don’t know performing alchemy, writing treatises, organic farming, mastering astral projection). This culminates with my swan dive into the abyss labeled FAILING THE DIGITAL GENERATION.

The big backyard and the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the big backyard made for big selling points when we chose our house 13 years ago. We never noticed any fine print reading GRASS GROWS AT CHIA PET TV COMMERCIAL SPEED AND NEVER DRIES (GOOD LUCK WITH THE YARD WASTE BUNDT CAKES! AND ALSO PARENTING!!)

Watching our kids mow the lawn from my kitchen–seeing this slow laborious task to completion–gives me a brief shining peace.

Inside Stories Podcast

Local storytelling stars Takeyla Benton and Jen Rubin invited me as a guest on their new podcast Inside Stories. I love working with both of them, even if they grilled me about casting, and then piled on for failing to include them in LTYM their first time around. You can listen here.  

Join 8/1 me at DreamBank

Whether you work in a service profession, give care to dependent family members, or feel helpless scrolling through your social media feed, serving other people’s hardship and suffering can overwhelm. In this energizing talk, Ann Imig, writer and founder of the national live-reading series LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER will lead a discussion around cultivating strategies for coping with feeling too much, with nothing left to give. Participants will leave with a customized plan in hand toward serving ourselves as we serve others. Get your FREE ticket here.

The post My Lawn, My Anxiety Shire. A podcast. An invitation. appeared first on Ann's Rants.

Kid behaviors like fighting, whining, BackTalk (TM my Dad) and neglecting chores clamor for my husband and my attention on a loop.

Too often we fail to recognize all the positive steps and good decisions our boys make. Thanks to an idea from my therapist mom, years ago we began using a tip jar as an incentive for our kids, and a reminder for ourselves to acknowledge their progress.

The tip jar

Caring gestures, good attitudes, generosity, cooperation– any and all of it earns a poker chip in the jar. When they fill the jar (only one jar, as a collaborative effort) they get a small gift. No one ever loses chips. Poor choices might gain other consequences, but they don’t undo better choices already made.

Dirty kitchen, no coffee (pray)

Typically my husband makes sure the boys clean the kitchen and he sets the coffee. Almost always. This morning I woke up to a dirty kitchen and no coffee. Sit with me in that for a moment. Go ahead and grab your rosary.

When the kids were tiny and he traveled constantly, this situation sent me sailing upon the seven hundred seas of resentment. At the time, a clean kitchen and hot coffee served as a tangible clean slate, giving me at least the illusion of control for a brief moment before the grand daily display of diaper explosions, cat accidents, constant spills and meltdowns.

That life lies years in the past. That super fun hair trigger remains. Only today, I own 2.5 more ounces of patience, 105 more ounces sleep, and therefore the wherewithal to make my own better choices. Chip-worthy choices!

So when I told the kids I would not be cooking any more meals–ever again in their youth– if I had to wake up to a kitchen like this, I did so calmly and with conviction. I then made my own damned coffee and went to collect myself on my fainting couch bed with my smelling salts phone.

By some force of sorcery, my 12 year old claimed his turn to do the dishes. Next, he DID THE DISHES. My 15 year old even chipped in. No complaints, no curses, no nut-jabs.

Not only did I put a chip in the jar, I made downright jubilant pancakes for everyone. I shared with them the lesson I learned as a waitress; the way one handles a problem can deepen a relationship and make the whole interaction better than had a problem never occurred in the first place. They bowed in appreciation of my wisdom as they always do– with earbuds and over the nearest electronic device.

A tip jar for me

Now, I see. I need a chip jar for myself. Yes, for this rare time I didn’t jump into my role of Captain Resentful, Haggard Queen of The Consequence, but also for all the brave steps and good choices I make and don’t recognize as a mom, creative professional, and recovering perfectionist.

This morning I’m giving myself some overdue chips:

for all the nudging and coaching these kids that made this morning’s miracle possiblefor doing my first audition in twenty years (gak!) and a call-back (double gak!) for an old lady part (GAKITTY GAK GAAAAAK)for showing up to learn and memorize and occasionally create material– and for putting myself out there for the consumption of others as a performer speaker and writerfor trying a little less hard to make everyone else happy, and measure up to a bar I seem to continually raise for myselffor placing my hand on my heart as a daily meditation to actually believe that me being myself–as I already am–is enoughfor braving an earnest process to love who I am over what I dofor continuing to bring love light and support to my loved ones, my community, and our world as an act of hopeful resistance

Today, these words serve as my poker chips. I might need an actual tip jar for myself with actual chips. Maybe you do, too.

The post A Tip Jar for Me appeared first on Ann's Rants.

If you want to get your work out there – on stage, in a gallery setting, for a community event (fundraiser festival, reunion, etc) –  you need no formal training, nor invitation. You need not be a creative professional nor event planner. If you have passion for your idea, that’s what you need.

Support and practical tips help. That’s where I come in!

I spent much of the last decade coaching women with no directing/producing experience how to direct/produce their own LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER shows, and directed/produced dozens of various events myself.

Join me this Friday for Brava’s Thrive Conference and enjoy a day full of inspiration and practical guidance. I hope I bring a bit of both.

The THRIVE Conference is designed for women in all stages of their careers plus topics for women considering or new to entrepreneurship. With four topic tracks to choose from – EMPOWER, ENRICH, EDUCATE, ENTREPRENEUR – there is a workshop of interest for everyone throughout the day!

Get empowered, enriched and educated through the keynote address on work/life balance and valuable workshops, nurture that entrepreneurial idea with tips and tools from the experts, experience an individual “laser” coaching session, network — and leave feeling empowered to live your potential, in work and life.

 

LAST CALL TO BUY YOUR TICKETS! LINK HERE.

 

The post Thrive With Brava and Me (This Friday May 10th) appeared first on Ann's Rants.

 

Every two weeks I go see my voice coach Abby. We do things like shout vowels across the room, impersonate Cher, and pretend to squeeze grapefruits under our armpits while belting GOODBYE TO BLUEBERRY PIE. It’s often ugly, embarrassing, and always always awesome. Laughter and trust make it possible, because I know Abby believes in me, plus she rules at both coaching and singing.

Hire only talented instructors who believe in you.

Ask my family and/or neighbors about the practicing sounds. No, don’t. There’s a reason I don’t subscribe to NextDoor. You know how much you hate hearing the sound of your own voice? I record these sounds and listen to them. Sometimes I delete them before God there-self must witnesses the ungodliness, but mainly I try to figure things out what works and what doesn’t and why.

Occasionally there’s pain and I know to back off. Pain usually does not lead us to good places, friends.

In some moments the sounds work and Abby says YES and I try to remember how it happened so I can recreate it not that far back not too far forward support it but take in less air. I get to YES sounds by making all the other mews and bleats.

Learning is vulnerable and ugly and hilarious if you allow it. And, yes, sometimes briefly triumphant.

I’m in Ugly Sound Time. Like nap time for a toddler after Daylight Savings Time plus the occasional ego crush. You must meet Ugly Sound Time with courage and trust and again, much laughter. Warning: Ugly Sound Time may take over other aspects of your life. Like when people ask me “what I do.” Bleat. Mew. Citrus armpits.

Overall I say less these days. Online, virtually nothing. I heard Sheila E. talk about drumming– the space in between the beats are more important than the beats themselves.

This is where learning happens.

 

 

The post Ugly Sound Time appeared first on Ann's Rants.

I crouch over a treasure chest, in a ship-wrecked themed escape room, with six other grown women. Tensions run tepid; no one wants to look like a dumb dumb among coworkers. Yet, only a dumb dumb could take themselves too seriously while rummaging around the set of what appears to be a middle school production for Pirates of The Madisonians, minus an audience.

I find clues! First, I unearth a puzzle piece from a wash bin of swashbuckler clothes. Later, I pluck a pouch containing a wedding ring from the treasure chest; both hidden in places others looked and overlooked. I make a logic leap for where to place the ring, which helps reveal a potion, that eventually frees a lost soul and allows us a successful escape.

Typically I act the hasty overlooker, but now I’m practiced in finding pieces and putting them back together.

*

My stepsister and I spend many many (many) hours crouching, puzzling, and searching through my stepmom’s many many (many) belongings. She died in September.

We donate/save/toss pile after pile, bag over bag. We excavate layers and floors—> families friends estrangement births marriages adoption babies daughters sons parents divorces steps grandparents beauty youth midlife illness sudden death old age creation passion destruction stagnation abundance lack–> mining our way to the basement, where our boxed up childhood bedrooms remain.

Nostalgia-fatigued, I sift 25-year-old doodads. Precious in a different context, now this ephemera becomes another to-do in the most daunting existential to-do list. I plow through homemade hairbows, summer camp photos, and what looks like a make-up roll (a relic of co-custody, when my things lived in travel cases instead of drawers).

My instincts now trained to check recheck and check again, I unfurl it awaiting 1980s bubblegum lipstick and cobalt eyeliner. Instead, treasure! Gold, silver, and gem stones appear–long-lost, hand-made, and dearly misplaced family jewelry. Circles close in a moment of triumph among rubble; a ring reunified with a finger, a pendant placed back on a heart. Missing becomes found.

A puzzle piece, a ring, a riddle.

*

I sit bundled up on a yoga mat, in the snow, facing a felled tree stump four feet in diameter. Roots splay out around the trunk like a decaying sun. The concave base makes a bowl of darkness inviting me to add my own. I shake out a few tears, like cereal caught between the liner and the box. This tree gives me a puzzle piece, one answer to the riddle of my recent fatigue. A human owl sound calls me back to a group of forest bathers, and yes you should laugh with me about human owl sounds and forest bathers (it’s a thing, look it up).

*

The earth closes her annual ring around the sun. The last puzzle piece of 2018 gets placed. A successful escape to a new year, a new riddle.

The post A puzzle piece, a ring, a riddle appeared first on Ann's Rants.

Call it worrying, call it anxiety, call it impatience– even when life feels pretty great and the work/life trains run mostly smoothly, my brain reverts back to station NO CHILL.

Some people find their way out of a stress vortex through gratitude practice. Often when I count my blessings (which I do! frequently!!) I nose-dive into all I should do with those blessings; realistic sane things like keeping my family plus the entire world safe and loved forever…

I feel so grateful for my healthy happy parents, and so so lucky for my kind husband who should probably have his cholesterol checked, and my dear precious children the internet is probably ruining, oh and the fact that I can get by coloring my greys with a $7.99 drug store root touch up kit and OH CRAP NONE OF THIS IS SUSTAINABLE IT’S ALL DOWN HILL FROM HERE. 

Station NO CHILL.

A few years ago I learned that curiosity kills anxiety. Curiosity does not come naturally to me, with the exception of curiosity about other people. I forget to get curious about my own life. In the rare moments I remember to look with curiosity at whatever anxiety pellet my brain gnaws on, it calms me immediately.

So, I’m making wonder intentional. I plan to make a daily list of questions on which to wonder. I’ll leave them as questions with no answers, on purpose.

It fits nicely with the season, too. The Maccabies worried about their meager oil not lasting. We get to wonder about how that oil lasted for eight days, and if the more expensive Chanukah candles are really worth it (they are). Star of wonder, star of might! Not star of generalized angst, star of fear. Walking in a winter wonderland, not worryland!

This season, leave station NO CHILL for a while and wonder with me. Wonder means letting go of answers. Wonder means making room for possibility.

The post Wonder, not worry: A curiosity practice for those with zero chill appeared first on Ann's Rants.

I. Ever “after”

Born out of the combination of full-time parenting and part-time self-employment, the twin approaches of get it going and good enough take me far . Yet in my mad dash toward done or “after,” I’ve often lacked the patience to buckle down and dive into the minutia of “before” where rich learning occurs; the kind that builds muscle and depth.

Rediscovering singing in 2018 infused me with energy and joy. Despite not having sung on stage for 20 years, I didn’t hire a director or a vocal coach for my one-woman show in June. I cited budget reasons, but I also had vulnerability reasons; I could only take myself so seriously.  Thanks to YouTube tutorials, an affordable accompanist, and the eye of some talented writer/performer friends, I made do relying on self-discipline, a very firm very public deadline, and prepation on my own, in my home, per my usual.

The show gave me a high. It also gave me insomnia. I don’t miss either. Much. I do miss the energy and the joy. See, I’ve hardly sung a note since the show. Without an after, I also gave up on before; even with YouTube, even with an affordable accompanist. I simply don’t sing.

 

***

II. Back to before

So. After giving myself 100 reasons why I do not need voice coaching, I reconsidered voice coaching anyhow–for accountability, to get me singing, and because frankly even though I love my life, I need more energy and joy. If I schedule a lesson, I will prepare for that lesson. Before/after.

I tried one lesson from a delightful teacher, and left exhausted and full of doubt–a vulnerability hangover. I could only take myself so seriously. So. very. ridiculously. seriously. Me being (so annoyingly) myself.

Two days after the lesson, I chaperoned the high school orchestra field trip. The kids took a master class with UW-Milwaukee music faculty. Watching the professor’s direction–constant interruptions changing bow position, tempo, and phrasing–reminded me what skill acquisition and improvement requires. Each student opened themselves to the master, trusting and following his instruction with small yet profound immediate results.

Well hello and howdy to you too, Universe.

**

III. We can never go back to before

Thankfully, I narrowly escaped serious-ing myself out of trying another lesson.

The second teacher is a mom of two boys, like I am. She met her husband at a theater, like I did. She lives right in my neighborhood?!?  Well played, Universe.

Her resume intimdated me, until about 15 seconds after meeting her. We connected immediately. We laughed a lot. We teared up over creativity, midlife, and motherhood. She complimented my breath capacity and range, and I gave myself a midlife high-five. I might not be as slim as I was in my twenties, but I’m in hecka slammin’ shape. We shared a singer’s shorthand about what do where with the voice and the music, her confidence firing-up my own. She lit up saying “it’s so fun to work with someone who knows what they’re doing.” Then, this gem that could’ve gutted me, but instead filled me with excitement:

“It almost sounds like you’re trying to sing younger. We’re going to find your voice now.” 

CUE ENERGY FIREWORKS JOY FOUNTAINS OF ANN’S HEART

She nailed it. In my show I reached back to my voice twenty years ago, relying on twenty year old muscle memory, twenty year old roles, and twenty year old me. Forever stalled in ingenue land, I neglected to consider the power-mom roles and my own leading lady voice FFS!

My first assignment is “Back To Before” from Ragtime “We can never go back to before, we can never. go back. to. be-fore….”

If you know the show, the context of the song feels powerfully relevant today as white women become “woke.” The out of context meaning only now struck me as I wrote this post, however; back to writing, back to singing, back to learning. We can never go back to before, and I no longer wish to.

High five, Universe. High five, midlife.  High five leading ladies!! 

 

The post Back to Before appeared first on Ann's Rants.

I. Ever “after”

Born out of the combination of full-time parenting and part-time self-employment, the twin approaches of get it going and good enough take me far . Yet in my mad dash toward done or “after,” I’ve often lacked the patience to buckle down and dive into the minutia of “before” where rich learning occurs; the kind that builds muscle and depth.

Rediscovering singing in 2018 infused me with energy and joy.  Despite not having sung on stage for 20 years, I didn’t hire a director or a vocal coach for my one-woman show in June. I cited budget reasons, but I also had vulnerability reasons; I could only take myself so seriously.  Thanks to YouTube tutorials, an affordable accompaniast, and the eye of some talented writer/performer friends, I made do relying on self- discipline, a very firm very public deadline, and prepation on my own, in my home, per my usual.

The show gave me a high. It also gave me insomnia. I don’t miss either. Much. I do miss the energy and the joy. See, I’ve hardly sung a note since the show. Without an after, I also gave up on before; even with YouTube, even with an affordable accompaniast. I simply don’t sing.

 

***

II. Back to before

So. After giving myself 100 reasons that I do not need voice coaching, I reconsidered voice coaching anyhow– for accountability, to get me singing, and because frankly even though I love my life,  I need more energy and joy. If I have a lesson I will prepare for that lesson. Before/after.

I tried one lesson from a delightful teacher, and left exhausted and full of doubt– a vulnerability hangover. I could only take myself so seriously. So. very. ridiculously. seriously. Me being (so annoyingly) myself.

Two days after the lesson, I chaperoned the high school orchestra field trip. The kids took a master class with UW-Milwaukee music faculty. Watching the professor’s direction–constant interruptions changing bow position, tempo, and phrasing–reminded me what skill acquisition and improvement requires. Each student opened themselves to the master, trusting and following his instruction with small yet profound immediate results.

Well hello and howdy to you too, Universe.

**

III. We can never go back to before

Thankfully I narrowly escaped serious-ing myself out of trying another lesson.

The second teacher is a mom of two boys, like I am. She met her husband at a theater, like I did. She lives right in my neighborhood?!?  Well played, Universe.

Her resume intimdated me, until about 15 seconds after meeting her. We connected immediately. We laughed a lot. We teared up over creativity, midlife, and motherhood. She complimented my breath capacity and range, and I gave myself a midlife high-five. I might not be as slim as I was in my twenties, but I’m in hecka slammin’ shape. We shared a singer’s shorthand about what do where with the voice and the music, her confidence firing-up my own. She lit up saying “it’s so fun to work with someone who knows what they’re doing.” Then this gem that could’ve gutted me, but instead filled me with excitement:

“It almost sounds like you’re trying to sing younger. We’re going to find your voice now.” 

CUE ENERGY FIREWORKS JOY FOUNTAINS OF ANN’S HEART

She nailed it. In my show I reached back to my voice twenty years ago, relying on twenty year old muscle memory, twenty year old roles, and twenty year old me. Forever stalled in ingenue land, I neglected to consider the power-mom roles and my own leading lady voice FFS!

My first assignment is “Back To Before” from Ragtime “We can never go back to before, we can never. go back. to. be-fore….”

If you know the show, the context of the song feels powerfully relevant today as white women become “woke.” The out of context meaning only now struck me as I wrote this post, however; back to writing, back to singing, back to learning. We can never go back to before, and I no longer wish to.

High five, Universe. High five, midlife.  High five leading ladies!! 

 

The post Back To Before appeared first on Ann's Rants.