I did a quick Google search and confirmed my sneaking suspicion: Good spelling is no longer important in America.

Enter ‘”why good spelling is important” and you’ll see what I mean. Four entries are retrieved, and not a single one of them is truly a defense of good spelling.

Maybe it’s the fact that I won the spelling bee in elementary school–triumphantly taking home my very own hardback copy of a red fabric-bound Webster’s Dictionary– but I really do still believe that good spelling is important. I find people like Jeff Deck and his Typo Eradication Advancement League to be nothing short of heroic.

I know. I’m nerdy.

As I’ve been thinking about why good spelling is important, none of the predictable, conventional explanations seem too relevant anymore. One doesn’t necessarily need to spell well to communicate his or her message. In fact, the sad fact seems to be that few people notice or care when a word is spelled incorrectly. Increasingly, no one buys the argument that good spelling reflects anything important about one’s intelligence, and few people accept the idea that good spelling indicates, at the very least, that the writer isn’t lazy and can at least run a document through spell check.

But here’s why I think good spelling is important. Good spelling affirms that you respect yourself, your reader, and your subject. Spelling well shows that you’ve taken the time to review your document, that you want to present your ideas in the clearest manner possible, and that you care about the reader’s standards (even if they’re low).

Above all, spelling well shows your respect for the power of language, its power to name and describe and explain. No, the world won’t fall apart (hell, it might not even notice) when you write “it’s” when you really mean “its,” but trust me, the world does become a little bit clearer when your spelling is as powerful and as precise as the message you want to convey.

For a few quick guides to common spelling errors–and how to avoid them–click here, here, and here.

Photo: dawn m. arfield (creative commons)

In one of my fantasy lives, I look like Frida Kahlo.

Without those mad, wild eyebrows, of course.

I don’t imitate her style, exactly, but I’m not afraid to wear cuff bracelets and chunky necklaces with stones that look like they were freshly mined from the earth and rough-polished. I’m not afraid to wear colors that stand out in a crowd. I put flowers in my hair as if it were the most normal thing ever, and I wear rebozos and indigenous prints stitched by hand in rich-colored threads woven into deep dark velvets. I call attention, in a good way.

In my real life, I’m non-descript: happiest in a worn-in pair of jeans, an earthy colored tank top or cotton pull-over, a super comfortable pair of flats I bought for $20 at Target and which I wear with everything until the soles are thin. I wear my wedding band and nothing else. If I call attention, it’s probably for looking like a schlub.

“Look at her,” people on the subway probably say, “what a bland outfit. She must be a terribly boring person.”

If they only saw my inner Frida!

Sometimes, though, she creeps out. Yesterday I played dress up, layering blues and greens over each other so that my upper half looked like the sea. I wore earrings and a bracelet and an extra ring, and threw a mossy green rebozo in my bag just in case. No one noticed but me, but it sure felt good to play dress up.

Who would you be if you played dress up?

The singer Lila Downs, channeling her inner Frida so well:

Photo: califdweller (creative commons)

A few years back, I was participating in a motivational team-building session with people I hardly knew. We worked for the same company but were independent contractors who only got together once a year.

You probably know the kind of meeting I’m talking about: A peppy leader trying to convince everyone to muster up enthusiasm.

Little sandwiches cut into triangles sitting on a tray, wrapped in plastic, just waiting for eager hands to grab them and eat them while gossiping at round tables covered with cheap tablecloths.

Name tags with “Hello!” typed across the top of them.

Totally annoying colleagues desperate to make a good impression on a boss who never sees them.

I find these kinds of meetings terribly trying beacuse everything about them is so forced and so contrary to real, meaningful social exchange. But still, I tried to be the good employee and play along.

I listened as peers far more enthusiastic than I gave their level best to come up with an adjective that matched the first letter of their first name, one of the perennially popular ice-breakers. You’ve probably played this one yourself. “Jolly Julie,” I said when it was my turn, adding “I guess”… not very jolly at all.

And then the peppy leader introduced an exercise that I still think about from time to time because it forced me into a mindset that was incredibly powerful, even if it was only for a 10 minute team-building game.

“Ok! Here’s the deal!” the leader said, punctuating every directive with an exclamation mark. “We’re going to get into groups! Each group is going to brainstorm 20 inventions! They have to be crazy, though, like a toaster that warms your gloves! And every team member has to respond enthusiastically! Every person has to give support to the idea and envision how you would make this product and market it, how you’d make it happen! Ok?! Go!”

“This has got to be THE stupidest exercise ever,” I thought, rolling my eyes as we broke out into our small groups. Could I legitimately disappear for a 10 minute bathroom break?

But as the game evolved, everyone–including yours truly–got into it. To say yes to every idea, to recognize its potential merit, to search for the kernel of good in every single thing… it was powerful. When prohibited from dismissing an idea with a negative knee-jerk reaction, it was pretty amazing how quickly a “no” could be transformed into a “yes,” even with an idea that was totally outlandish.

If I could say yes to a toaster that warms your gloves, what might I REALLY be able to embrace in my life and, more importantly, embrace from other people? Once in awhile I remind myself to try saying yes. Yes to everything.

What if you did the same?

*
To read more about the power of YES, check out Misty Tosh’s fantastic website, www.bigsweettooth.com, and read “Y is for Yebo.”

Photo: Andy Welsh (creative commons)

The subtitle is misleading, actually.

I’ve been a lifelong people pleaser and probably always will be.

Don’t get me wrong: I know who I am and am not remotely reserved when it comes to expressing my opinion, but I love for people to be happy and to live their dreams and will do almost anything to make that possible.

My people-pleasing, though, has become selective. Back in the old days–before I quit the 9-to-5–I was more than happy to give my right arm if you asked, regardless of the reason.

Shortly after I was promoted to the assistant director of a mental health agency at the tender age of 23, I found myself going home angrier than ever at the end of every day.

How was it, exactly, that I’d gone from a therapist with a full caseload to an intake coordinator with a full caseload, to an intake coordinator with a full caseload and marketing responsibilities, to a middle manager with no clear job description AND all the foregoing responsibilities? (Oh, by the way, the increase in responsibilities did not result in an equivalent increase in cold hard cash). Didn’t becoming a manager mean you could begin to slough off the slop work to some line level employee?

My boss didn’t bat an eye as she told me the reason: “You always say yes.”

Note this as a “Eureka!” moment in the book of Julie’s days.

Or a “Duh” moment. Call it what you like.

As I sat in the typically unproductive weekly meeting with my boss known as “supervision,” I learned one of the most valuable lessons of my life: “Eight words,” she said. “Let me get back to you about that.”

Velda went on to explain that almost no one needs–or even expects–an immediate answer to a question that involves a serious reworking of responsibilities and plans. “In fact,” she said in one of those hard-to-listen-to moments, “people kind of lose respect for you when you always say yes. Especially when you do so right away.”

I was still turning that one over in my mind as she stared at me for 20 seconds with a long, searching, and–can I say, self-satisfied?– look that said “I’ve been using you this whole time!”

Since that day, I’ve become much more thoughtful about saying “Yes,” “No,” and “Let me think about it and get back to you.” I try to say “Yes” only when I know immediately and completely that what I’m being offered or asked truly resonates within me. I try to reserve “No” for those moments when I know, instinctively, that an offer or request doesn’t at all fit with who I am. And the magic words… they’ve come in handy. A lot.

What’s the best advice you’ve ever received? Share your experience in the Comments below.

Photo: Brayan Collazo Alonso

I remember when I worked in a cubicle and, later, in my own office (oh, happy day! To have my very own office!), and the biggest deal ever was to decorate that little territory and make it my own.

Poems by Pablo Neruda, by William Stafford, by Mary Oliver.

A quote from Stanley Kunitz’s poem, “The Layers”:

“I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.”

Back then, I was a psychotherapist specializing in creative arts therapy, so I had poems and drawings by clients on my wall. Funny notes from colleagues. Tasteful pictures of people I loved.

But now, I work for myself. I have my own little creative spaces wherever I go. Here in New York, my desk looks like the photo above.

Over my desk is a painting by Juan Antonio Picasso. On the wall are two pictures of Francisco and myself shot, absurdly, into the reflection of an Airstream trailer on display at MOMA. There’s also a note with the name and address of a friend’s boyfriend’s bar, a list of articles to edit for Matador, and a recipe for a drink that I clipped from Bon Appetit that I’ll eventually get around to making. Or not. I just like the looks of it there.

On my desk are books and journals with notes for projects done, in progress, or in the perpetual dream state. There’s the list of things to do, of course.

And then there are the items closest to me, the ones that have no value for anyone but me but which mean more than anything.

Inventory:
-Photo of Francisco and me in Boston: We’re both in suits. It’s very unlikely you’ll see us in suits again.
-Two shells from a beach in California: Souvenirs from a roadtrip in January 2008. The larger one still spits sand all over the desk. I don’t get it.
-Piano key: From a tour of the Steinway Piano Factory that Francisco and I took together a few months ago.
-Piece of granite in the shape of a heart: I found this in a fallow field in my hometown when I did an interview with the writer, environmentalist, and professor, John Lane, this past January.
-Empty cologne bottle: Even if Francisco hadn’t been the amazing person that he is, I probably would have fallen in love with him for this cologne. It’s an empty bottle of Miller et Bertaux, No. deaux. He bought it in a thrift store. We haven’t been able to find it since. If you do, let me know. For real.
-A cork from a bottle of Prosecco. Our first. I’m sentimental that way, you know?
-A little pot of ink for a real fountain pen: It’s called, not so nostalgically, Speedball. But I have a real ink pen and I use it.
-A Moroccan tile I use as a coaster for morning coffee and evening libations. Also a thrift store find.
-A letter from Cuba, written in 1981, which I found in the garbage: I found this in the garbage on my most recent trip to Cuba and it’s still cause for wonder: Who wrote it? To whom? Why was it in the garbage? I love it.

So here’s where YOU come in:

I’m endlessly fascinated by these types of details from other people’s lives, so if you send me a photo and brief description of your creative space, I’ll post it here. Don’t be shy and don’t say something silly like, “Aw shucks; my little space is a folding TV tray or it’s a neatly organized desk that no one would be interested in.”

I’m interested.

What does it mean to you? What do you do there? Tell us a bit about your space. What are the objects and what do they evoke for you each time you see them? Send me your stories (and a photo): writingjulie@gmail.com. I’ll post some of my favorites here as they roll in.