New Year, New Vow

Making the magic happen
Making the magic happen

I have a history with new year’s resolutions.  Namely breaking them.  And then swearing off them as I prefer not to do things I don’t anticipate will be successful.  In recent years I’ve played with intentions instead.  Feeling less pressure to do anything other than sit back and let the universe take the reigns and make the magic happen.

This year I’m going deep.  I’ve made a vow.  It all happened on New Year’s Eve in a mini meditation retreat at Insight LA in Santa Monica.

A few mornings before the retreat I was in tears about going. I had agreed to it.  Even been the person to initiate the registration after the invitation from JH had been sitting in my inbox for weeks (ignored by me, patiently waiting from her).  Still, there was some dread.  Some fear.  She had just returned from a month at a Modern Zen Buddhist monastery.  I’d been meditating 3 to 10 minutes a day… most days.  Could I keep up?  Was I good enough?  Was it going to be uncomfortable?  Was I going to be judged for my relative inexperience and my obvious lack of skill?  The answers my fear provided in order were: No. No. Yes. Definitely.

I didn’t want to go anymore.

I had already committed, through conversation with my naturopath, purchasing of a book, writing and mailing a check for a registration fee, and many many hours of discussion with JH, to a different relationship with my body in the new year.  I was going to be participating in a group who, along with me, would remove all grains and sugars from their diets and explore the changes to their spiritual body as a result.  My confidence level was high going into this new way of life.  Even though I had NEVER been successful at implementing anything like it before, I was certain I could do it this time.  And I was sure that SOMETHING was going to come up in the silence of meditation that would shake that confidence.  I was dreading it.

We went.

The retreat opened with the teacher guiding us through a ritual.  He explained that the bodhisattvas made vows daily.  Vows to take on the suffering of all.  Something like:

However innumerable sentient beings are, I vow to save them.
However inexhaustible the defilements are, I vow to extinguish them.
However immeasurable the dharmas are, I vow to master them.
However incomparable enlightenment is, I vow to attain it.

These vows give them direction.  When repeated daily, and worn with a protective garment (for them, their robes – for us, knotted blessing cords) they provide steady guidance toward the fulfillment of those vows.

And then, without the need to take on any more than what causes our own suffering he invited us to make a vow that will set the compass of our hearts.  With my eyes closed and my breath at the forefront of my attention the vow came easily.  I vow to value, prioritize, & choose (above all else) WELLBEING for: my body, mind, & spirit; those of my family; loved ones; & those whose I may encounter and can impact.

Red strings were passed around and knotted, first for the belief we hold most dear, second for compassion, and third for our vow.  We tied them on and knew them to be for our protection.  Protection from what?  For ourselves of course!  The rest of the evening was spent in silence.  And in the remaining hours of meditation I did not suffer.  I soothed myself when soothing was needed.  I felt my heart take the lead and set direction toward my vow.  I connected to the power within me to live without suffering.  And the new year rang in with a soft bell, a tearful smiling kiss with JH, and hope.

Happy New Year.  May you find what you seek in the silence when you turn your attention to your heart.

Coming Back Together

Four weeks and one day ago I posted on Facebook about my partner, Jennifer, going away:

10472870_10153280886797199_608391853439433533_o“I believe that the relationships we draw to us provide us with opportunities to learn, grow, heal, and process through that shit we call karma. A big chunk of my karma is related to abandonment. I have feared it. I have allowed myself to be a victim of it. 

And so, of course, I have a partner who leaves. First for a weekend, then 5 days, 7, 9… Now for a full 35! But she comes back. And she and I are both better for it. 

She makes it safer by leaving me delightful treasures… and this time, for our sweet boy too.”

I’ve opened all the cards (each of the colored envelopes had a drawing with a word that describes me.  I cried every morning that week. <3 ) and there are now four more sleeps until she comes back and I’m finding myself confused by my emotions.  I am not in a state of actively “missing” her.  I feel her absence but it hasn’t destroyed me.  I am more nervous than excited about her reintegration into our family home and I feel guilty for that and so the shame spiral begins…  Or, I can stop it right there and look for the lessons and see if it can all make sense.

How to begin?

First, I apply curiosity to this state I’m in.

Did it hurt too badly to long for her so I didn’t let myself feel it?  No.  I let myself feel it.  I spent plenty of time wrapping myself in the sleeves of her robe, sobbing and letting the waves of fear and pain crash over me.  Every moment?  No.  Sometimes I have to work.  But enough.

Do I have a threshold for staying interested in things outside of myself that maxes out at three weeks?  Maybe.  I should try applying that to sugar and cheese… perhaps if I distance myself from those for three weeks I won’t miss them either.  If my interest does wane that quickly, that’s good to know… I am more than a brain with typical functions though.  I get to rise above a neurological tendency and choose to bring her back into my life.  And I do so with enough care and thoughtfulness that it incites nervousness.  I want for both of us to have been better from this experience which means reevaluating patterns, habits, and rituals… shedding what hasn’t served us and bringing in new.

Is this a sign that I’m better off alone or we aren’t meant to be together?  Its possible, but not likely.  I have no disdain for her nor displeasure at her return.  I haven’t been lavishing in her absence.  Instead, perhaps, the information here is that a relationship doesn’t need to look like what I’ve assumed it did.  It can have distance.  And time.  And space.  And both people can change.  And it can still exist.  And be healthy.

Did I find myself filling the space she left behind with things that are more nurturing of me than our relationship?  I went to bed early a lot.  And I binge watched a lot of TV including two seasons of “Married at First Sight.”  I spent more time with friends than usual.  I cleaned and organized a few closets.  I sold a bunch of stuff on eBay.  Those last three are keepers…

Do I need more time because I failed to turn this five weeks into an epic weight loss and other “get life in order” spree?  When life isn’t as fucked up, it doesn’t need as many overhauls. There wasn’t any pressure to “get it together” this time.  I did a lot.  I gave a TEDish talk on a white paper I wrote, I made a halloween costume, I managed the household (that’s usually managed by her) while still being present for the kid, I did the job of four people while my team changed at work, I didn’t get a promotion I thought I was going to get, I widened my circle of support seeking love and encouragement and found it, I got a different promotion, I ate vegetables every meal of every day last week, and it’s nice to have realized that I’m ready to be and do what I need to do for myself to be well whether someone else is around to watch or not.

Second, a little celebration.  If nothing else, this state I’m in seems like a victory over codependency.  I don’t know that our relationship was codependent (I tend to avoid that word because of my disdain for it), but I’m confident now that it isn’t.  I exist as independent.  She exist as independent.  We’re co-independent.  How’s that?

Maybe what I haven’t let myself feel is the bigness in the little things.  This wasn’t as hard as I thought it wasn’t going to be.  I accessed a lot of tears, but they were cleansing… and I welcomed them.  I continued to show up as the parent I want to be and enjoyed it (which is actually pretty big).  I didn’t become a whole new person…  and I’m glad, because I like the me I bring into the world every day.  I want to continue to be her, and just learn a few more things.

I’m ready for you to come home, babe.  I’m ready for us to be who we are.  Authentic and together.  Like we always have, but with room for both of us to be a little different.  <3  Also, the kitten needs her nails trimmed and I’m too afraid to do it.

It’s not as romantic as the movies because it turns out I can live without you.  I just don’t want to.

Let’s Make Up Good Stories

Thank you for the warm reception back to the inter webs friends!  It was quite heart expanding.

My commitment to myself has already wavered, as things tend to do when I don’t put them in my phone as calendar appointments or reminders.  But the good news is that as soon as I realized I had been forgetting to pay attention to myself (my commitment to myself was a minimum of 5 minutes of daily singularly focused self attention: could be blogging, drawing, meditating, walking, etc just has to be intentional), I decided to blog.  Back.  On.  Track.  Woot!

sky through treeMy family just returned from a road trip up to Oregon and back home to Los Angeles and it was lovely.  I wasn’t sure if I was a road trip person.  The road trips of my youth were forced, awkward visits to grandparents I didn’t know how to appreciate when I could or sick dad consolation prizes that felt scary and unnerving.  And I often have a lot of anxiety about visiting other people.  I worry that I won’t spend the right amount of time making it worth their while.  I’m worried that my family (JH and The Boy) won’t like the people we’re visiting and they’ll be uncomfortable and then I’ll be uncomfortable.  I worry that I won’t know what to say or how to act or basically anything required to be a social being.

And on this trip, somehow that magically faded away.  We spent every night in the bed of someone generous enough to offer us one, after eating the dinner they made for us, and departing on the breakfast they made too (people are SO generous)!  And I didn’t go into it knowing how the exchange of energy was going to work.  But instead of fretting about “making it worth their while” I just let myself show up, be kind, and wait for the gifts to be revealed.  And they were!  We came and took sleeping space, food, water, and air and in return we gave conversation, meditation sessions, a playmate for siblings who usually have just each other, dishwashing, vacuuming, hugs, love, and authentic presence.  And it was more than enough.  And I never worried that it wasn’t really.

And I was reminded of something my great friend, JM, says, if we’re going to make up stories in our heads, let’s make up good ones.

The story I used to have in my head about traveling/visiting was one where I was a “taker” and other people “givers” and that being the opposite from my usual role in life… was not something I could take.  The stories our minds make up are intensely convincing no?

Just before the trip I realized I couldn’t find The Boy’s iPod (and he was leaving on an airplane with his Nana the next day and “needed” it).  I used the magical “find my iPhone” feature on iCloud and got cryptic readings about whether the device was connected to the internet (it wasn’t, then it was, then it wasn’t, then it was…) and the location where it was last recorded.  And I, not recalling that I had taken it out of my bag in the car earlier and tucked it into the glove box, concocted an elaborate story in my head about how I must have dropped it getting out of the car, someone in the neighborhood found it, they were busy stealing it and connecting it to their internet connection when they saw the LOST message I sent to the device, so they shut it down, and turned it back on again in curiosity, and shut it down again out of nervousness.

And then I went to look in the car.  And found it.  And got a reality check.

If we’re going to make up stories in our heads… let’s make up good ones, eh?

xo
KM

Let’s Get Back To It, Shall We?

This blog started (at iwillwearsweatpantsinpublic.blogspot.com, and boy do I!) at a time of great transition  that resulted in great transformation.  And then I got tired.  Because transformation is EXHAUSTING!  And it’s a slippery slope.  If you do (try to do?) too much, it’s easy to get caught up in a cycle of invisible self loathing that only the self-help addict can so vehemently deny.  So, I took a break.  And I did great for a good long while (falling in love helps).

And now, nearly 4 years later I’m ready to start again.  No transition this time.  Still in love (thank you very much), on the upswing from a horrifyingly difficult couple of years in the parenting journey, and finding that I have wandered-without noticing-too far from myself.  I am immersed in my role as a mother (feeling damn good about it too)!  JH tells me I am a wonderful partner (and sometimes I let myself feel good about that).  But I’m doing less of what makes me – me… which I know will eventually mean that my capacity to be mother and partner will wither and crumble.  And I’m not up for that (again).

So we start anew.

JH asked me this evening as she was headed to bed what I was going to do for my alone time.

Huh? I inquired oh so eloquently.  We had spent the weekend talking, crying, writing, and more talking (and more crying) about our plans to take care of ourselves and I was newly committing to paying attention to myself.  And she was (at my request) going to help me hold myself accountable.  So, my “huh” was loaded with genuine confusion but also a fair bit of “oh dear, what do I have to do now…?”

“What are you doing to do as a creative/emotional outlet tonight?”

“Can’t getting through my to do list count?” <–this one’s me

“Nope.”

“I sewed shorts earlier, that was creative!” <–I’m grasping here.  I have a long list of things to do, it’s already nearly 10pm, and sleep is something I treasure.

“I don’t think you processed much emotion when you were making the shorts.  Did you?”

“No”

…and then the rest of this happened in my head.

“Do I have to do something EVERY day?” (whine, whine)

Voice inside head responds: “Do you have feelings EVERY day?”

“Oh.  Yes.”

So, I blogged.  That was it.  Emotions processed.

Nice to be back.  I’m sure we’re going to have a lot to talk about.

xo
KM

Don’t miss our next event

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed venenatis dignissim ultrices. Suspendisse ut sollicitudin nisi. Fusce efficitur nec nunc nec bibendum. Praesent laoreet tortor quis velit facilisis faucibus. Maecenas sollicitudin lectus diam, non vehicula arcu ullamcorper ac. In pharetra, est vitae interdum tincidunt, urna ligula rutrum tellus, sit amet pharetra purus magna eu enim. Sed iaculis imperdiet nisi, et pulvinar mauris gravida maximus. Phasellus vitae lorem at sem mattis volutpat. In eget dictum dui. Quisque nec sapien at massa mattis semper. Ut ac malesuada turpis. Fusce eu nulla vehicula, tincidunt dui ultrices, fermentum felis. Aliquam lectus nisi, feugiat ut aliquet sed, posuere sed libero.

Pellentesque consectetur massa nec nulla fermentum, at tincidunt elit volutpat. Duis vulputate placerat tortor, sit amet eleifend mauris tincidunt sit amet. Aliquam a maximus ligula. Phasellus nec sapien sed tellus tempor eleifend id a erat. Donec convallis bibendum posuere. Quisque mollis imperdiet malesuada. Suspendisse eget dictum massa.

Phasellus ac posuere nibh, in finibus nulla. In diam arcu, luctus sit amet condimentum sit amet, tristique et leo. Sed tincidunt justo a porttitor tristique. Nulla eu metus tincidunt, ornare magna ullamcorper, semper lacus. Quisque vitae porttitor odio, id tincidunt tellus. Fusce a suscipit eros. Proin sit amet risus fermentum, lobortis quam sed, consequat velit. Quisque sit amet ultricies lorem. Phasellus scelerisque ipsum eget ipsum posuere suscipit. Proin id molestie mauris, a venenatis ipsum. Quisque efficitur, nibh a dapibus mollis, metus tortor fermentum ante, non pellentesque mi magna non leo. Integer quis sem hendrerit, euismod dolor id, dapibus nulla. Maecenas non ultrices lorem. Pellentesque lobortis, diam eget feugiat lacinia, ante augue ullamcorper tortor, vel ornare sapien lacus pharetra quam.

A day at the office

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed venenatis dignissim ultrices. Suspendisse ut sollicitudin nisi. Fusce efficitur nec nunc nec bibendum. Praesent laoreet tortor quis velit facilisis faucibus. Maecenas sollicitudin lectus diam, non vehicula arcu ullamcorper ac. In pharetra, est vitae interdum tincidunt, urna ligula rutrum tellus, sit amet pharetra purus magna eu enim. Sed iaculis imperdiet nisi, et pulvinar mauris gravida maximus. Phasellus vitae lorem at sem mattis volutpat. In eget dictum dui. Quisque nec sapien at massa mattis semper. Ut ac malesuada turpis. Fusce eu nulla vehicula, tincidunt dui ultrices, fermentum felis. Aliquam lectus nisi, feugiat ut aliquet sed, posuere sed libero.

Pellentesque consectetur massa nec nulla fermentum, at tincidunt elit volutpat. Duis vulputate placerat tortor, sit amet eleifend mauris tincidunt sit amet. Aliquam a maximus ligula. Phasellus nec sapien sed tellus tempor eleifend id a erat. Donec convallis bibendum posuere. Quisque mollis imperdiet malesuada. Suspendisse eget dictum massa.

Phasellus ac posuere nibh, in finibus nulla. In diam arcu, luctus sit amet condimentum sit amet, tristique et leo. Sed tincidunt justo a porttitor tristique. Nulla eu metus tincidunt, ornare magna ullamcorper, semper lacus. Quisque vitae porttitor odio, id tincidunt tellus. Fusce a suscipit eros. Proin sit amet risus fermentum, lobortis quam sed, consequat velit. Quisque sit amet ultricies lorem. Phasellus scelerisque ipsum eget ipsum posuere suscipit. Proin id molestie mauris, a venenatis ipsum. Quisque efficitur, nibh a dapibus mollis, metus tortor fermentum ante, non pellentesque mi magna non leo. Integer quis sem hendrerit, euismod dolor id, dapibus nulla. Maecenas non ultrices lorem. Pellentesque lobortis, diam eget feugiat lacinia, ante augue ullamcorper tortor, vel ornare sapien lacus pharetra quam.

Just a simple post

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed venenatis dignissim ultrices. Suspendisse ut sollicitudin nisi. Fusce efficitur nec nunc nec bibendum. Praesent laoreet tortor quis velit facilisis faucibus. Maecenas sollicitudin lectus diam, non vehicula arcu ullamcorper ac. In pharetra, est vitae interdum tincidunt, urna ligula rutrum tellus, sit amet pharetra purus magna eu enim. Sed iaculis imperdiet nisi, et pulvinar mauris gravida maximus. Phasellus vitae lorem at sem mattis volutpat. In eget dictum dui. Quisque nec sapien at massa mattis semper. Ut ac malesuada turpis. Fusce eu nulla vehicula, tincidunt dui ultrices, fermentum felis. Aliquam lectus nisi, feugiat ut aliquet sed, posuere sed libero.

Pellentesque consectetur massa nec nulla fermentum, at tincidunt elit volutpat. Duis vulputate placerat tortor, sit amet eleifend mauris tincidunt sit amet. Aliquam a maximus ligula. Phasellus nec sapien sed tellus tempor eleifend id a erat. Donec convallis bibendum posuere. Quisque mollis imperdiet malesuada. Suspendisse eget dictum massa.

Phasellus ac posuere nibh, in finibus nulla. In diam arcu, luctus sit amet condimentum sit amet, tristique et leo. Sed tincidunt justo a porttitor tristique. Nulla eu metus tincidunt, ornare magna ullamcorper, semper lacus. Quisque vitae porttitor odio, id tincidunt tellus. Fusce a suscipit eros. Proin sit amet risus fermentum, lobortis quam sed, consequat velit. Quisque sit amet ultricies lorem. Phasellus scelerisque ipsum eget ipsum posuere suscipit. Proin id molestie mauris, a venenatis ipsum. Quisque efficitur, nibh a dapibus mollis, metus tortor fermentum ante, non pellentesque mi magna non leo. Integer quis sem hendrerit, euismod dolor id, dapibus nulla. Maecenas non ultrices lorem. Pellentesque lobortis, diam eget feugiat lacinia, ante augue ullamcorper tortor, vel ornare sapien lacus pharetra quam.

Musings on Memoir Writing

As I sit and reflect on the last six months of memoir writing I’m struck by how how much my landscape (emotional and environmental) changes over the six month period spanning December through June.

In January it feels dark all the time. Where the sparkle and warmth of the holiday season are gone they’ve left behind late sunrises, early sunsets and all around feeling of grayness in the skies and my mind. I don’t find the time to be as depressing as my description might suggest. I’m one to fully embrace the time to move slowly, look inward, and be still enough to spot the tiny seedlings of inspiration as they just break through the husk of their seeds or the line where the soil meets the air.

In June sunshine is abundant. The sun is up and awake before me and goes to bed just shortly before I do. At nearly 9pm the sky is still lit a bright indigo color even though the sunlight itself is no longer illuminating the air around me. The school year is nearly over and the excitement of Summer fun is in the air.

It’s as if the months of January through June are when the earth is inhaling. Taking a slow, deep breath filling herself with life giving oxygen. Going from being depleted into bursting alive with the most energy she will have all year. In July the exhale will begin, the breath cresting and pausing at the point where June becomes July and the promise of Summer becomes the sunburnt skinned reality of heat. The colors, while still vibrant, will be hyper lit as light bulbs giving one final flare before popping and burning out.

Writing a memoir during the inhale has been an exhilarating and sometimes painful experience. January’s slow pace allowed the rate at which my words flew from mind to page to feel like a mad dash to the finish. As the pace of the world quickened and the pace of my writing slowed I felt disturbingly out of sync with my surroundings. As earth’s lungs were filling to bursting with life and plants I’d never noticed before were blooming into magnificently colored flowers I wanted to give up. My writing was flat, dull, and gray. January writing in June. But in the power of the inhaling earth was the opportunity to come along at any moment. I was reinvigorated by a conversation with my coach and my writing bloomed along with all these flowering plants.

Beginning the month of June having written 49,000 of my 60,000 word goal I notice a spaciousness inside me that wasn’t there before. The pages of my memoir have been inhaling and taking from me words that give it life. As they near the point of fullness and need to pause, rest and begin the exhale I am frightened. I’ve never felt this spaciousness before, never lived without the words of this story residing my cells. What will do I now to feel full (besides binge eat junk food and pretend not to know why I’m doing it)?

I won’t. Fullness, while it was the goal or aim or sometimes unintended, but comfortably familiar result of my choices… is no longer the goal. Having emptied the story onto the page I choose to learn to live with the uncomfortable silence that’s left behind. Silence that was once white noise blocking out access to other stories, ideas, and experiences. It’s a whole new world inside my head now. Just in time for the earth to finish her inhale and begin the meandering exhale again. Pushing the old, used up air out and staying quiet inside to just listen.

I can’t wait to hear what will show up.

Do Your Best

TAKETIMEFORYOUThis past weekend I had the pleasure of giving the keynote address at the Women’s Wellness Retreat at Camp Arroyo, a YMCA camp operated by the YMCA of the East Bay.  90 women from all walks of life were in attendance taking the weekend as an opportunity relax, rejuvenate, pay extra care to themselves, connect, and take on challenges.

Arriving at camp, I felt intimidated.

I haven’t been having the smoothest couple of months.  It’s a time I would have described as “not being at my best.”  For reasons related to parenting, work, and life in general I’ve been pushed past my limits and out of my comfort zones. And I’ve reacted by stress eating, raising my voice, shutting down and worst of all: not writing.

As I started to get to know the ladies at the retreat, and not let them know who I was as often as possible, my old friend doubt joined the party.

“What do you have to offer any of them?” she chimed in.  “You can here to talk about authentic self care after months of putting yourself last… They’re already here, they already know everything you have to say.”

“Gee, thanks for your encouragement there, friend” I had the sense to respond.  “Your feedback isn’t welcomed right now, be on your way.” And she kept her voice quiet but showed up in my body in other ways (a stress dream about speaking after not having oreoared at all, anxiety in my stomach, chest, throat, shoulders, neck, and head…).  I continued to make it known that while I knew she was trying to help, I wasn’t interested in hearing from her by sharing my nervousness with a few new friends.  And when Saturday night came I stood up in front of the room and did what I had promised. And as it turned out, there were women there that needed to hear from me.

And reflecting about doubt’s contribution to the weekend got me thinking about what it really meanest to be at our “best.”

I think of my “best self” as the one who is compassionate, patient, kind, intelligent, creative, mindful, and committed.  And under stress, my capacity for all of those things is limited…  in some cases I seem to lose touch with those qualities completely.  I become judgmental, angry, rude, short sighted, limited, mindless, and want to give up and walk away.

Here’s the thing…  those things I described above, are not traits, they are feelings.  That best self FEELS compassionate where her opposite FEELS judgmental.  They are not me, and they don’t come and go… they remain static. All that changes is my sense of connection to them.  I am always my best self because I am always doing my best (and so are you).

Best is as good as it gets in the circumstances.  And how you and I show up in any room at any moment is our best.  It’s easy to look back and evaluate behavior and choices and say what we could have done differently… if we were truly able to, we would have.  Sometimes we do!  Sometimes we stop ourselves mid nag and change our language or tone.  Sometimes we change course when we’ve headed to dessert table for another helping and refill our water glass instead.  Sometimes we delete the text message we just typed instead of pushing send because we know sending it wouldn’t be helpful.

We do our best with what we have in the moment.

We are always at our best.

14,000 down, 46,000 to go!

My mom just emailed to ask if I’d been writing.  And I have.  But no one would know it.

The modern world has these benefits like: getting to stay caught up on your adult daughter’s life by reading her blog. I’m also trying to remember to call regularly. We’re doing okay with this combination of technology and good old fashioned talking. Mom would agree.

If I have been writing… but not as much here, which is true, I suppose this as good a time as any to explain why.

On December 30, 2013 I started writing my first (may it be of many) memoir. I’m taking a  course called “Write Your Memoir in Six Months” where the goal is…  I bet you could guess this: to write a memoir in six months.  After completing an Epic Adventure for Writers with Jo Anna Rothman I am renewed and joyfully stepping into my role as a writer.  I am finally ready to answer the call I was hearing all my life both when I sat down to pour my thoughts onto paper and then validated by the suggestion/recommendation to pursue writing by everyone close to me.  If only I had also gotten around to being a model when I was young and thin… alas.  This life works for me.

If you’re thinking it sounds intense… that’s because it is!  Writing a book in six months is essentially writing 60,000 words in six months.  10,000 words a month, 2,500 words a week, 500 words a day (if writing five days a week). It’s a lot.  It’s not easy to find the time–it has to be made.  And it’s not easy to do even when you have the time.

So far what’s come up:

  • Torrents of tears while writing about tragic events appearing in technicolor inside my memory
  • Inability to fall asleep because scenes I had not yet thought to outline were pushing their way out of my subconscious to demand their fair share of the word count
  • Viewing my current life through some of the lenses I wore as a child and younger adult and experiencing great distress and confusion
  • Intense sugar cravings (actually, that’s from coming off of sugar and refined grains as of Thursday, 1/16–not that I’m counting)

How do you get that much writing done (while still having a full time job, a six year old son–and, yeah, I’m a room parent–in first grade, a partner, a house, a vegetable garden started from seed on your kitchen counter, even a few friends…)?  I learned in my Epic Adventure that I thrive within a structure and that, in order to trust one another, my writer and I need to have firm commitments.  And this is what I created for myself:

January & February:

  • Write/work on the book for 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week.  Most likely: Monday-Thursday & Saturday, but that can be flexible
  • Goal is to write 500 words in each 30 minute sitting

March:

  • Write/work on the book for 1 hour a day, 2 days a week
  • Write a blog post once a week
  • Take one act of getting the word out about myself, my book, this blog… something

April & Beyond:

  • Still TBD
all of these bubbles will be filled in by June!  eek!
all of these bubbles will be filled in by June! eek!

And of course I need a visual reference to track my progress.  I found a printable number chart (meant to be used to teach kids to count to 100) and adapted it for my own use.  Each bubble signifies 100 words of writing.  There are 600 bubbles to fill in.  So far, I’ve bubbled in 140 (woot!).

The book is far from done, and still will be even when the word count is closer to 60,000.  I am just letting it flow right now.  I’m paying little attention to theme or style and I’m writing it the way it comes out.  I’ll go back in the developmental editing stage and look for the themes, highlight them, choose the right style and adapt as needed.  It’s going to be a long journey, but it’s going to be worth it.

Oh, you want to know what it’s about?  First, let me define memoir.  It’s a personal narrative.  A “true” story (meaning it came from real life, but who really knows the “truth” about anything), but not your whole life story (that’s an autobiography). It’s a slice of life.  My memoir, title yet unknown (hmmm… maybe that’s a good title), is the story of how I developed beliefs about where happiness would come from (a few key childhood events), sought happiness in that form, discovered I was wrong, and relearning–as an adult–that it comes in many different forms.  Even some I never would have suspected.

I look forward to you reading it.