In 2003, I stood up in front of a room full
of people and said, blind with fear, "I intend to become an author and a mother." I made an action plan -- ok; I made 20 or 30 action plans to increase my odds -- and then I let go.
The
next six years were spent holding these intentions lightly in an open palm and
feeding them day by day with love, respect, gratitude, and a whole heckuva lot of hard
work. There were, of course, no guarantees that either would happen; only faith. Just as my fertility window was beginning to look more like a pinprick of light at the end of an ever-elusive tunnel, I met my husband-to-be. Six months later, I signed my first book contract.
In late 2008, my baby was born; in early 2009, my book was born. (Pregnancy and post-partum for both dovetailed; thus, I like to
call them my multi-media twins.) The twinkle in my eye quickly transitioned to bags under my eyes as I learned what these two new great gusts of love tearing through my world would require of me. I am happy to report that my book slept through the night right out of the gate. My son is taking a bit longer to work out the kinks in his nighttime regimen. (You can read the full, "How I became an author and mother" story in far more detail, if you are so inspired, in my "Articulate Conception" column in The Writer Mama zine.)
Worn out, completely depleted of memory, months behind in acknowledging Important Events in the lives of my friends and family, and barely on top of the piles on my desk as I work full-time, teach, lecture, raise my son and support my family, I am grateful every moment of every day for this bounty of good fortune that has run me ragged this year.
Today I am 40 years old. I step into this next decade with a reverence for the pain and grace of the unknown. I enter it with a trust that hard work + intention + not-grasping has a kind of alchemy that is thankfully far beyond my comprehension. Most of all, I am grateful. For every obstacle and opportunity that has shaped me. For the incredible wealth of love and friendship that surrounds me in my home and my community. For my health, my hands that type, my mind that is willing and that source I tap into every now and then that serves up words that thrill me, surprise me, change me. Dear reader, I am grateful for you, the listener completing the circle.
I raise a glass and a pen to all of us who have the courage to dream big, risk flopping, do plenty of flopping, then get right back up and keep on trudging (and dancing and skipping) forward in service to the vision of who we intend to become and the life we intend to live.
Amen.
