At the end of October, I left my home seeking clarity. Cue the Indigo Girls. I spent a week in Vancouver, Canada to see a friend and to hang out at the Vancouver Writers’ Festival. I returned with my suitcase bloated with more books than were reasonable, I made notes, I tried to be observant, tried to shift perspective, but still some part of me was disappointed. Where were my eat, pray, love insights?
After over a year of maladies and burnout and just utter bewilderment about my path forward, I impulsively scheduled eight days away from hearth and home. I walked a zillion miles, rode the Skytrain, buses, and ferries nearly everyday and made myself monastic meals in my hotel room. I enjoyed the festival for the literary conversations about the state of the world and the stories that we tell. I met a writing friend in person, with whom I’d been having weekly video calls for nearly six years. Shockingly, it turns out we both have legs. The trip was lovely and there are ideas that I’m still turning over in my head.
The greatest disappointment was that I’m still me, no matter what environment I plop myself into. I still have a low tolerance for crowds. I still sought the nearest hiking park, so I could be alone outside. I still kept to my little routines, my tea with some Duolingo in the morning, going to bed at the same time toddlers and grandmas do. It feels a little embarrassing to spend so much energy and money trying to create what one traveled to leave behind – a rut. I’d like to believe that my epiphany is resting quietly in my subconscious and that one day I’ll have a eureka! moment, although I suspect that my still waters don’t run that deep.
Perhaps the act of setting out to travel alone, as I’ve not done in years, was the epiphany. That act, that decision to leave behind the familiar and to look only after myself was a little daunting. After years of being a wife, mother, daughter, friend, I had vague recollections that I’m a competent, curious fully-formed human out in the world. Feeling that way again, alone among strangers, but still capable of navigating and finding my own space, was a reminder to me that I am still that person. I have not been diminished by caregiving; my energy was not finite. I still have more than enough to be present for others while cognizant of my own needs and desires. So what are those? For me, it’s always been learning and growth, but I’ve discovered a predilection for teaching and mentoring over the last few years.
I have been teaching beginning writers workshops to a small group of writers for the last three years. They were lovely people willing to be my students as I practiced and honed my online teaching skills. In January 2025, I will offer public online courses in an effort to provide accessible, affordable craft lessons and connect writers with one another. More about that eventually. In the wake of the simmering election fury, I’ve started to re-read Gene Sharp’s three book series The Politics of Nonviolent Action to prepare myself for a new workshop series I’m teaching next year called “Resistance Writing: Voice in the Age of Authoritarianism”. In a burst of oh-what-the-hell, I have also started applying for writing fellowships and residencies.
This is my 2nd, 3rd or 23rd career over the course of 45+ years. I rationalize my cluttered resumé by calling it research for writing – a lifetime’s worth. In making this latest shift, I try to remember that I’ve experienced more difficult or intimidating experiences. I low crawled with my M16 under barbed wire on the night fire range at Ft. Jackson. I did improv in front of strangers at a comedy club for a year, and spent 5 years sparring in Tae Kwon Do getting the hell beat out of my middle-aged body. And I spent a mind-numbing number of years in small management roles. Fully embracing writing and teaching as a career feels scarier, but I’ve done everything else. Lifelong procrastination of the one thing that might actually have staying power.
Lastly, I’ve re-entered the world of social media after starting-quitting-starting. You can now find me on Bluesky (@thegreenstudy.bsky.social). So far, pretty cool and managed to block the usual suspects. I miss the literary community from years ago on Twitter. I’m not particularly adept at short form quippy-ness, but I’m just doing what I always do. Showing up. Occasionally saying something. Slipping quietly away when it gets too noisy.
Wishing you a refuge of peace on this Sunday.
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