Two days before I was to leave, I got sick with mini flu symptoms and then a fever. Less than one day before my intended departure, and after much heart and head wrangling about WHAT TO DO, I threw in the towel.
There is an annoying thing about me and decisions. I admire people who make decisions and never look back. Drop the past and move on. I count it as a weakness to be so frail in that area. So my decision not to go to Boston felt right for a moment or two, and then doubts crept in. My modus operandi is like this: make decisions, slam that decision like a small index card on the table, and walk away. Then, like a good sitcom, the camera stays in the room, showing me, walking out the door, resolved, paper solidly resting on that decision table. I return a moment later, a look of confusion and slight panic on my face, and pick up the paper to review the decision again. Cue the laugh track. Rinse and repeat.
I did not get to go to the Boston workshop. I did not get to sit in a room of writers and wannabe writers and be inspired by the likes of Jennifer Louden, Patti Digh, and Susan Piver. I did not get to remember what it is like to be 'single' (meaning without children) traveling alone, doing something just for me, exploring, learning, letting my whims take the day and do and be who I wanted.
I did get to sulk, to feel defeated, to stay in my very messy bedroom and ruminate over how life sucks. Instead of preparing for my flight, I was in bed. The wasband brought my eldest to the house to get clothes for the weekend and I had to say out loud, to their surprised faces, "I am sick; I am not going to Boston." I retreated to my messy bed, waited for them to leave, and cried. I tried to think, to set this right in my mind, but all I could do was judge myself and think I should have gone anyway and toughed it out. I took a few calls from friends and received support for not going -- 'but you are sick' and 'there will be other workshops'.
Sidebar -- I find life lessons from various sources. I can find a lesson in a TV show or movie, reading a wedding announcement, overhearing a conversation, reading a book that is not inspirational, listening to a ridiculous story then hashing it out with a friend. Since you now know two things that annoy me about me, I will say that seeing inspiration and stories in everyday things is one thing about me I love, and it is the reason I want to write. Life lessons reveal, and I suddenly have 'written' an an article in my head, in full, clear as day. And it is good.
I love to see how OP (Other People) handle struggles similar to mine, and I read blogs, books, and articles from successful writers to first, confirm that they, too experience similar struggles, and second to learn how their brain works and what skills and life lessons they can impart. Barbara Sher (Barbarasher.com), a master at showing others what they really want with their life, once wrote that even if you follow your dream, once arrived, you just may look around and discover it wasn't that after all, AND this counts not as a mistake, but an opportunity to now move toward the real dream. Meaning, if I follow my dream to move to France, and discover while sitting in my Parisian apartment, that I am not really supposed to be doing this, that it will be a good thing. We will see.
These types of life lesson gems are collected from my writer friends, who I have never met, my Internet blog friends, most of whom I have not yet met, and from my flesh and blood friends, a small tribe who are indispensable to me. I swirl them around in a (make believe) beautiful velvet bag, and pull one out. This process, this moment of hand-in-velvet-bag, is equivalent to the time when the tornado has just passed and all is quiet.
Reach in. Feel around. Close eyes. Choose. What does it say?
This time, Chris Guillebeau (Chrisguillebeau.com) saying when facing a decision, choose forward movement. Okay, I will move forward.
Pity party over, I had to decide what 'moving forward' looked like. I was starting to feel physically (and emotionally) better. My bathroom and bedroom were straightened and cleaned. The ensuing order soothed me, but I did not just miss a writing opportunity to stay home and clean. My next move forward would be to create a mini-writing workshop in my germ laden home. I noodled around on the Internet for inspiration, reading blog posts from people I follow, which led me to a blog recommended, then another blog, and I was off on a rabbit chase, clicking on blog after blog. Some had videos posted on Vimeo, affording me another layer of interaction with that blogger, watching her interview, or talk.
Who I discovered and who became my newest best Internet friends:
- Bindu Wiles (Binduwiles.com) who I recognized immediately as gay, with her hair piled on top, punk style, kind of shaved on the side, wearing a man's tie. I did not expect, as the video rolled, to come to know her as a gentle, strong, and soft soul who follows Buddhism, who took the name Bindu for its meaning, and that despite years of struggle and hardship, is a remarkably grounded and centered person. During the interview I watched, she pressed the need to be open, read good books, and gather so when the time is right, you will have all you need to get there. I loved her calm nature. I wanted to cash in the cancelled plane ticket to Boston for one to NYC to show up at her Brooklyn home, knock on her door and say 'c'mon, and bring your dog. I want to share a bagel and coffee with you."
- Dyana Valentine (Dyanavalentine.com) who had videos posted so I could see her in the flesh, and was awed by her open presence. She is beautiful and mesmerizing to watch with all that curly hair, speaking right to me, or better, interviewing people and actually letting the interview be about them and not her, which ironically says so much about her. One question she asks to all she interviews is, 'what are you really, really, good at', and although in my somewhat downward spiral, I could not answer that about myself at the time, I loved hearing person after person answer about themselves, authentically, without bragging. If I were a director, I would cast Dyana in my movie because I love the way she looks at the camera, her fearlessness in appearing before us in her bathrobe at 4:44 in the morning without any makeup, just because she had to tell us (me) that you (I) will get through this. More crying, but this time, of relief. Love you, Dyana.
- Danielle LaPorte (Whitehottruth.com) whose blog, called White Hot Truth, has a tag line "because self realization rocks". Amen. She uses words like 'epic' and 'prezzie' for present (which I got by subscribing to her blog). She writes so dream-like, and I was captured by her word choices. Reading her blog is like having a very satisfying meal. She, too, is strikingly beautiful. I then stumbled on a video she posted and watching it made my jaw drop, eyes widen. She is an Amazon, not because her body as big, but her spirit and her presence is so, so big and powerfully strong. I believe everything she says and everything everyone else says about her and know her as the real thing.
I did not get to go to Boston. I did get to learn and retreat in my small home in North Carolina. I did get to commune with inspiring people, even if it was virtual. I did get to create an inviting place to recuperate by moving forward to gain order in the room that is mine alone, and ignore the piles of yard sale item boxes in the living room, gathered for a sale previously cancelled due to rain. Let them stay. I can move forward with those obstacles around my home. I have moved forward in my internal struggle and discovery and my writing.
