Author: Dana

by

Life After Loss: Writing Through Grief

Alhough it’s been eight years, my mother’s death remains one of the biggest turning points of my life.

mom and me

Almost immediately afterward, everything became filtered through a new distorted lens. I felt like a book that had been torn in half. There was part 1, all that had occurred before my mom’s death, and part 2, what came after.

I remember feeling so raw and exposed that summer. My heart felt like it had been scooped out of my chest. I dragged myself through the days in a strange kind of stupor. Nothing looked or sounded quite right. People were too loud, too happy, too eager to offer advice about my grief.

One well meaning friend kept insisting I see a blockbuster comedy that opened that summer. It’s so hilarious, she said, it will make you laugh. But what she didn’t understand was I didn’t want to laugh. I wanted to hunker down inside my grief. I wanted to feel every stab of pain and every searing ache. Funny movies and even most fiction felt frivolous and unimportant. I turned to poetry when I couldn’t bear prose. I made scrapbooks and photo albums. I cried, a lot.

Grief was my work, and I stepped into it willingly. Not because I thought it was the right thing to do, but because it was the only thing I could do.

Recently, my friend Claire over at The Gift of Writing asked me to write a post about grief. I focused on how journaling connected me to my mother and helped serve as a conduit for my pain, both before and after her death.

Writing was the one thing I could do anytime, anywhere. It was where I could be completely honest about how I felt, with no one pitying or judging my process.

Please stop by if the topic resonates. I’d love to know what you think.

gift of writing

 

 

 

by

Asking for Help

This isn’t something I do. Well, not on a regular basis. I’m one of those, no, I got it, kind of people. Pride, foolishness, who knows. I could go deep and examine myself, but I’ll leave that for my future therapist (if I ever go back to one, ha). Let’s just say, for whatever reason it’s never come easily for me.

When my daughter was a baby, a colicky, screaming banshee, I needed help. In retrospect I see that quite clearly. Not with her – because, believe me, she was a handful – but for myself. The realization that I was in too deep came several years later and I wrote an essay about it, which will be published in the forthcoming anthology, Mothering Through the Darkness.

Recently, I found myself in a similar place. A rough patch in my parenting journey. Yes, it’s summer and my patience is wearing thin, but if I’m honest with myself, it’s more than that. My colicky little baby girl is now an artistic, sensitive, curious seven-year-old, and still as stubborn and challenging as she was as an infant. I used to call her my extreme baby, and, well now, she’s my extreme grown child.

The other day I was at my wit’s end. I lost my marbles, to put it mildly, and fell into a familiar cycle of self-loathing and despair. Except this time, I asked for help.

Not out loud, but in a note on my phone, which has become a makeshift journal of sorts.

And then, the very next day, this arrived:

hands free life

I am a huge fan of Rachel Macy Stafford and the beautiful writing on her blog, Hands Free Mama. She writes so eloquently about parenting. All of it, the messiness, the shame, and the infinite possibility. Her advice always hits a nerve for me. I even bought her bracelet this winter because I hoped seeing the reminder on my wrist, Only Love Today, would help ground me.

bracelets

Recently, I happened across a Huffington Post article on Facebook that I hadn’t read before called, Manager in My Home, which is about her moment of transformation from manager to nurturer. After reading it, and recognizing my tendency to try to control and rush through the days, I realized that I have yet to put her wisdom into practice.

When Rachel reached out to me on Facebook a couple months ago and asked if I’d consider reviewing her new book, Hands Free Life, I was stunned and moved. YES. Sign me up, I said. The truth is, I haven’t read her first book, Hands Free Mama, though it has been on my to-read list for almost a year.

I think part of me was hesitant to buy another self-help style book. I’ve been through quite a few in the parenting genre. Another part of me was afraid. What if her advice didn’t work? What if I was too far gone?

But after digging a little deeper, I think the real truth is this: what if I had to actually work to make change happen? 

It’s one thing to buy a bracelet and admire another’s work, but quite another to change your life.

Well, I’m ready now. I’ve already ordered a copy of Hands Free Mama (which you can get a free ebook of if you preorder her new book), and I’m a third of the way through Hands Free Life.

I’m soaking it up like a sponge. I’m already starting to make changes in my parenting style, in my life. Let me be perfectly clear – I’m a long, long way from shaking off all my bad habits, but I’m finally willing to try.

I’ll be sharing tidbits of knowledge from the book along the way, and also writing a review closer to the September 8th release. Please note that I’m not getting paid in any way to promote this book, though I did receive a free copy. I don’t usually review books at all here, but this book literally arrived at my doorstep at just the right moment in my life.

Are you familiar with Hands Free Mama? If not, let me know what you think if you end up checking out her blog. I also loved her latest moving post about making appreciation jars for her family on the eve of her surgery. I’m definitely going to make them for my kids, maybe even before summer ends…

Speaking of which, I hope you’re enjoying your summer! The school year is right around the corner, which fills me with excitement or dread, depending on the hour. Knowing myself, I will be in full nostalgia mode, despite all the challenges of this summer. Because that’s the way I roll.

by

Sharing Our Stories

The final installment of my series, Unpacking Your Creative Life, is up on The Gift of Writing. It was my favorite one to write, focusing on the importance of connecting with other writers and sharing your work.

gift of writing

Writing is crucial to success, of course, but if we don’t have company along the way, we are more likely to walk away.

“It is deadly to be without a confidante, without a guide, without even a tiny cheering section.”

– Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés

I am so grateful for the community of writers I’ve met online, here and beyond, some who I’ve never met, but feel as dear to my heart as those I’ve known for decades.

Yes, it is vulnerable to put your work out there for others to read (and in this day and age, instantly respond), but that’s why having supportive friends is crucial. They will be there to lift you up when the world pushes you down. They will remind you of what’s important – your story, your truth – and to ignore the white noise of those who don’t understand or enjoy stirring up trouble.

In the spirit of sharing, and most certainly vulnerability, here I am at the 2015 Listen To Your Mother Lehigh Valley show.

by

Motherhood is Obliterating

Why didn’t anyone tell me this? Is it too much of a buzz kill to mention that possibility in childbirth class?

I’m pretty sure I would’ve benefited from a head’s up.

I was, utterly, unprepared for motherhood.

But that’s pretty much all of us, isn’t it? No matter how many classes we take on birthing a baby, or that useless one about infant care when they teach you how to diaper a doll, we’re all air dropped into a foreign country when it comes to new motherhood.

This November, an essay I wrote about my post partum experience will be published in an anthology aptly titled, Mothering Through the Darkness (She Writes Press, created by the HerStories Project). It’s now available for preorder.

MOTHERINGTHRUDARK (1)

For months I hesitated to write my story, let alone submit it, because I didn’t know if it “counted.” Sure, I had a hard time as a new mom, but I hadn’t been diagnosed with postpartum depression. I hadn’t sought help.

Looking back, it’s clear I needed it. I wonder if I had read some of the essays in this collection, if I would’ve reached out instead of holing up. I don’t know. But I do know that I’m proud to be part of an anthology that broadens the spectrum of postpartum distress.

When I was pregnant I used to watch this ridiculous baby show on TLC called, “Bringing Home Baby.” There was something comforting about watching the new parents return home psyched but frazzled. The cameras followed them as they basically lost their minds.

But they always ended the show the same way, about six or eight weeks later, with everyone looking and sounding like they had gotten their act together. Every now and then I’d catch a glimmer in the mother’s eyes, a primal flash of fear, but then they’d cut to the cute gurgling baby batting at a mobile in her crib or sleeping in a bassinet. All was well. Show over.

But life doesn’t work like a TLC show (thank goodness, really TLC, you have gone downhill). It doesn’t wrap up neatly as the credits roll and the parents take their sweetly reclining baby on a stroll around the block.

Mine certainly didn’t, and I suspect, most don’t.

The early days with my baby girl.

The early days with my baby girl.

I still have no idea if I had postpartum depression or postpartum anxiety – an ailment I didn’t even know existed back then. But I do know that new motherhood kicked my ass. Hard.

Do you want to know what I wish I had known? (Hint: It has nothing to do with breastfeeding, vaccinating, sleep training, or any other hot topic parenting topics.)

How completely I would lose myself.

Not temporarily, but forever. The woman who left for the hospital with a baby contracting in her belly did not return that evening. A different person arrived in her place, holding a baby, with aching breasts and a sore battered body.

Perhaps if I had only known about the irretrievable loss of my old self and the necessity of forming a new one, maybe life after birth wouldn’t have felt so bewildering. Maybe.

Of course I’d heard the warnings, the catch all, “Nothing will be the same,” but people said that in relation to physical things, like my body and sleep.

The insinuations were that my life as a mother would be different than my life as a non-mother. I knew there was no going back to my single unattached self, but I assumed I’d slowly collect the pieces of my shattered identity as time went on.

I’d be able to write again, go out at night, visit with friends, and go on vacation with my husband. All this would be returned to me when the baby got older, learned to sleep (ha, try never), or went to school.

But what became apparent as time went on was that there was no milestone that would return me to my old self. I had to forge a new one.

This sentence in the August 2015 edition of Harper’s magazine article, “The Grand Shattering” by Sarah Manguso (author of Ongoingness, a book I just bought) sums it up:

“[Motherhood] is a shattering, a disintegration of the self, after which the original form is quite gone.”

Maybe other women realize this sooner, or maybe this isn’t a lesson everyone needs to learn. I imagine that some women find their way intuitively, or that the new self that motherhood creates is one they fall into like a warm embrace.

In an NPR interview, Jenny Offill, the author of the brilliant book, Dept. of Speculation eloquently states what I felt and continue to feel, which is that the conversation about motherhood is a little narrow.

She explains that when women speak about motherhood, the only other option besides pure bliss seems to be ambivalence. But for the women she knew who had become mothers, it was more complicated than that, “especially for women who had a great passion for some kind of work.”

“They were struggling to bridge the person they used to be with the person they were now, and that maternal love, which is quite fierce can be obliterating of what came before it.”

This line of the interview struck me with such force, as it gave voice to what I had been holding onto for years, the shameful admission that motherhood did not feel like bliss.

I loved my baby and my new life as a mother while simultaneously mourning the loss of my old life and struggling to reconstruct my identity.

I feel as though we are just at the cusp of this conversation about motherhood in the 21st century. I’m grateful to authors like Jenny Offill, Sarah Manguso, and Sarah Ruhl’s, whose book, 100 Essays I Don’t Have Time To Write, inspired my first post on this blog, for shedding light on the many nuances and complexities of modern motherhood.

If you’re a mother, how did you come through the other side? Did you feel the need to start over, or were you able to integrate your new identity in a different way?

by

Tapping into Your Creativity

“If you have a deep scar, that is a door, if you have an old, old story, that is a door… If you yearn for a deeper life, a full life, a sane life, that is a door.” 

– Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés

Photo Credit: hans pohl via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: hans pohl via Compfight cc

Part 3 of my Unpacking Your Creative Life series on The Gift of Writing is all about tapping into creativity. In the post, I detail 6 techniques that can help the stories flow. Here is an excerpt:

I’ve never bought into the myth that creativity is a gift bestowed on a lucky minority; nor do I feel it’s a mysterious force whose generosity we’re reliant upon. We all have stories, and I’m a firm believer in the tagline to this website, Your Story Matters. But how can we tap into our inherent creativity, especially after a break?

For me, the answer is simple:

We must feel, and feel deeply. Even those emotions that cause us pain. Especially those.

Writer Dawna Markova sums up this concept in her book, I Will Not Die An Unlived Life: “To be fully alive, we have no choice but to finally move closer toward what we usually veer away from.”

Emotion is like oxygen for the creative soul. It’s what breathes life into our stories, whether autobiographical or not.

Click here for the rest of the article and let me know what you think!

by

Opening Up the Boxes

The second part of my month long series about unpacking creativity is now up on The Gift of Writing.

After a long break away, the first step in returning is making a new commitment to writing. I’ve mentioned here before that I stepped away from my novel for five years (!). An extreme situation, for sure.

But every day that passed made it that much harder for me to return until – ironically, it became easier not to write. To believe my dream of being a writer was a mistake.

But that was a lie I told myself, based out of fear.

Click on over to read more about how I got back on track and how you can, too. I’d love to hear what you think, so please comment on the post if it resonates.

The gorgeous lake we've been swimming in while away this week in upstate NY.

The gorgeous lake we’ve been swimming in while away this week in upstate NY.

by

Unpacking Your Creative Life Series

I’m so excited that my month long series on creativity has begun on The Gift of Writing! It’s called, Unpacking Your Creative Life, and part 1 is all about reconnecting to your love of writing and starting again after a long (or short!) hiatus.

When Claire asked me to write a series, I was flattered, grateful, and nervous. I’ve written guest posts before, but never anything that had to sustain interest over a period of time. But what I discovered is that creating a series is similar to writing a story. There’s an introduction, an arc, a climax, and a conclusion. Once I chose a theme, one I’m quite familiar with, I’ve had a lot of fun working on it.

I was inspired by my own writing hiatus (ahem, new motherhood) and some of my favorite craft books, including Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés and Still Writing by Dani Shapiro.

My goal is that this four-part series will offer help and solace to writers who feel stuck or frozen, as I did after the birth of my first child, though new motherhood is just one of many reasons why writers stray from the page.

I remember questioning my life-long dream of being a writer. I seriously considered giving up. This crisis shook my core, and it took a lot of soul searching, some sessions with a wonderfully intuitive life coach, and of course writing, to find my way back.

I’d love to hear what you think, so if the topic interests you, pop over to Claire’s site and leave me a comment.

In the meantime, I’ll be a little quieter over here while I dig into the revision process of my novel. Spending two magical days at Highlights helped me finish my draft, but that was only the first step.

My goal is to complete this first content heavy revision by summer’s end. A lofty goal, perhaps, but I did some math (I know, crazy) and if I can edit about 45 pages a week, I’ll make it happen.

My daughter is helping me keep track with revisions. Who needs an app when you have an artist?

My daughter is helping me track my revisions. Who needs an app when you have an artist?

Then comes round 2 and 3, but each one brings me closer to the moment when I can pass this albatross, I mean novel, over to my beta readers.

Being a writer means never giving up, even when you’re at your lowest point, but I honestly couldn’t do that without your help. Readers of this blog and all the wonderful friends and fellow writers I’ve met along the way. Thank you for keeping me company on this journey! I’m rooting for you, too, because we’re in this together.

Enjoy your summer!

summer kids

by

Highlights Return Trip (with a Podcast Playlist)

road

My writing retreat began on the road.

When you haven’t spent a night away from home in seven years, you need to make every second count.

After a tearful goodbye to my family, I started my drive to Highlights Foundation in Honesdale, PA. It’s funny, and a bit crazy, how much I trust GPS. Because it’s on a screen in my car, I put my faith in a strange woman’s soothing voice as she guides me, one turn at a time.

Strikingly similar to how I’d been writing my novel, one scene at a time. (The only problem was, I still didn’t know how it was going to end…)

Though I was eager to enjoy some podcasts, I gave myself an hour of quiet (not counting the GPS lady) to let my brain open to all the possibilities of this trip. The drive was beautiful and familiar, since it led me down some of the same roads I took to my Listen to Your Mother show in April. Along the way, I passed cluster after cluster of tiger lilies, a flower that always reminds me of my mom, and I felt as though she was traveling with me, and cheering me on.

tiger lilies

Photo Credit: Selbe ❤ via Compfight cc

Once I hit the highway, I fell into podcast bliss, enjoying a 2012 interview with Maria Popova of Brain Pickings (because I can’t get enough of her brilliant mind and melodic Bulgarian accent) and half of Cheryl Strayed‘s NYPL interview. I was unexpectedly impressed with the latter, in part because I haven’t read much of Strayed, except for her famous Dear Sugar column, Write Like a Motherfucker.

If you’re a writer and haven’t read it, you should. If you loved it, then download this podcast right now.

I readily admit to being wary of Ms. Strayed, through no fault of her own. I’m just inherently suspicious of books (and anything, really) with insane media coverage. (It took me a couple years to read Harry Potter, for example.) But now, I’m utterly won over by her wisdom, honesty, charm, and humor, and I’m totally going to read ALL of her books, even Wild, especially Wild, which I had zero interest in up until now,

The funny thing is, one of my favorite moments was when the interviewer quoted Elizabeth Gilbert (who I read before she became crazy famous) about how to handle self-doubt when writing a book:

“I never said I had to be a brilliant writer. Just a writer.”

Yes. What a simple yet freeing concept. As I drove to my writing retreat, I thought again of my goal to finish my draft and thought, I don’t have to write a brilliant ending to my book, just an ending. 

This next quote made me laugh, and I immediately wrote it down (don’t worry, I was in traffic):

“It’s not the world’s fault you wanted to be an artist. Now stop whining and get back to work.”

All writers have moments of self-pity, including Gilbert and Strayed, and I imagine, even Popova (!), but the difference between those who succeed and fail is not just talent, per say, but also persistence and grit.

If you can force yourself to keep writing despite all the voices in your head (and perhaps out of your head) suggesting otherwise – and if you quit whining – you have a better shot than most. This is essentially what Strayed is saying, though more colorfully, in her Dear Sugar write like a motherfucker response. (You might want to listen to the podcast just to hear that phrase repeated about thirty times. Worth it.)

Two hours later when I entered Honesdale, wiser yet also starving, my heart sped up, and I glanced at the time. GPS lady told me I was nearly there, but when I arrived at my “destination,” I knew immediately it was wrong. The Highlights Foundation was in the woods, not on a residential street in town. Fortunately, my wonderful writer friend Donna, had warned me about this, and I followed her emailed directions that thankfully led me to the right place.

highlights view

Highlights Foundation, view of the Barn. Not the most flattering shot, but hey, I wasn’t there to take photos.

After some initial bumbling, I walked up to the Lodge where I’d be staying for the next two days and saw this sign posted on my door:

highlights door

I made it. All I had to do now was write – and preferably like a motherfucker, since I had less than forty-eight hours to do so at this gorgeous, peaceful (um, except for that bear sighting) retreat.

And I did. It wasn’t easy. There were times I wanted to quit, moments when I was definitely whining (in my head, but maybe also a little at lunch on Day 2, thanks for listening Michelle!), but I put those podcasts to good use – as well as Dani Shapiro’s writing retreat advice – and made it happen.

That's me, doing the work.

That’s me, doing the work.

Not only did I finish my draft, but somehow, in that short whirlwind amount of time, I also managed to make a few fantastic writer friends, including my next door neighbor, Stacey, and hall mate Lori, who led me to my room that first day and then asked me to join an accountability group with some other “UnWorkshoppers.” I said yes before she even finished her sentence.

I had hoped to leave the retreat having accomplished my writing goals – and I did – but I didn’t expect to also leave with friends.

Me and some fellow UnWorkshop writers hanging in the poetry garden.

Hanging in the poetry garden with some UnWorkshoppers.

The irony (and how we writers love irony!) is not only that my GPS failed to take me the final leg of my journey, but my own internal GPS frizzled out, too. As I struggled to write the final scenes of my novel, my internal voice went from helpful and zen to pissy and mean, telling me to quit and stop wasting my time.

But I turned that noise off. I put on my sneakers and went for a walk, listening to Damien Rice until my ears rattled, and letting my emotions rise up. Then I went back to my room and wrote like a motherfucker.

The end.

What I looked like when I was done.

What I looked like when I was done. Happy, tired, finishing my Cheryl Strayed podcast.

Post Script: If you find yourself with time to spare and some writing goals to tackle, check out the Highlights Foundation UnWorkshop dates. You can sign up for as many days as you like, and for $99 a night, it’s a total bargain. You have everything you need to write and rest comfortably, plus the food is incredible (they also cater to various dietary needs, such as gluten free!). They have yoga some mornings and beautiful grounds to walk and muse when you need to clear your head (or in my case, stop whining).

Let me know if you sign up… maybe I’ll meet you there. I plan on returning. Soon.

*Bonus podcast: For more on writing perseverance, check out this wise and funny conversation between Elizabeth Gilbert and Ann Patchett at the New York Public Library

Also, if you have any suggestions for other writing or author related podcasts, please tell me in comments! I need MORE.

by

Leaving Home

In a few days, I’m going on a trip. Alone.

Two days and nights of solitude at the incredible Highlights Foundation (yes, the children’s magazine has a dreamy getaway for writers of all genres). Me, my laptop, and a stack of books.

Some of the lodging at Highlights. Oh bliss.

Some of the lodging at Highlights. Oh, bliss.

It doesn’t feel real. I’m in denial that it’s happening at all because – brace yourselves – I’ve never been away from my kids. Ever. Not for ONE night since my daughter was born seven years ago.

After giving birth to my son, I came home the same day. (Hey, I was high on hormones, what can I say?)

There’s plenty I could write about why it’s taken me so long to leave my kids, but that’s not the point of this post.

The point is, it’s happening now. I’m anxious and giddy in equal parts. I know my family will be fine (right, dad, right?!), and I think we’ll all be better for this small yet significant break, but I can’t help feel the weight of it.

My goal is to, finally, finish this novel draft. Maybe even work on a short story that has been brewing. I just hope I can live up to my own expectations. What if, upon arrival, with the days stretched before me, long and unencumbered, I freeze? What if I screw up this golden opportunity?

Of course, this is self-doubt creeping in, stealthy and sly as always. I’ve been doing this long enough to recognize the signs. Years of experience has given me the tools to shut it down. When I get stuck, I’ll get out of my little cabin and go for a walk or jog on the gorgeous woodsy grounds.

highlights grounds

I’ll grab a cup of coffee in the lodge and gain some strength from shared smiles and kind words.

One of my favorite writers, Dani Shapiro (please consider reading Still Writing if you haven’t already) recently posted some gorgeous photographs on Instagram of her recent writing retreat, along with these simple goals:

Writing

Reading

Walking

Thinking 

Connecting

That’s exactly what I’ll be doing the moment I leave June 22, the day after Father’s Day, summer solstice, and the eighth anniversary of my mother’s death.

This trip is a gift, a literal one, for my upcoming 40th birthday. My husband will take his own later this summer. We got the idea from some friends who celebrated their milestone this way. A few months ago when we decided to make our plans, I immediately knew what I wanted to do.

My husband was surprised. “Don’t you want to go to a spa? Get massages? Relax and unwind?”

“Nope,” I said without hesitation. “I want to write. That’s all.”

I’m lucky that way. I’ve always known what I wanted to do with my life, what I wanted to be. For years I wasted my time, or maybe I just didn’t have enough life experience, maybe it wasn’t the right time.

But it is now. I’m ready.

by

Diving In

pool

Summer is heavy breathing down my neck – and for some reason it’s not freaking me out.

Early next week school ends for my kids, and so do my two mornings of uninterrupted writing time. I’ll have to find new ways to squeeze in my work, which might mean a combination of getting up earlier, watching less Netflix at night with my husband, and giving the kids TV time-outs (ha).

Normally, this change in routine fills me with dread, but this year I’m feeling a sense of calm as spring winds down. I’m almost welcoming the forced surrender it will require.

If only I could stay this calm all summer long.

If only I could be this calm.

Last summer, before our big move from city to country, we bounced around like pinballs, living out of suitcases, but this summer we’re home. We joined a pool so the kids can stay busy and wet, there’s a beach trip scheduled for August, and a few weeks of camp mid summer, which will no doubt be a sanity saver.

But summer with two kids mostly at home means certain sacrifices will have to be made. Summer means loosening my grip.

It’s also an ideal time to reflect on my writing goals. Over the last few months, I’ve been feeling fragmented and scattered, due in no small part to an excessive use of social media.

In some ways, joining Twitter and Facebook has been great – I’ve made many new friends (not just the kind you tally up, but real ones) and discovered some wonderful blogs. But on the flip side, so much distraction has been, well, distracting.

Not simply because I can’t stop scrolling through my Facebook feed (although that IS a problem, just ask my husband) but also because I’ve discovered many more writing opportunities.

The good news is that I’ve picked up a few exciting bylines, most recently an article on The Mid that I wrote after a traumatic bathing suit shopping trip. I also have several articles out for submission, including another anthology. I’ve been honing my essay writing skills as well as my ability to roll with rejection.

But on the flip side I’ve been neglecting my novel and fiction writing in general. Writing essays for online publications is fast work compared to the long slog of a novel. If my piece is accepted, I’m rewarded with the buzz of recognition, and it makes me want more.

Which is all fine and good…except I’m not a freelancer.

I know it’s not all or nothing. I don’t have to choose sides, so to speak, but I do need to choose priorities. I’m still interested in writing essays and improving my craft, but I also want to finish my novel and continue writing short stories.

That is why summer is the perfect time for me to step out of the rushing river of social media and submissions, and give myself some space to examine my goals and dreams.

river

I love living along this gorgeous river.

I’m in good company, at least. Two writers that I admire greatly, Nina Badzin and Lindsey Mead, have both written blog posts in a similar vein. It’s important that everyone, not just writers, take time to step out of the busy pace of life to reevaluate and examine, to track their steps and see if they want to continue along the same path, or change directions.

My little guy at a crossroads.

I was listing to Krista Tippet’s On Being podcast the other day and was struck by something her guest, writer and thinker Maria Popova, said:

“Identity is this perpetual process, it’s like constantly clearing out and rearranging an attic, and it’s as much about throwing out all the furniture and trinkets that no longer serve us as bringing in new ones. In that sense, it’s just as important to continue defining who we are, is to continue eliminating who we are not.”

As I veer headlong toward my fortieth birthday, it’s actually something of a pleasure to dive into this self-work – this vital sifting of who I am, which I believe I’m better equipped to do now more than ever.