Tuesday, November 14, 2017
After tossing and turning last night, I awoke in a funk. This funk was oppressive, as if an invisible force field was pushing down, bit by bit, upon me. Perhaps it was the weather; dark, grey and very, very rainy. Perhaps it was the typical turmoil of too many thoughts racing around my mind. I felt flat; uninspired; almost lost.
Then I went to yoga.
Right across the street from my cozy apartment, a new yoga studio recently opened its doors. I have committed to a one-month introductory pass to not only investigate this yoga craze, but to also jumpstart my overall physical well being. The plan is that within a 30-day period, as many classes as possible will be attended. Not only will my awareness and knowledge of yoga increase, but perhaps the overall tone of my muscles might increase too!
Since last Monday (November 6th), I have been to 5 classes. My flexibility is improving; my muscles are not stiff and sore; and I am becoming more conscious of my breathing (as if giving birth to three children was not lesson enough on how to breathe!).
While my mind whirled around its funky self this morning, I walked across the street, entered the studio and opened myself up for whatever revelation might present itself. At the centre of my thoughts was my recently completed manuscript.
Let me explain: For the past eleven months, I have been undertaking a project of self-reflection. Haunted by ghosts of the past, the time was taken to stare down those ghosts and gain perspective of my previous life as 'wife'. I wrote a memoir.
The long and the short of the writing project was that clarity, perspective and peace were achieved with great success. The process of writing out my thoughts, emotions and analyses in the form of a memoir was absolutely invaluable. At times it was not an easy task, and tears streamed down my face as certain memories were recalled. At other times, memories produced bursts of laughter and rapid texts were sent to my children declaring, for the umpteenth time, how much I loved them!
46,000 words later, I burst across the finish line and happily announced that the manuscript was completed (first draft, mind you). Phew! I was extremely proud of my accomplishment.
That was back in August. Since then I have been to a writers festival, met so many amazing people in the book world, forwarded the manuscript (completely unexpectedly) to two publishers, and have had three different people read some, if not all, of the manuscript. After all of this, the next step was looming: Revision.
So, I wrapped my mind around the fact that I had to return to the keyboard. I started work on Chapter 1. I got about halfway through it when everything simply shut down. I felt as if I was walking in concrete (a feeling I had felt before during my time as 'wife'). There was absolutely no enthusiasm for the process any longer.
That literary 'shut down' happened yesterday. I could not focus. I could not make myself dive back into the pool of decades-old memories. I was forcing myself to write. Enthusiasm was at an all time low for this project. No wonder sleep came in fits and starts last night.
While at the yoga studio this morning, lying on my back at the end of class, rooting myself to the floor, an observation was noted: I was no longer certain what this manuscript was too achieve.
The reasons for writing in the first place were twofold: First and foremost, I was writing for Me. Secondly, I was writing for the one other woman out there who would be helped/inspired/encouraged by my words. From here the dream flowed: A manuscript would lead to a publishing deal; which would lead to speaking engagements; which would lead to another book. And so on, and so on.
Yes, my own personal thoughts and reflections have been written down; self-directed therapy, if you will. The next step, however, involves place a literary cap on my head and fully expanding on all those original thoughts and reflections. More details, more insights, more words demanded by a not-yet-known publisher and reading audience.
The simple fact is that I am not quite ready, at this moment, to put more, more and more into the manuscript.
This morning's yoga class made me realize that it is okay to put my writing on the back burner for now. The manuscript is done. 46,000 words have been written. I can move forward from that whenever I choose, and whenever the timing feels right. I took the pressure off myself and felt so much better afterwards.
This afternoon, I felt so incredibly light and content. I had obviously made the correct decision (which is why I took myself out for tea!). Here was, yet again, proof of why we all should keenly listen to our inner voices. 'Do what is right for you' is what my inner voice was telling me. I like what it said, and followed its advice.
The world is making a bit more sense today.
I'll let you know how well I sleep tonight!
In Flanders fields the poppies blow