So, I Wrote a Book
It was late December of 2019. I had just moved into a new house and felt as if I was taking a great step in a new direction. I was cutting some energetic cords, making some new friends and getting ready to step into a great year filled with possibilities.
As most of us do, I reflected on what I might want out of the upcoming twelve months. I had decided to commit myself a little further into my physical therapy business to see just how well it could do. I wanted to re-discover some masculine energy and return to a healthy relationship with sports and competition. And I wanted to write.
More than that, I wanted to write a book.
I had been writing for Held in the Heart for over a year and felt like I was on a bit of a roll. The articles were flowing a little bit more freely and I was discovering a voice that I found to be openly cynical but quick to reflect on my curmudgeon-like nature. It felt authentic.
So I outlined what I thought would make up a good number of chapters and set the goal of completing the book in 2020. When January came, I think that I realized that a lot of my goals were at odds with each other. I was teaching ten yoga classes a week and taking on more clients and responsibility within the physical therapy realm. I tried to schedule time to write, but often shrugged it off in favor of other, more relaxing pursuits when the time came. I even convinced myself that writing a book in one year was way too ambitious of a goal, and that I would have to be a little more realistic.
Then March came. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know the story because you experienced it as well. The world shut down and we all holed up in our houses and apartments, locking our doors and praying that the virus wouldn’t touch us or those that we loved. And just like that, I had the time that I needed to write.
I’ve heard it said that you can manifest what you want in this universe simply by ‘calling it in.’
I really hope that’s not the case with all the damage that virus has done, but one way or another, the universe delivered two months of work free time to my doorstep.
I seized the opportunity.
But it wasn’t easy. The life of a writer seems pretty romantic. Slow mornings filled with coffee and sunshine. A neat and tidy desk with a view of palm trees always looking over your shoulder. It seems very calm and peaceful. I found it to be anything but that. The first couple of chapters rambled off easily enough. They weren’t much different than the articles that you’ve found on this site, albeit a bit longer in length. I mocked little things in the yoga-verse and then looped the end of the chapter to show that my own preconceived notions of what yoga should and shouldn’t be were just that. My own. I was making pretty good headway into the twenty chapter outline, but there were several chapters I had circled that were looming over me just like those palm trees.
The book isn’t a novel. It’s a collection of anecdotal experiences of my own spiritual path, and as I’ve said so often in these articles, that path is not always pretty. You can always tell when an artist is able to put something of themselves into the work. It’s amazing how apparent it’s absence is when it isn’t there and I didn’t want this book to have a trace of that. I wanted to dive deeply into how I felt about spirituality, philosophy and connection and in order to do that I had to face demons pretty regularly. The interesting thing is that in writing the book, I came to a bit of a realization that when creating art you don’t defeat your demons. You learn to work with them. You learn that this dark side of your experience is just as much a part of you as the light side and you wouldn’t be you without it.
In the cartoon show Avatar’s universe there exist the spirits of light and darkness, Raava and Vaatu respectively. At one point Raava explains that
‘He cannot destroy light any more than I can destroy darkness. One cannot exist without the other.’
It’s the classic yin-yang relationship of all things. Without the experience of cold, there could be no hot. Tall only exists in its relation to short. Life exists in its relation to death. Existence to non-existence.
So my writing did not help me to get over any of the issues that I’ve encountered.
Instead it made me embrace them. The first was an intense case of imposter syndrome. I mean, who the hell am I to break down philosophical and religious concepts and teach them in my own way? I have no religion, at least not one that I belong to. I don’t really have what I would call a teacher, though I’ve learned so much from so many. I also haven’t taken an English class since high school. If you think you know how to use a comma, send your manuscript to a professional editor and see what comes back. It’s pretty crazy. I’ve never really felt like a writer. I’m just someone who writes. I had to constantly remind myself that this is all a writer is. Luckily I had some friends remind me of the same.
I also had to come to terms with the fact that these writings would be shared with anyone and everyone who wanted to read them. Now who knows, that might just turn out to be friends and family who are doing me a solid by buying the book. But what if it’s a hit? What if I step into the space of a best selling author and wind up on Ellen talking about my experiences? That’s a certain type of vulnerability that seems to be absolutely terrifying, but once again pulling quotes from thin air, I believe it was the Buddha who said, “Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon and the truth.”
It took baby steps to get more comfortable. My content editor is a good friend. It felt fine to share with her before sharing with anyone else and when I couldn’t figure out what the hell I was trying to say, she guided me in the right direction. Then three more friends stepped up to read the final copy and provide some endorsements for the back cover. This slow method of sharing my vulnerable pieces allowed me to see that I was in fact just sharing my own truth. It was no different than the life I was living on a day to day basis. I was just saying it. One by one the pieces started to fall into place and the dream of this book started to become a reality.
And now that little dream at the beginning of 2020 that started out as no more than a scribble in my journal is a reality. A year’s worth of work, self-doubt and self-discovery followed closely by six months of attempting to navigate an industry that I had accumulated exactly zero experience in, and we’ve got a book. My friend referred to it as ‘The Misfit’s Manifesto’ and I really like that. Admittedly, I am a sucker for alliteration, but that’s also really what it is. I’m not a priest or a guru or a master of anything. I change in and out of religions and philosophies as easily as I’m changing t-shirts.
And I’m only a writer because I sat down enough times to write it.
Maybe there’s a message in there somewhere. Anybody can do anything if they have the discipline to commit themselves to it. That’s a promising and terrifying thought at the same time. It’s the reality that you are the only one who could possibly hold yourself back from anything. You’re probably holding yourself back from something that you’d like to do right now. I know I was and when things started to get difficult I gave myself every excuse in the world as to why I couldn’t do it.
But if you’re willing to follow me all the way back to the first article I ever wrote for this site, I believe that you are the one and that you can do whatever it is that you’re thinking about doing if you simply just begin. Take it from me.
After all, I am a published author.
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(She/Her)
The gal behind Held In The Heart. The Community Journal is a space for those who feel deeply to express freely. We explore all sorts of things here, from the real & raw healing stories & creative writing, to the funny & fleeting moments of everyday human life. I warmly welcome you and invite you to explore with us!