Not So Wild Geese

Jesse and I, we went to Lexington, Kentucky for a few days this summer. We found and drank some good bourbon. We found a coffee shop with a sign that read, “Muggles Tolerated.” We found an Irish store the size of a leprechaun and I looked at Fishermen sweaters and we bought a bag of soda bread mix with a jar of rhubarb jam to go with it.

We walked through Kentucky University and I wore a blue and white checkered dress without realizing what the school’s colors are. I looked like a mascot, but it was also kind of fun pretending that I’m someone I’m not.

We found the bookstore and got t-shirts and books for Hadley and Harper. I am almost finished with a journal, so I looked for one in the bookstore. I bought a pack of Staedtler ballpoint pens and Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way instead. I’ve never read the book, or done any of the exercises and it seemed to be time, so I bought it.

“When in the world am I going to find the time to do this?” I asked Jesse as soon as we got back in the car.

He did not answer me because he was punching in directions to a place we could stop for lunch on our way back to Ann Arbor. He wanted to go some place interesting, which is one of the many things I adore about him – he will always choose the experience, he will always choose adventure, over routine and getting home on time.

He also did not answer me because he cannot. Only I can figure this out, and I don’t want him to figure it out for me, but it takes a certain amount of stubbornness and confidence and probably naivete to pursue – to constantly pursue – a writing life. If a writer needs a spine, my posture hasn’t been so great as of late.

What I decided was instead of working on my manuscript, I’d work on this course for the next 12 weeks. I don’t know if that is the right decision but something about this manuscript feels off and I’m not ready to give up on it, but whatever it is I have been doing in terms of book writing isn’t working anymore so I thought I’d give this course a try.

The first day was great, which also happened to be the first day of school for Hadley and Harper, so maybe I was riding off that fresh start vibe but then what happened is what normally takes me 10 minutes to get to work took 45.

There’s been construction on a bridge I drive over, and all summer it didn’t impact my commute but on the first day of school about a billion more people – new drivers, bus drivers, parents making last minute trips to Bed, Bath, and Beyond for their college Freshman in the hopes that it’ll make this transition easier – they all have to cross this bridge, too.

“Sounds like you’ll have to change your start time,” Jesse said that night.

I yelled at him.

“No!” I said. “This worked before!”

I’m so tired of starting over. I’m so tired of manipulating my days so I can write, and I know Jesse was talking about my commute, but my life feels like a Rubiks cube right now. If I turn one thing, three thousand more things need to change.

OK so then the power went out. For about five minutes there was a storm and it took all the light with it, and the four of us were sitting in the living room trying to decide what to do next.

“Let’s go out to eat,” Jesse suggested, and we thought that was a fine idea.

Over pizza, the girls told us about their first day of school. Harper’s science teacher had the class make a Periodic Table of Elements except with their own initials and interests for each square. Hadley’s English teacher is also an author and we started putting facts and dates together and realized he and I were at the same book launch event, both of us promoting and reading from our books. Hadley and Harper were in 5th and 3rd grade, and how was that five years ago?

The power didn’t come back on and I went to work not having taken a shower and with no coffee, and I was again late. That afternoon I had a conversation with an English professor I am getting to know. Somehow we started talking about outfits and what to wear and hairstyles and the difficulty there is in making these decisions, but also that it shouldn’t be difficult. None of this should matter.

At night, Jesse, Harper, and I sat outside on our deck and ate salad and leftover pizza for dinner. I’d taken an ice-cold shower in candlelight after going for a run – a courtesy to those I’d work with the following day. Here’s what it looks like to have it all with no power, I thought and snickered at my sick, dark joke.

But the power did come back on that night, and we exhaled a collective Hallelujah. I cheerfully chopped veggies and sliced fruit for my lunch the next day, and neatly stacked the containers in the fridge. I ironed my outfit. I set the alarm thinking, See? This was a bump in the road. You’ll be back on track in no time.”

Except I set the alarm for PM, and once again I was late to work.

Here I am though, still trying. Here I am blogging, and last week I managed to write a devotion of sorts for my church. I am taking an author platform class and I did find some time to work through The Artist’s Way. I have ideas for three projects I want to publish myself; one of them is something I hope to work on with a friend, and I brought it up to her on Voxer one morning last week driving to work.

That morning, construction on the bridge had ended and it was smooth sailing and I was happy and energized talking to my friend about this project but I was also aware that I tend to be a big ideas person and unless I have a details person along for the ride, I run out of energy, I get overwhelmed, and I can’t follow through. It was the same with teaching.

I don’t feel bad about it, except that as I was driving over the bridge, I realized that my dream of being an author – my big idea – is one I am having a really difficult time managing all the details of because I’m doing it alone. I have the stamina to keep writing, and I won’t stop writing, but right now, and for a while now, the weight of figuring it all out has been heavy and I don’t know what to do.

At the bottom of the bridge, just before a stoplight, there was a family of geese crossing the street. They’d made it halfway when one bird realized that cars were probably not something to get in the way of, and of course I’m projecting but I felt horrible for her. She was in over her head, and she kept pivoting and changing directions. Which way should she go? Which way is safest? Which way would make her children and her mate the happiest? And how will she get there?

She was nervous, that goose. We all waited, though. Her family, too. All of us stopped and waited for her while she decided what it was she would do next.