Follow up

This summer, I started writing my book. 

Starting is the hardest part.  I had wanted to start since last fall, but I just couldn’t.  I was stuck.  With both kids in school full-time for the first time ever, I couldn’t figure out how to fit in writing a book along with blogging, teaching, and managing my primary caregiver responsibilities.

Elizabeth Gilbert and Cheryl Strayed helped me get to the root of being stuck: fear. 

It was totally fear.  However, it was so pervasive, I didn’t even recognize it.

Fear looked like the low-grade sadness that I thought was just the result of a freezing cold winter with unpredictable snow days.

Fear looked like busyness.  I was too busy managing calendars, my part-time work-from-home job, doing laundry, and cooking meals to even *think* about writing a book.

 Fear convinced me that writing would make me a bad mom.  I would become so consumed that I would become emotionally unavailable to my kids as they foraged for cold cereal to eat for dinner while navigating around piles of laundry and dirty dishes. And nothing is worse than a mom who neglects her kids, especially if it is to be creative.

But after five months of writing, I can say with full confidence that those fears are completely unfounded.  I actually feel more balanced and present when I am consistently creative.  I also like that my kids are seeing how to fit creativity into their lives as a grownup.  They are also feeling the lightness that comes with being engaged in work I love.

I’ve also had to make some adjustments to my blog routine.  I have discovered that it is difficult to post once a week and keep up with writing.  So for now, I am dialing back.  I will be starting a newsletter, and my first one will go out this weekend.  If you are curious about how the book is coming along or social media updates that you might have missed along with some other content of mine, here is the link to sign up.  I would be honored if you did.

I am not saying that it – the creative process of writing a book – is easy.  I am working through my adrenaline addiction of playing Tetris with the color blocks on my calendar as I try not to overschedule my day.  I have found that exhaustion, both physical and mental, is the quickest ways to kill my creativity. I am waking up at 5:15am to write before the kids get up for school which means curbing my voracious need to read the whole Internet before I go to bed.

This journey to put my story to paper is difficult.  The actual showing up and having the courage to write is emotionally taxing.  I am easily distracted by my “mothering” tab that is always up and running. 

But I made a contract with Inspiration to write this book.  This shift in thinking inspired by Elizabeth in Big Magic* has helped me stay motivated.  Just like I honor all of the other contracts in my life, I  am committed to seeing this book to its completion.

But it is so worth it.

I feel more “me” than I can ever remember.

**I was not compensated for this post.  I just think that everyone should know about this awesome book.

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Since I am committing more time to writing my book, my blog might not be as active.

I have a newsletter that I will start sending in October.  You can sign up here.

You can always find me on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and Twitter.  I would love to connect with you there, too!

Thanksgiving Turkey Recap to the Raw Poultry Dare

I just wanted to give myself (and those hanging on the edge of their seats) a little closure about cooking the turkey for the Thanksgiving.

I waited this long a.) to make sure no one had any delayed serious and/or fatal cases of salmonella poisoning, and b.) manhandling a 21.4-pound beast is exhausting. 

At first, I was super nervous. Looking at this thing was like staring long and hard at your biggest fear.

But I lifted it into the sink and got to work.

Yikes!

Please Note the rubber glove was worn out of safety since I took a chunk off my thumb while preparing roasted root vegetables, not because I was scared.

Hey, little known fact about turkeys: there is a metal wire holding it together which is damn near impossible to take out. My mom, who was assisting, told Harrington, who was photo documenting, to do it. I shut that shit down. When I commit, I commit the whole way. So after I yanked that metal piece out, I lathered up that bird in an olive oil paste of garlic, sage, thyme, and rosemary.

The smile says, "Gross, but totally doing it! Yay me!"

See, here I am separating the skin from the meat because what good is the flavor if it is only on he outside. (See, I commit all the way).

Look at the look of concentration. Maybe I missed my chance at being a surgeon. Or a butcher.
Also, please don't judge the scruntchie.  I needed my hair out of my face
and still look good later that day.

Then I popped it in the oven and put the electronic thermometer in the correct spot (or so I thought).

I washed my arms like I was scrubbing in for surgery.

And bleached the kitchen (along with my soul).

I started to get nervous because the bird was cooking so fast. I kept on turning the oven down and down. And let the bird rest. And it wasn't done. So long story short, my mom and my mother-in-law were ripping the legs of the turkey to pop back in the oven. 

Pink juices were flowing onto my counter.

I repeat: Pink juices were flowing onto my counter.

Luckily, I was preoccupied with obsessing about the rest of the bird and drinking my wine, because obviously.

While obsessing, I notice that part of the breast near the bone was questionable so I popped it in the oven and had more wine.

And proceeded to make the most amazing gravy ever.

I put the rest of the stuff on the table. I kept mashed potatoes warm with this trick.

Boom.

And everyone lived happily ever after without any trips to the ER. The end.

Afterwards:

There is this weird thing about facing a life long fear and surviving. I thought I would only feel joy and triumph. But I feel kind of pissed I spent that much time being scared. And then I felt sad that I was that sick with OCD and didn't even know it. I just thought it was normal since I wasn't totally and completely destroying my life.  

Don't get me wrong, there was a feeling of accomplishment, but I was taken off guard by the other feelings.

Have you ever conquered a fear only to feel sad?