The Journey Begins

I climbed a mountain today.

Physically, I reached the top of Crowder's Mountain (above - yes I took that, hence the shadows!). Metaphorically, I climbed the first in a chain of mountains by taking the beginning step toward conquering the ultimate mountain in my life - learning who I am through writing my memoir.

My memoir is still in its infancy. For now, it's just a journal, started that awful day in June when I first found out my soulmate has been untrue. While I'd already been told that he's been cheating on me for the past seven of our nine years of marriage, today, I got confirmation of what I've been fearing since that fateful day three months ago. He was never faithful, even while we were dating.

Learning from complete strangers and people that, until now, I've had only the smallest bit of contact with, that the love of my life has been lying to me the entire 11 years I've known him was an unbearable shock. The man I trusted more than anyone on earth betrayed more than I ever could have imagined. Discovering that this person I had built my entire life around never existed at all shattered my self esteem and ability to trust myself. My anxiety went out the roof and is still easily triggered as I wait in terror for the next bomb to drop, trying to brace myself less I be blown to bits again. Emotionally, it was truly like having my legs cut out from under me. No warning, just - gone. No preparation, just - suddenly alone.

I've never lived by myself before. I've always had someone to talk to, to help me make decisions, to hang out with. Since losing my husband, I've been too afraid to do anything by myself until today. I had thought about hiking the mountain last weekend but was too depressed to leave the comfort of my house, my hiding place. Last night, I swore I would make myself go no matter what.

As I left my house and started driving, I felt pressured for time, something my soon-to-be-ex was always stressing about. Then I started panicking that I would get lost being as directionally challenged as I am. On top of that, I was driving on an extended trip, something my husband usually did since driving stresses me out so much, especially when going somewhere I've never been before. The realization that I was doing something new and wholly alone made it difficult for me to breathe. I had to focus on breathing just to get there.

For those who have never experienced the pain of adultery in a marriage, such a small task as driving to a new place may sound like a ridiculous thing to stress over. I would have thought so before now too but after losing my other half so unexpectedly, I often find it hard to get along with only the half I've been left.

Oddly, when I arrived, I realized my husband and I actually had been to this park once before. We'd trekked up Kings Mountain instead of Crowders though because he wanted to. This time, I got to make the decision so I took the most strenuous route I could find up to Crowders knowing my soon-to-be-ex would have hated it.

I spent the first part of the way up huffing and puffing, sweating, tripping occasionally and groaning internally about the weight of my backpack which seemed only to get heavier as I went along. I passed a few people at the beginning and then was passed by one or two. I started measuring my progress based on their speed or lack thereof and then it dawned on me that I was alone. I could go at whatever pace I wanted. I need not be concerned with the speed of those around me. So I slowed down, watching where I was walking - and thus, tripping less - and started to notice that some of the leaves were already changing color. I closed my eyes (very briefly lest I trip) and felt the cool, gentle breeze on my face and I drew comfort from the sound of the ice in my water bottle clinking as I hiked along.

I reached a stopping point near the top where others were resting but I didn't stop. I didn't feel like lingering any longer and I had no one I had to consult. So I went on. I'm pretty sure my face was purple by the time I climbed the 90 degree angled slope and the 500 or so stairs at the end (OK, maybe not quite 500) but the view from atop, as I hope you can see from the photo above, was well worth it.

I had triumphed. I had conquered the mountain and I had done it alone. I sat down to enjoy the view and then quickly had my spirits dampened by three different couples.

Two of the couples were young college kids who sat down behind me a few minutes after I got there. They cut up, laughed and flirted reminding me of myself at that age. The other couple looked to be in their mid-20s and cut me off right before I was about to head back down the stairs, as if I wasn't even there. My elation quickly melted into loneliness and despair as I dwelt on the loss of my innocence and my spouse.

As I plodded down the tip of the mountain I found I needed to stop at the resting place I'd passed by so confidently on the way up. I wrote about how awful I felt then made myself get up and go down the rest of the mountain.

On the way down, I passed many more people than I did on the way up and this time, I was paying closer attention to them than myself. I saw, among others, a lesbian couple, a single dad, a married couple, and a young family carrying a baby while walking a toddler. Each group seemed happy but I realized that they too all had their own problems and really - I was happy being alone. I hadn't had to force conversation the whole time or wait on someone or try to rush to catch up with anyone. I was free to march to the beat of my own drummer.

Yes, I miss the naiveté of my college years and seeing happy young couples jolts me into grieving over the best friend I lost in my husband but as I drove home, I felt a sense of accomplishment like I haven't felt since the day my world came crashing down. I had finally done something alone. It reminded me again that I can go on. I will find out who I am meant to be. I will finish my memoir and it will bring healing.

I climbed a mountain today.

RJ

To Twitter or Not To Twitter

Not. Not for me anyway.

I read several articles about Twitter this past week and most of them seemed favorable towards authors using Twitter. One article even stated that a woman got a book contract because of her Twittering. While it may have worked for her, I see several pitfalls for authors who Twitter. Before signing up, ask yourself:

1) Do I have anything of value to offer?

I can't even get BlogCatalog to list this blog yet because it has so few posts and my memoir isn't ready to be discussed at this point so I don't really have anything to Twitter about so far besides any new posts on my blog. And the one thing I did read consistently was that people who just promote themselves are considered to be annoying Twitterers and are soon ignored.

2) Is the time spent learning how Twitter works worth it?

Twitter is supposed to be easy but for the technologically challenged, like me, it could take hours or even days to figure it out. And then, there's still no guarantee that you will generate a great deal of 'traffic.' While I might be able to use Twitter to my advantage if I took the time to really study it, I'd rather spend that time writing. I get distracted easily enough as it is.

3) Can you convey an idea in one sentence?

With only 140 characters per Tweet, it's far too short for a diver like me to get into the really deep stuff.

4) What are you using Twitter for?

From what I have discovered thus far, the majority of authors who use it are 'testing the waters' to see what their followers do or don't like. To me, authenticity is more important than popularity. While some writers can write for money and still keep their integrity, I feel like I'm selling my soul for the sale.

My advice? If you have time, enjoy socializing and are great at networking, Twitter may be for you. I may even have to eat my words one day if I decide to use it too but for now, chronicling the memories takes precedence.

Until next week!
RJ

The Decision to Dive

In her book I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was (one of my all-time favorites), Barbara Sher helps readers discover what they want to do with their lives. One of the chapters I've been re-reading recently discusses "divers" versus "scanners."

Sher describes a scanner as "a person who delights in the astonishing, unending variety around us."* I prefer to call this group snorkelers because it keeps better with the water theme.

A diver, on the other hand, "want[s] to go deeper and deeper into your subject until you dedicate your entire life to it."**

Until yesterday, I was a diver in denial.

I've tried diving before but felt like I was drowning and gave up, quickly exiting the water before giving myself time to see if I really was drowning or if I simply needed a moment to adjust to the depths. After deserting my dive, I'd look around at all the other rivers, lakes, oceans and ponds available to me feeling completely overwhelmed to the point of simply standing there. Eventually, I'd drag my suddenly heavy body to each pool, dipping in a toe, glancing back longingly at the pool I'd dived into and deserted. Then I'd force myself to refocus only to find myself looking around again at the vast bodies of water I still felt compelled to try, all the while, my resolve shriveling up as did my toe thoughtlessly forgotten in the water at my feet.

With a jerk, I'd yank my pruned toe from the pool, throwing my shoulders back determined to try again and attack as many pools as possible. The harder I tried the more I despaired. I know why now. I was trying to be a snorkeler, a "jack of all trades," and never feeling fulfilled.

I tried writing fiction for children, writing news stories for the local paper, drafting a simply dreadful 'novel' in 30 days as part of National Novel Writing Month and started and stopped enough articles, stories and ideas to fill up the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. While I have had luck with one or two articles outside of the newspaper, I've always felt too inundated with research to get motivated to write for any periodicals so I always gave only a half-hearted attempt (except once with The Writer and that one, I think, would have actually worked out if I'd had more publishing credits) and of course, inevitably, received rejection after rejection after rejection.

I've tried spiritual journaling, diary writing and freestyle writing (as suggested by Natalie Goldman in Writing Down the Bones). I signed up for Twitter, Facebook and BlogCatalog for my original blog (writingfortheloveofit.com) but, after a recent trauma, writing simply for the love of it won't work any more. I finally have a purpose - to write my story in hopes of helping others. But I can't dive into that calling until I stop trying to snorkel in every existing pool of water.

For some people, endless options inspire them. They are snorkelers. They get energy from dipping into as many pools as they can as quickly as they can and then jumping to the next one as soon as they've seen what they wanted to in whichever river, lake or stream they just explored. For me, just watching them is exhausting. So, I've decided today to embrace the diver in me.

I could have it all wrong. I could be a snorkeler pretending to be a diver but the thought of focusing on only one thing got me so excited yesterday that when I got home from work, I dropped the mail on the counter, kicked off my shoes, walked right past the piles of books and papers strewn about and, without grabbing any food or water (very unusual for me), came straight to the computer to write this with my work clothes still on. It's rare for me to feel like that with writing so I must embrace it when it comes.

Sher recommends that those, like me, who think they might be unhappy divers commit to something just for 30 days. It's possible this blog will end in 30 days. In college, I changed majors 7 times. After college, I went back to school and changed again another 3 times. But I think this blog will last beyond 30 days because, as with my choice of college studies, I haven't been happy until now when I finally settled on English (teaching literature and writing on the side).

As might be obvious from the name of this blog, my particular calling is to memoir writing. It's all I can think about. So, from here on out, this blog is dedicated to my dive into the world of writing a memoir. While I've got plenty of material for the book in progress (over 200 pages of journaling in the past 2 1/2 months alone), I'm only just beginning my dive into putting it altogether. If you too are a chronicler, I hope you'll dive right in here with me, pulling me back when I freak out and try to exit the dive at the best part and encouraging me not to give up when I get stuck in a cave and can't find my way out.

If you're ready to dive, join me next week when I explore the world of Twitter. Is it beneficial or harmful to those of us writing books and memoirs?

Until next week, keep diving!

RJ

*Sher, Barbara. I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was. Dell Publishing, New York, 1994: P 101

** Sher, Barbara. I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was. Dell Publishing, New York, 1994: P 102