Sadness

Parenting, Writing 1 Response »
May 302010

When Noah was two years old and I was just getting started as a writer, Katie Allison Granju gave me some of my first gigs and they were some really good gigs. She was generous with her advice, always encouraging and got me assignments when I was still so green that you might have mistaken me for a stalk of celery.

In an industry where scarcity of resources sometimes makes writers mean, Katie gave me a higher standard to live by.

Now her oldest boy is very very ill and I can’t stop thinking about her and about him and about how sometimes we just can’t keep our kids safe from the world or even from themselves.

This is hard. My poor, sweet baby boy. It’s all so surreal. Even 36 days into this, I can’t quite believe it’s happening. You read and hear about this happening to other people, but truly, you just never imagine that it could happen to your child, your family.

Day 36.

Oh Katie, your family remains in my thoughts.

Learning to bomb

work work work 10 Responses »
May 212010

Quick Housekeeping Note: I did NOT mean to turn the comments off on this post. I just caught it right now that they were off and turned ‘em on. I’m totally annoyed because I’d have welcomed some conversation on that. Oh the annoying irony of comments being off!!!!

I had a speaking engagement about a year ago that was a disaster the minute I walked into the room. I didn’t know it’d be a disaster until about five minutes in but I should have known because of the way the room was set up. I was behind a sizeable barrier, which made it difficult to feel “in touch” with my audience and the attendees were wrung out from a long day and most of them sat in the back of the room adding more of a barrier. Because my presentation was more touchie-feelie than straight information, it made for a lousy dynamic. I heard nothing but crickets when I’d ask for audience participation and had to do more of a song and dance than usual to get people to talk. I remember midway through the presentation wanting to just STOP and give in.

“Forget it,” I imagined saying, unplugging my laptop. “I’m outta here.”

I’d escape. Run down the steps and to my car before anyone had time to stop me. I’d go home and climb into bed, pull my covers up over my head and tell Brett to hold my calls.

Of course you can’t run; you have to get through it. And so I waded through the morass that my talk had become, pumping as much cheer as I could into my delivery and by the end of the limping, tired workshop, I actually got some encouraging feedback from the audience.

I’ve had disastrous interviews. I’ve gotten rejected by editors. I’ve stood alone, petrified by nerves at networking events. I’ve put myself out there and then, defeated, reeled myself back in. I’ve stood in front of audiences, mind blank and wondering what I was going to say before my memory kicked in. I’ve cracked jokes that fell flat to a room full of expectant faces. I’ve watched people’s eyes glaze over and scrambled to bring them back.

Oh I’ve failed, yes I have. But the more you fail, the easier failure gets. It’s true.

I was very very very very nervous (even dismayed) about going to the studio for that Q interview (not online yet — they’re listing the wrong show in the slot for the one I was on but here’s an article with one pull quote from each of us). I didn’t really WANT to do it but I knew that once I did it, I’d be glad I did. And if it was awful, well, at least it’d be over with and maybe it wouldn’t be awful. I told Brett this later and he said, “If you were so scared, then how did you do it?”

How? By failing a lot already.

That disastrous speaking engagement, it was an hour long hell. As soon as I realized that it was not going to go well I thought of all the stand-up comedians who bomb and most of ‘em bomb. Even the great ones have off nights. And I knew that the price of speaking in public, which I like to do, means sometimes having it go really really poorly. My stomach dropped into my shoes and my sense of time stalled and drew the hour out like taffy and I felt slightly outside of myself the way you do when you realize you’re falling or the car is crashing or some other disaster is impending. It was a nightmare happening in real time and for a second or two I lost my nerve and fought back tears. But at the same time I had some presence of mind behind my eyes that very calmly said, “Well, there’s no way to get to the end of it but to get through it.” Which is when I gave up my fright to flight instinct and settled down to trudge through the rest of my talk.

When it was over I felt exhausted and relieved. It was over. I had bombed and I was on the other side.

The next time (and thank goodness there’s been only one more time and that was a tech disaster that wasn’t of my own doing) a talk went poorly, I felt that same sinking then lifting and again I knew that the other side was right there if I’d just swim to it.

It’s just like the first time an editor said no. And the first time I got a terrible, nasty email from someone who read one of my essays and hated it.

It’s like the first time getting dumped or having a friend blow you off. It happens and you survive. But meanwhile you have whatever happened before. You have that first kiss. You have that heart-to-heart with a friend who gets you. You have that hope when you hit “send” on a submission. And then, too, you have those great times when it goes well.

I am scared A LOT but I am also interested. So how I went to the studio (how I made myself go to the studio) is that I’ve never been in a studio before and I wanted to see what it was like. I wanted to see how it would be to be interviewed — even for a teeny-tiny while — by a really good interviewer. (Once Denise told me more about the show I was simultaneously more nervous because I didn’t know it was such a big deal,  and less because I knew I could trust the interviewer.)

I’m telling you this to say that if you’re thinking about trying something (writing, submitting, networking, etc.) but are feeling too scared to take that leap, leap anyway. It’s ok to be terrified but make the leap anyway. You might fail. You might bomb. But you also might have a really great time and you will definitely learn something about yourself.

JUST DO IT!

Open Adoption Interview Project

Adoption, Blogging, Infertility 9 Responses »
Mar 222010

Heather, whose continued commitment to connecting the open adoption blogosphere inspires me, arranged this blog-wide interview project a couple of weeks ago. I was hoping for a blog that would be new to me and happily I was introduced to the beautiful Heart Cries, by Rebekah who is mom to 9-month old Ty. It was a treat to read and get to know Rebekah whoses values and experiences are in some ways very different from mine but whose love for and commitment to her son and his story certainly resonate with me in many, many ways. I left my first visit feeling like we had a lot more in common than you might think at first glance! I hope that you enjoy meeting her as much as I have and that you go and check out her wonderful blog!

1. How did your struggles with infertility impact your relationship with God? I know you’ve written a lot about this (beautifully, I might add) but I’m wondering if you can look back in hindsight and see how it illuminated some aspect of your personal relationship that you carry with you now in your present day?

Infertility rocked my world. When it came to God, everything I thought I believed was stripped down and challenged. Every emotion I thought I had experienced was intensified. Every unasked question I was, previously, too respectful to ask, I screamed. I pounded the door of heaven and shouted why a million times over. I begged God to remove the desire to mother from my heart. I did everything the church had taught me to do. I wept, I prayed, I repented. Yet, God remained silent.

It was the silence that overhauled my heart to unrecognizable.

Now looking back I see what God was doing. He took me through the process of removal. I had filled my life with pretenses and had inaccurate absolutes about how God functioned in the lives of those that called him Lord. My faith was peeled back to naked and re-cloaked with truth. An intimate understanding of who my Father is emerged and one ringing truth birthed from my months of war-worthy, inner turmoil – God is faithful…even when I lack all faith. It’s such a simple, no-nonsense claim, but it resonates deep in my heart.

2. How did being witness to your son’s first mom’s loss change you as a mother and as a Christian? (If it did?)

There aren’t enough words to express the bleeding my heart has felt through this process. I thought I knew what Rebekah would feel the day she handed me her son. I thought I had prepared myself for the pain. I had bathed our relationship in prayer and knew that God had woven our lives together for a unique purpose, but that was not bulwark enough. Rebekah and I were both ill prepared for what we experienced. Those first few days were horrendously difficult. My arms held another woman’s baby; another woman’s son. His eyes searched for hers, not mine. I could not separate my heart from hers and when I looked at Tyrus, I could only see Rebekah’s pain. I was not prepared for the crimes I felt. I was a fake and a thief. Knowing that my dream came at the expense of Rebekah was almost too much to bear. I remember asking her at one point, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Our wide-open relationship made the transition harder, but I would never change it. Looking back, I know how important it was for me to see, hear, and read Rebekah’s loss. I needed to experience the reality of adoption for me and for Tyrus. In the coming years, I will be able to answer many of his questions with heartfelt conviction.

Those early days of ache have taught me two lasting principles: Rebekah and I equally share the blessing of being Ty’s mother and our children truly do not belong to us, they are the Lord’s.

3. What has surprised you most about mothering?

The ease of it. For me, motherhood has not been forced or fabricated in an unnatural fashion. It came with a gentle confidence I did not know I possessed.

4. What has surprised you most about adoption?

I can’t think of any surprises when it comes to Ty, specifically, but the process of adopting Ty was horribly unpredictable. Just when we thought we were approved or “all set,” another shocker was thrown our way. From agency to insurance issues, we have had many obstacles to tackle. It feels good to have the process behind us.

5. What has surprised you most about open adoption?

We originally embraced open adoption out of duty. We felt we owed it to our baby and his mother. What I have discovered in the process, however, is that Rebekah is not just an extension of Ty…she’s an extension of me…and our family. I didn’t realize how deeply I would fall in love with her, while falling in love with my son. There is something so uniquely incredible about two mothers loving the same boy. Apart from Ben, there is no one else on this planet that would sit through hours of boring video in effort to catch a small smile or faint hiccup. She revels in Ty’s new discoveries and phases of change. I love that we laugh, cry, and dream of Ty’s future, together.

6. How has writing your blog shaped your perception of your experiences? (This is something I’m interested in — how writing our stories helps us make sense of them.)

I’m a writer. Pounding out my thoughts, fears, and frustrations during this process has helped me navigate the highs and lows of adoption. Blogging kept me accountable to the rawness of what I was feeling. If I simply kept a bed-side journal, I wouldn’t have explored the depths of darkness that I walked or questioned the hidden stirrings. Knowing that my inner wrestling was public, made me dig past the surface and really illuminate the fullness of what I was experiencing. Working through the questions and concerns in a methodical manner gave me an inner, real life, confidence. I only wish I had started writing sooner, it would have made my infertility struggle more bearable.

7. How has reading other people’s blogs changed you or inspired you?

I stumbled across my first adoption blog when I did a web search of agencies. I’ll never forget the experience. My heart wept as I read one barren blog after another. For the first time in my life, I felt completely understood. I had found a community of women just like me. It was exhilarating and liberating at the same time. So many of the bloggers here have become my sisters; my friends. They challenge me to look outside my box of understanding and encourage me to love more. I find great value in reading through every facet of adoption. I drink in other perspectives and covet input from adoptees and first moms. My world view has expanded in so many ways. From Kenyan orphanages to faithful foster families, God is using fellow bloggers to stir my heart.

8. Can you share more of your writing goals with us?

Earlier this year, our pastor was talking about vision and he said something that hasn’t left my memory. He said, “If the goals you have laid out for yourself are easily accomplished on your own, your vision isn’t large enough.” That day, I began praying for God to widen my view and set dreams afire in my heart. When I dream, I dream big. More than anything, I want God to use me for his kingdom, in whatever way he deems best. I hope his best includes writing. I am first interested in writing Ty’s story, but would also like to write Rebekah’s. My interests are not exclusive to adoption. One of my lifetime dreams has always been to write children’s books. When I look at interracial families, like my sister’s, I know there’s a place for the stories I want to tell.

On being a writer

Writing 13 Responses »
Mar 142010

Here is a fact: If you are a writer, most of your friends/family will not read your stuff. They will if you ask them to (they are good like that) but they won’t if you don’t. I have written a lot (not just this blog) and I’d venture to say that the only non-writer person who I am friends and/or related to who has read most of it (not all) is Brett. And that’s because I make him.

Now writer friends will read you and they will applaud you and encourage you but most people who are not writers will not read what you write.

Here’s a true story about a relative who shall remain nameless. Said relative met another writer and wanted to see what this writer has written so they did a google on that writer’s name. Then they did a google on mine. They reported back to me, “Wow, you’ve written a lot! Even more than [other writer]!”

See, said relative who shall remain nameless was thinking of this new person as a writer since they met said writer in the capacity of Writer but since they met me in the capacity of Relative it never occurred to them that I am also a writer. And in fact am more accomplished than the other writer and (I say, pretending to look modestly down) I’m more talented. Despite the googling, they still seem to persist in seeing my writing as an adorable hobby of mine that I do when I’m not busy scrubbing floors. (This even though they’ve visited my home and know I do not scrub floors.)

I am usually not all that concerned about people who I love and who love me who don’t read me stuff because if I was concerned it’d drive me crazy so I have decided to not be crazy about it but it is kind of lonely. Because my writing is very important to me and I rarely get to talk about it with people who are otherwise very interested in other parts of my life. Again, this makes perfect sense. They are interested in my kids or my for-pay work or in my cooking or in my marriage or in my other friendships because they can relate to these things but if you are not a writer, it’s hard to make much sense of writing. Too, some people hate writing or have bad feelings about writing or are casual writers and so they understand writing in a particular way that makes them think they are understand writing for ME and for other serious writers but this is not true. Impossible to disabuse people of this notion though. That’s just how it is. But it’s a piece missing in a lot of my relationships because here’s this thing that kinda runs my life (because really I spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to have more time with my family and more time to write and everything else is detail) but it’s like it happens in a vacuum.

Of course I haven’t written much in the last year because I’ve been busy trying to Make Money. This is depressing. Not just because trying to Make Money can be dreary work but also because I’ve discovered that the friends and family who won’t read the stuff I write for the sake of writing are inordinately interested in how I’m doing at all that money making. Which matters to me (sure) but doesn’t matter to me as much as writing for the sake of writing.

I’m disgruntled lately. I blame it on the wait to hear from grad school.

Ahh well.

Listing

Adoption, Writing 7 Responses »
Feb 092010

Get it? Like listing to the side the way one might if she is very tired? And a list post? (The pun is the lowest form of humor.)

  1. Another comment on my guest post: Pennie told me later that one of the things she said to Madison on the phone call is that she understood how sharing is hard because sometimes she has a hard time sharing Madison with me. Madison told me that this made her feel better. It’s very important for her to know that Pennie misses her as much as she misses Pennie. Back in the day, Madison would occasionally goad Pennie by flaunting her (Madison’s) relationship with me. I don’t think Pennie knew that she was doing this but I did. It was hard for me to figure out how to handle it (this was when she was two-ish?) but my gut told me to encourage their relationship more overtly to both of them and you know what? That’s what needed to happen. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to post a little overview of Madison’s development around her relationship with Pennie. Or I might forget and end up writing a post about breakfast cereals. I don’t know.
  2. Noah is at Kalahari for the unschoolers conference this week. We couldn’t go because of work and stuff. I strongly considered driving up there yesterday to see John Taylor Gatto speak but couldn’t for a million and one bureaucratic reasons. Am I bitter? Yes, a touch.
  3. We miss Noah. At least Brett and I do. Madison says she does but she’s already decided that she will sit at his place at the dinner table and last night she slept in his bed saying, “I think I’ll be Noah tonight.” Lately she won’t sleep in her OWN bed so we let her even though Noah will kill us when he gets back. She snuggled in and said, “It smells like Noah.” “What does Noah smell like?” I asked her. “Fried chicken,” she replied. I think she’s lying because to me Noah’s room smells like the dog since Peanut pretty much lives in there with him.
  4. I finally subscribed to Poets & Writer‘s magazine after looking at the web site longingly for months. It’s only ten bucks a year and it’s not very practical (unlike the ASJA newsletter, which is so practical that it’s nearly depressing although incredibly useful so I highly recommend it without irony). Sometimes I need to remember that I am also a Writer and not just a communications expert with a business card.
  5. Speaking of business cards, I just ordered some new ones. I’m attaching one below. They are very plain but that’s what I was going for. By the way in case my orange banner up there has not made it clear, I would like everyone to hire me.

Hire Dawn

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