I really shouldn’t complain. This summer has been positively halcyon compared to last summer, when my three-year post-divorce relationship ended at the same time that I had to contend with a Major Family Crisis, and re-learning to teach after 12 years away from the classroom, all while slogging through the middle of my first year sober. I remember saying to my mom, who was a huge support during that time, “Can’t we just fast forward a year?”
And here we are. This summer I have enjoyed one week of solo travel to tour northern California at my own pace, going where my nose led me, a trip that occurred during two kid-free weeks while my daughter was having a blast a sleep-away camp. I have another kid-free week coming up when she vacations with her dad (the To-Do list for that week is becoming legion – more on that below, but I still feel extremely privileged to have so much time to myself!). I’ve spent time researching and dreaming about my fifth historical novel, and also prepping for the release of my fourth - if you’d told me 10 years ago that this would be my career reality in 2023, I’d have fainted with glee … and also eyed you with suspicion. I’m dating again, and I’m heading toward two years of sobriety. The family is doing well. Everyone is in therapy and working on themselves in meaningful ways.
I’ve learned MANY things in this past year since last summer, and they mostly boil down to this meme: The only way out is through. Had I fast forwarded through all difficulties of the past year, I wouldn’t be in the far better place I’m in now.
And.
Things are not perfect:
I’m reading a novel that I love for the purposes of blurbing it- and that frequently makes me think, “Why didn’t I say that in my last book? I missed a huge opportunity!” “She - the writer, my friend and colleague - is so much braver than I am!!” And this on the heels of reading a draft of another fiend’s novel that has sentences that make me ache with wishing I could come up with metaphors that cool. So there’s inadequacy cloaked as jealousy rearing its ugly head.
My dog had some kind of nervous breakdown during my first CA trip this summer, so I’ve been worried about him this whole second trip as he breaks in new dog sitters in our home.
I have a syllabus to revise - the main item on the To-Do List I must accomplish during my next kid-free week. Also included on that list: various short piece of writing for the promotion of Book 4, Substack entries, possible dog endoscopy, back-to-school and birthday shopping for the kid, prep for book events…..You get the point. And these are things I usually enjoy! But when then pile up, they become items to get through rather than savor.
I’m currently (right now, as I type) at the end of a second trip to CA that I foolishly scheduled too close to the first one. This is supposed to be my summer vacation with my daughter, in the company of my parents and brother whom I don’t see often enough because we live on opposite coasts! We have had a great time, including a day at Disney, evening mini golf, and a rousing game of Scrabble last night. And. I miss my dog, my house, my car, the pool, my life. And I feel guilty for feeling that way. I mean - relax, right? Except Hurricane Hilary rained on our planned trip to the beach and so this week hasn’t been broken into as many fun pieces as planned. I’m struggling against my own exhaustion to find things to do these last days here.
As always at this point in the summer, I am ready for sweaters and orange everywhere and PSLs.
Instead of thinking of sitting down with Book 5 with a big mug of coffee and the excitement of pages of road trip ahead of me, I feel daunted. Have I really written 4 published novels? (And another 5 unpublished?) Can I do it again? Is it like riding a bike? Because I feel like I’ve forgotten how to do it.
I’ve neglected my Morning Pages and stalled in The Artist’s Way (even though I gave myself permission to do so for the end of the summer!).
I am in a good old-fashioned end of summer funk. Not ready to let go of the longer days and the promise of vacation (liar though that promise is!) and also craving routine and a chill in the air.
But guess what? After writing those previous 700-ish words, I feel better. I’ve written it all down. I’ve confessed. And if I’ve made even one of you feel better about your own end-of-summer malaise I’ll give myself a pat on the back.
I said somewhere in TINAWM that the main reason I write is to make sense of my life (I don’t have the book with me right now but I’ll flag it when I return to replying to my younger writing self). Writing about the swirl of scaries and insecurities tames them somehow. And that’s what I’ve done here. This Substack entry is a kind of glorified Morning Pages entry (which I started last night and finished this morning – in fact, it was only by writing some of this down that I was able to finally get to sleep last night).
And in writing about it, I help myself get through it. No matter what kind of difficult time I’m having (Big Difficult, or Small), the only way out….
How has writing helped you through difficult times? Leave a comment and let’s connect!