Hindsight: Dark Night/Bright Day

In light of the fact that I've just submitted all required documents to my publishing house, am about to begin my move to live with my fiance, and that tomorrow is Thanksgiving, I thought it appropriate to share my state of mind from March 2009... three months after I gave up my job in Washington DC and moved to Colorado to write my book.

I am thankful for my faith, for the financial means to meet my needs, my health, the beauty and love in my life, and for the upcoming teleseminar on becoming a money magnet from Barb Wade, Life Coach, on 12/2. Info at www.barbwade.com/freecall. (No joke, you don't want to miss this call!)

I'll be back during the first week of December and writing to you from my new home in Portland, Oregon!

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70 degrees. I can see the sunlight, shining red and pulsing from the other side of my closed eyelids, mottled with spots and shadows, ghost particles traveling a slow arc across my vision. It's a beautiful day, sitting on the back deck, laptop on my lap (go figure), listening to the traffic and the dog crunching on found sticks. Who needs bones when you've got trees, god love her. No reason for me to be so... what's the word? Unsettled? Uncertain? Un-something. Satisfied, perhaps.

But then, that's not entirely true, there are circumstances at play. My period is starting today, and let's not lie, it's causing me some hormonal inconsistency. So that explains the bursting into tears suddenly, with little to no warning. Sometimes it's good to be self-employed.

But then there's that... self-employed, AKA self-paid, as in "ain't no one else gonna do it for me." ARGH, what the hell was I thinking?!

I know, I know, I was thinking that writing felt like channeling something from elsewhere, that my words have power to move people, and that I'm called to use that skill to make a difference. Blah, blah, blah. Whatever.

So I sit here on the porch, 1/4 complete on my new novella, considering a 4th grader as illustrator for my children's book, uninspired. It's just not coming to me today. The drive, the passion, the joy in the process. Am I that susceptible to the disturbance of others? It was just one phone call. One simple question from my Dad. "Are you concerned about money yet?"

Faith. How do I explain to my aethiest father without sounding like a flighty nut-job that I'm trying to reside in faith? That I am following my passions, that I wouldn't have them if I weren't supposed to DO something with them, that being worried about money will only bring me more of the same? I tell him that everything is moving along bit by bit, and worrying will only slow me down, so I try to keep from wallowing in it... don't worry, Daddy. He buys it, but do I?

And then, sure, there was the brunch conversation with new friends. Messages of faith and inspiration, of giving and receiving, of gifts not kept but passed along to give again, punctuated by ponzi schemes and Citicorp and fear fear fear. Gratitude, money is just a physical form of gratitude, disrupted by upset and blame, worry and concern, over and over again. I don't want to be around that! Please keep that poison to yourself. Ah, sigh, I should have spoken up. Just because you think it doesn't mean that you need to speak it. But that one cuts both ways.

And now I sit here... questioning. Eggs all in one basket? Anyone? Bueller? What if my money runs out? What if I can't get a publisher, or what if it takes two years before it pays off? What if I self-publish and it all ends up as a loss? What if I'm just fooling myself, making believe, just making excuses to be lazy, ensuring that I end up proving that I never deserved the generosity I've received?

Oh, but that's not new! That's the little voice that Always questions me! According to that voice I'll Never be good enough and I'm Always doing the wrong thing. I don't like that voice. Go away!

No, not you, honey, you can bring that ball, I'll throw it for you. Crunch, crunch, more sticks laid waste. Talk about a high fiber diet! She is not worried. She is just being herself, loving me, chasing the squirrels, doing what she does. She trusts me implicitly, relies on my care, never concerned that she'll prove she didn't deserve my generosity. What if I had HER faith?

I smile. Circumstances are just that, temporary circumstances. What was the phrase given me last night... This too shall pass? If I truly have faith, then I must accept this as part of the experience, part of my process of growth. Yet another opportunity to choose.

The sun has cut behind the corner of the shed now and a cool breeze brushes the back of my neck, effortlessly skirting my collar. The sky has grayed out, thin clouds impeding the warmth of the sun. But soon enough they too will disperse, and Spring is on the way.


M. Makael Newby, 2009 - All Rights Reserved