a (long overdue) update {12/2/15}

Holy smokes--I didn't realize it had been so long since I posted! Apologies. Marketing is hard work, and prevention month was a flurry of activity. I published two essays (one with To Write Love on Her Arms, and one with BrainChild Magazine); interviewed Ronnie Walker, the founder of Alliance of Hope; and I was interviewed by Deborah Kalb of Book Q&As and Annette Gendler of the Washington Independent Review of Books. I also participated in BookSparks #speakout campaign, where I donated a portion of proceeds from book sales to Alliance of Hope.  

Jesus, look at all those links. Don't click on all those links. You'll fall into an internet black hole, and when you come out the other side your kids will be old people and humanity will be living on Saturn.

It probably goes without saying that I needed to take a break in October. Not that I actually did, mind you. I just did a bunch of other stuff that wasn't book related. Then I took a break--for like a week. Then I caught some kind of mutant zombie apocalypse virus and stayed in bed for two days. And now, here I am. 

And holy shit, it's December.

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Life will do that to you, if you let it. And it's hard not to let it. It's hard not to put your head down and dive straight into the current. It's hard to take a step back, look up, and breathe. It's even harder when Amazon has this stupid graph that shows your sales flatlining. Thankfully, I decided to stop looking at that graph. I remembered that I didn't write a book to become famous, or moderately successful, or break even. (Good thing). I remembered that I'm happiest when I'm slowing down, paying attention, and writing about life.

So yeah, I've been doing that, and it feels good.

I also accidentally started doing Susannah Conway's December Reflections. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to follow along and look at everyone else's pictures, but then I got inspired, and you know how that goes. If you want to see what I'm shooting, follow along on Instagram.

Happy December, everyone!

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falling {11/14/13}

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Three years ago, in October, my grandmother died. The following October I lost over 20 percent of my body weight, was unable to eat, and doctors were unsure what was wrong with me. The October after that I lost the only pregnancy I've ever had. And then, this October, I lost my best friend.

I don't want to be paranoid, but I'm sensing a pattern.

Fall used to be my favorite season. I loved the crisp air and clear skies, the sweet smell of decaying leaves. I loved pumpkins and apple cider. I loved Halloween. And this year, before my dog died, as the air began to cool and the leaves began to change, I found myself reaching backward, scouring my memory for that feeling. I let myself hope that a piece of my life could revert back to what it used to be. 

I really ought to know better.

No, that's too harsh. I don't think we ever stop hoping to recover what we've lost, whether it's a person, a place, or something as simple as our innocence. It's part of human nature. We seek pleasure and push away pain. We struggle against change. We try to keep solid ground under our feet. 

Unfortunately, we're not capable of building ground solid enough to withstand life. As Pema Chodron says, trying to control our experience "is setting ourselves up for failure, because sooner or later we're going to have an experience we can't control." We are going to lose someone we love. We are going to get sick. We are going to die. And, not surprisingly, we aren't going to feel very good about any of it.

But guess what: we don't have to. "We always want to get rid of misery rather than see how it works together with joy," Pema says. "The point isn't to cultivate one thing as opposed to another, but to relate properly to where we are." It's okay to be sad. To grieve. To be frightened or angry or anxious. Joy would not exist without sadness. Love would not exist without death. Spring would not exist without fall.

I think I loved fall so much as a child because it was a little death. I knew spring and summer would come again, and so it was easy to be right where I was, to enjoy everything the season had to offer. As the deaths in my life have gotten bigger, as the metaphorical springs and summers have become unpredictable and unknown, I've learned that love changes, life changes, and I change, too. The ground beneath my feet will continue to shift. It's time to get comfortable with falling.

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