I am writing a book. Most of you know this by now.
It’s like: Hearing My Heart For The First Time.
As I go through this arduous process, I find that I am remembering things I thought I had forgotten, that I am being swallowed up by the teeth and jaws and gums of Time. I am more sensitive than usual and more aware. Nothing is going unnoticed because I am in writer-mode and dare I miss a detail? I am awake and alive in a way not even yoga can bring me.
Writing a memoir is some serious shit.
Not because it’s actually serious, although most of us (me me me) take ourselves too seriously, but because you go back and peel the layers away until you are back in the room your father died in, until you are back in your dorm room in 1993. It’s some serious shit to time travel like that.
It’s some serious shit to look at every little thing in your life and be honest about it.
Like: I can’t type. I peck. I peek and peck.
I wish I learned how to type in school but who knows where I was during that particular lesson. I can’t type. I have never ridden a horse. I can’t sew and my mom used to sew for a living. I count on my fingers. I obsess. Less than I used to, but I obsess.
Who wants to go back and look at things like: I was totally vacant during my years at NYU, (which cost an obscene amount of money) because I was too busy writing down how many rice cakes I ate, how many raisins, how many pickles. Who wants to go back and look at the shadows they left on sidewalks in New York City?
Well, when writing a book, one must. One must get very honest with oneself.
It’s some serious shit this getting honest business.
This book is like giving birth. It’s cooking inside me. It is stirring up all my emotions and changing my chemistry and possibly my weight and hunger levels.
It is reminding me who I am and who I am is a writer, dammit!
Getting honest is a choice, and hey, if you don’t feel compelled to live that way, then don’t. Easy peasy.
But if you are going to be honest with yourself, and the world, then really really be honest.
Why? Not because I am so important. Or you are so important. We all are. Yea yea.
Rather because it is inspiring to be living in your truth. And it is inspiring to be around someone who is living in their truth.
I don’t know about you, but I always want to be inspired. I always want to be challenged. I always want to be better than I was yesterday and I do that by being honest and by hanging out with like-minded people, people who build me up.
So as I write my book I get more and more honest.
Things I am willing to be honest about: I want to write and inspire more. I want to teach yoga less. I am disorganized. I am addicted to Facebook. I love Journey and I tend to idealize the past.
Things I am not willing to be honest about: I am scared to have a baby. People say you will know when the time is right and I just look at them square in the jaw. I don’t feel willing yet to give up my freedom. My sleep. My doing whatever I want to do whenever I want to do it. Will I ever? What if I don’t? Eeek!
Things I don’t know if I ever am willing to be honest about: ___________________.
See what I mean? I can’t even write them.
You will have to buy my book for the full disclosure. Meanwhile, keep getting real with yourself. You don’t have to blog your secrets to the world. They are your secrets.
I’m writing a memoir, this is what I chose to do. And with that choice comes some really dark days of the soul where you just want to shut it all off and eat a bag of chips and watch the Olympics.
But I feel this is my calling. I have gotten enough emails and tweets to know that there is something to be found deep within the words of what I am writing and I would like to humor myself in thinking it is like some buried treasure. Some pirates have hidden it for so long and I have finally discovered it with all it’s bright green rubies and gold.
With all its little discoveries.
The treasure is the truth.
And the truth is I am just a girl discovering who she is in the world. More so each day.
Who she is not is: A good typer, someone who irons, someone who rides horses or balances checkbooks, someone who is good at math.
Who she is: someone who loves a great meal and a bottle of wine, someone who likes to nap for more than 1 hour, someone who likes other people to feel good, someone who is kind but sometimes forgetful, a writer.
There is more. There is always more. But we have to start somewhere when we are telling the truth of who we are.
Telling the truth is some serious shit.