Sleep All Summer

a pause to befriend young memoirs

It’s been one of those weeks where everything feels topsy turvy. 

I was planning to have a surgery next week, an oophorectomy, and now that’s not happening just yet. I was stewing about it while I was on a walk yesterday with Baba over at Shelby Bottoms. I had a few realizations. 

1. I haven’t been to Shelby for a while and not so long ago I was here almost every day. 

2. The deer aren’t afraid of people or dogs. 

3. My dog might question their identity and think they might be part deer. 

4. There are good reasons that aren’t always obvious when plans get changed or have to be postponed till later. 

As I walked the familiar path along the Cumberland, in some way comforted by this body of water flowing so easily next to me in the afternoon sun, I felt like I was hanging out with an old friend - myself. Ah, how nice. Baba fell into a pleasant stride and we even trotted a quarter mile here and there. We were both slow and derpy and it was good. I wondered about perfectionism. 

Baba on the path

Wanting to be great at everything all of the time, is the greatest mistake a perfectionist can make. 

I love it when I see someone miss a note or two in a live performance. I love when someone is their real, authentic self. It comes through. I want it to come through in what I write and how I live. The limit of always wanting it to be extraordinary sometimes takes away from what it could be. 

My body is telling me it needs a couple more weeks to get stronger before I have surgery. This slow down is good to remind me I’m heading toward healing. I can thrive here. I know how to do this. Let it take its time. Even in my impatience with wanting to be through with it, it’s saying, even before I begin, Whoa dear, take it easy. 

I started juicing again, and eating cleaner. Travel in August made eating right tough.  Then straight back into work, I went to a survival mode of eating - I know what works. It’s not interesting or fun. When I veer, I don’t feel great. I still veer. Candy in the office. It’s hard to walk by it. But being home this week and being next to my kitchen while I work has been nice. 

Last year at this time I was mid chemo again. I took it as best as I knew how, and had the best people around me. It put a damper on me that is only starting to lift. I adjusted to being used to having fatigue. It wasn’t that different from inpatient nursing. Or was that just depression? 

This is pausing. This is integrating. A check in, how do you feel in your body in this moment? Can you take a breath, let it out and find a moment of wholeness? It brings joy to pause. It gives a space to integrate what could get stuck. 

Last week I wrote a lot and expected a lot (from myself) and I got the sign to keep going, to keep writing. 

So here I am, thinking, well, what do I even have to SAY? (hola, inner crit, still hanging around, whatsup???)   I started to think about freedom vs deadlines. I am ecstatic to give myself permission to make time to write whatever I wish - what a gift - yet I better get it done by X. I tell myself Friday because it has a festive feel to it. Aloha Friday is always on my mind. My friend Michael used to wear his Hawaiian scrubs to work on Friday. One day he randomly gave me one of his Hawaiian scrub tops. I hope I still have it somewhere in a tub. 

Last winter I audiobooked Brandi Carlile’s Memoir, Broken Horses. I bookmarked a bunch of great quotes as I walked and listened, to remember ‘later.’ Found them again on my phone today and transcribed them, which is a fun thing to test how fast and well you type, or learn your fingers are mildly dyslexic. 

Near the end of the book, she confesses her nervousness for writing a memoir before 40. She wonders if it’s ok and remarks: 

Young memoirs need to be as honest as possible for the author to survive them. It's an all consuming responsibility to tell the truth and hold very little back. I have to face my characters every day and I’m willing to walk that wire and find this balance.

Something is moving her to share her story, and it’s so beautiful. In the giving way Brandi is, she goes on to say:

With these words, I have healed deep wounds of and feelings of inadequacy within myself. If you get this far, if you're still listening to this, write your life.

No matter how young or old, even if you feel like you're or not interesting enough, do it . Believe me, you are. Your life is in fact twisted and beautiful. You’ll find as you peel back the layers, the unexpected side effect is that it feels wonderful to be known, even if it's just by you.

Whew. I needed that. Thanks Brandi, for always being there with that piece of wisdom sent from myself 6 months ago to now… 

So ya, I am compelled to (write a memoir) and that’s part of this newsletter’s intention. It takes time to find a voice, and it takes practice, just like singing. Funny story, I’ve been writing my whole life, hence the boxes and boxes of old journals with little scraps of paper stuck in them, printed out emails from the early aughts between me and my mother, drunk poetry on crinkled bar napkins, post it notes that came home with me from hospital shifts, album titles on worn out hotel stationary, postcards with bible quotes, some never sent, kept for sentimental reasons. 

Having that for fodder feels like a bonus, because some of the stories I am wanting to tell are more personal than the documentation of what was happening and possibly how I was handling it emotionally. Recently reading through some of that stuff recently and therefore emergently due to a flooded basement was jarring, yet like with Brandi’s bookmarks, they were notes from my previous self to my future self - they showed up when I needed them. 

This past year I have been gathering stories as I have sifted through so much with my health, my creative pursuits, my careers, and my relationships. I have done it with the support of the Gateless Academy. It’s been so awesome to come into a friendship with myself as a writer through the viewfinder of others. With Gateless, we write in pods in which we post twice a month, around 1200-1500 words a pop. Then, we read each other's pieces and only comment about what is working. How brilliant! And as you learn to read and comprehend another writer’s story, your own starts to come into better focus. It’s gotten me off to a great start. 

As I continue to understand what I’m wanting to share, I am trying to write here on this newsletter ONE piece a week. No expectations to broadcast all that happens, or comment on the entire world all at once and why I might be horrified. I may just list some things that are annoying me (like that one VRBO ad) or my newest favorite song from the year 2005. Which is “Sleep all Summer” by Crooked Fingers. Isn’t it amazing when a song can CATCH you in a moment and describe so much about how you feel that was totally inexplicable moments before? Even though it was 17 years ago?!?

Really the only rule I’m making for myself (that I will ultimately break) is posting once a week.  If I get crazy, I might expand but I’m not counting on it. While I’m mentioning more of my intention, I am also interested in what anyone reading this may want to share back of their own work, even a snippet of something, that may be nudging your creativity at this time. Doesn’t matter what type of writing you are working on. I want to feel a pulse back of what I’m putting out there, and I’m opening this up to be a reflexive thing, if you’re into that. 

Hey I also made a playlist for ‘Sleep All Summer’ and it seems like the right thing to do to as 

Curtains fall, fashions fade, and endless summer over

Another tide to launch an autumn moon over the dunes

There must be a better way to pull a whole apart

To keep a world from caving in  - Eric Bacchman, Sleep All Summer 

Be well, xo megan