And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
Well, as of this last Sunday, I am back home. Re-entry into my reality this week has been difficult, but manageable. I love what I do, and I love where I am, enough that these re-entries require a transition, but I settle in pretty quickly.
The hardest part is losing the time for writing.
Many people will say to me that they hope I had a great time while on vacation. I wasn’t on vacation, and I never am, when I’m on the Oregon coast. I am working the whole time – but on writing. This time fit that bill exactly. I’ve been working on two books, and while I was out there, I finished the poetry book, all the way down to writing the intro. I also finished the first draft of my new novel, and started the second. Going into a second draft always feels like turning a major corner – I’m still writing, but I’m really doing more shaping, finessing, molding. Someone once described sculpting to me as starting with a big chunk of clay and simply cutting away everything that doesn’t look like your vision. Rewriting is the same. I know what the book is about now. Going through it for the second time (and the third, and the fourth…) is all about making it say it louder, clearer, until it just rings with the truth of it.
The biggest thing, for me, is that when I’m on the coast, I am living the life that I thought I was going to live. When I realized who and what I was, it was still possible to earn your living as a writer. I went to readings and book launches where the writers talked about being sent on six-week book tours, cross country or even internationally, and then coming home and sitting at their desk and writing the next book while the publishing house continued to publish the book they just finished. I sat in those audiences, and I dreamed.
I started writing before I knew I was writing. At the age of 11, I was told I was a writer and that word just rolled over me and fit like a new layer of skin. I sold my first story at 15. And bit by bit, I built my entire world and my entire life around writing. Teaching entered into my life when I was 35. I opened AllWriters’ when I was 45. If I’m not writing, I’m editing. If I’m not editing, I’m teaching. If I’m not teaching, I’m advocating.
It’s just who I am. And when I’m in Oregon, I am living the life of my dreams. Everything falls into place.
I’ve been going round and round with someone who just doesn’t get it. And it surprises me that he doesn’t, because he writes, and he publishes some as well. But he tells me he enjoys writing (so do I), but he doesn’t write with an eye on the end product, on where it’s going to go, or who will read it. And that’s where our similarities stop. I write for the reader; he seems to write for himself, and if publication is involved, well, so much the better.
To me, that’s like comparing someone who absolutely loves running, who goes out running every day, no matter what the weather, and just feels oh so good when they run, with someone who is out to win Olympic gold.
There is a step beyond enjoyment. There is a step beyond the passion for writing. There is the need for reach. I reach and reach and reach with my writing. It’s why I often tackle the difficult subjects. So much can be learned and resolved through story.
So this time, when I was in Oregon, I actually got to the point where I lost track of days and times. I slept until I wasn’t tired. When I wasn’t tired, I was awake and working. I ate only when I was hungry, and when I ate, it wasn’t in front of my computer, checking emails, but at the kitchen table with a good book. My coffee break was an actual break, out on the deck, with an iced French Toast latte from the coffee shack down the road beside me, that good book in my hand, and the ocean keeping me company.
When my latte was done, I went back inside and wrote some more.
I said earlier that when the word writer was used to identify me, it fit like a new layer of skin. When I’m in Oregon, that layer of skin is topmost and I am at my most comfortable, my most fulfilled…my absolute happiest. The other layers of skin – teacher, advocate, business owner, mother, and yes, wife is still there too – are there, but they aren’t predominant. Who I am is. Writer.
Being back home, those other layers are back out and strong again. I was welcomed by family. Students and clients were happy to see me. My dog about twirled herself to madness when she saw me, and one of the cats immediately climbed up and tucked herself under my chin. The other cat was angry with me, but by that evening, he was back in my lap. One cat gave me a face wash. The other tried to chew on my glasses. The dog sat on my feet and turned her head upside down and backwards to see me. And all was right with my world.
Thanks to Oregon, I remember who I am, which is who I set out to be. Remembering who I am leaves me awake and present again. I now have a new role – widow. But I realized, being away, that adding that role does not make me less. My home situation is different, but I am not. I am still the author Kathie Giorgio. I am still the director and founder of AllWriters’ Workplace & Workshop. I’m still Mom to my big kids, Mama to Olivia. I still have my eyes wide open and set on what I want to accomplish – and I still believe I can accomplish it.
Coming home, I settled back into myself in this new version of my life, the version that is without Michael.
So the Moment of Happiness? I feel better right now than I have in a year and a half. I feel more like myself than I have since that year and a half started.
I’m just fine.
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.
