I open my computer and log into the site I logged into every day for 80 days in a row from January to April. The site is called Akimbo, and I signed up for their 100-day program called the Creatives Workshop while I was on medical leave this year. 

After about a month, the novelty of laying on the couch curled up in a ball had worn off. I needed something to do, somewhere to focus my energy. I needed not to languish. 

I needed to write. 

Writing is my tool for processing thoughts and feelings. My head was like a 24-hour-diner for thoughts. They would come in at all hours, and some — the regulars — multiple times a day. They knew all the waitresses by name, and in turn, were welcomed by the staff like family, no matter what state they were in, how long they stayed, or what bad habits they were indulging in. 

Writing is like Christmas Day for that diner. It clears everyone out and gives me a chance to de-grease the grill (and the accumulated gunk behind it), repair the wobbly tables and chairs with matchbooks wedged beneath them for balance, and organize the food in the refrigerators.

My brain needed a deep clean, a week-long Christmas break at this particular time in my life. So I set to writing every day for the next 100 days. I didn't have expectations — I was running on pure instinct at that point. And I didn't have a plan — except to show up at my computer screen every morning, put in headphones and a Spotify playlist of wordless music I made, and allow whatever came up to come out and onto the page.

I couldn't have predicted the magic that would happen next. Those customers who bellied up to the bar, nursing a cup of coffee, chain-smoking and grumbling about the news? They stopped showing up. And they were replaced by smiling, friendly people who were nice to the staff and complimented the food. The waitresses started enjoying their jobs. The cook began to think of himself as a chef — and then he started to cook like one! 

By day 80, a shift had happened in my mind, and a book was pouring out of my heart. I decided to step away from the workshop to focus on pulling that book together. I wrote 47,000 words in that time frame, and about half of them are now a memoir about the short life and ultimate transition of my daughter, Elora. 

The book alone would have been enough, well worth the price of admission to the workshop. But I gained a community of supporters when I most needed one who gave me the confidence to call myself a writer. And calling myself a writer gave me the courage to leave my corporate job that was not my soul's calling and take a leap of faith armed only with my gifts and a strong sense that I would be OK. 

That brings us here, today when I signed into the workshop platform to grab a piece of writing for this newsletter. Instead of the familiar homepage with my work and the community's generous comments about it, I'm greeted with a strange message that merely says, "This session has ended."   

I taste panic at the back of my throat. Gone? It's gone?! I lost 25,000 words of some of my best writing?! I had heard throughout the workshop from various people who had taken it before that we would have access to our work forever. I grab my phone and text a group of writers I'm still in touch with on WhatsApp. 

As I watch the "typing" icon at the top of the text indicating someone is responding, a feeling of complete peace washes over me, and I begin laughing. I set myself up for this. It's as if my Higher Self knew I would do this. And instead of berating myself, I say aloud through the laughter, "Oh, I love you so much!"

You see, I have come to understand that it all disappears. Everything you did, everything you have, everything you're holding on to. And there's nothing you have to do but learn, through practice and grace with yourself, how to let go. And when you do, all that will remain is your eternal essence: pure and holy joy. 

Laughter. 

Credits

Photo by my beloved, the talented Kevin Malmgren.

Music: I Release by Beautiful Chorus. (Listen on YouTube or Spotify.)

P.S…sst!

I just got my first draft of the memoir — the writing that was not lost! — back from the editor, and I’m on schedule to release it before the end of the year.

If you’d like to pre-order a copy or want updates on where I’m at in the process (no more than 1 per month!), you can fill out this form.

Thank you for your support along this journey, wherever it may take me. 🌈💖

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