The other day, in the midst of spring, or so the calendar indicates, our mountains received a layer of snow. I’m itching to pull my bike off its hook from the garage, lower my kayak from where it's hoisted for the winter, and slide on my hiking shoes for a walk by the lake, watching my dog lope without either of us getting chilled. But I know better. Spring is slow to emerge, if at all, at our elevation. Sometimes we skip the season altogether and just launch into summer.
Several mornings ago, I woke and looked out the window only to find two inches of frozen white stuff blanketing the earth. My insides sank. And I let out a big, loud sigh. More winter. The house was still quiet, no one else had yet roused to be faced with the reality of the season's last gasp of icy breath. I sipped my cup of coffee and stared out the windows. The branches were layered in a frosting of snow—each one, delicately lined in white. Birds sat on the branches near the feeders with what I can only imagine was total bewilderment. They had just returned, for goodness sake! But they fluffed themselves up and foraged for seed anyway.
Our clothesline, square with concentric squares made of plastic rope, was lined with snow too. It stood symmetrical and stark, like a sculpture of frozen crystals. I grabbed my cup of coffee and shuffled quietly to the back of the house to look outside the window there. From this angle, in the morning dawn, everything was lit in shade of blue, even the snow.
Back to the front of the house to refill my coffee, I gazed out the front door. The pick-up truck was covered in white, like a mechanical snow monster and the woodpile was covered, only the round ends poking out, brown circles tumbling on top of each other. Suddenly, as my mug warmed my hands, the world didn’t seem depressing at all. It was beautiful. It may not have been what I wanted, but it was gorgeous.
I sat down in my favorite, cozy chair, pulled out my journal and thought about the wonder of the frosty morning. Well, wasn't that just like life to show me that if I just sit back and take another look, what I thought was disappointing is really a gift--an opportunity to marvel at what is, instead of what I wished it could be.
As I’ve taken this writing leap of faith over the last year, I've absorbed this same lesson. A magazine accepted an article over five months ago but had ceased communication with me, and then suddenly responded one day with enthusiasm and a contract! A site I thought I would be writing for all year changed directions. I’ll no longer be a part of their contributions, and even while I sulked over this lost opportunity, another door-- to speak at a conference--opened. Rejections dribble in with a polite “thank you for your submission” notes, and yet I discover new writing prospects.
The writing life is filled with hopes and disappointments and sometimes a victory or two. It's not always what I wanted or expected for this season in my writing, and often I’m tempted to wallow in the let-down. But then, with a second look, a few unexpected doors open, other writing opportunities loom; I gain new insights. Rejection is always a cold sprinkle of snow on my yearning-for-spring heart, but I'm beginning to learn there's joy in the journey, right where I'm at, with whatever I'm working on in the moment. Suddenly,I see how wonderful this life is. I just needed to look out the writing window with a new perspective and take time to gasp in wonder at the magic of it all.
What disappointments are you facing as you take the leap? How do you help yourself realize other perspectives in the midst of disappointments? What is the beauty in where you're at, even if it’s not quite what you had hoped or planned for?
Keep writing,
Julie
Beth Anne-- It sounds like you and I are sisters in this writing journey and in very similar places. So glad you stopped by. We can spur each other on!
Julie, Snow when we hope and wish for spring does seem like a set back. We just had a dusting here, it looked like powdered sugar. I've just started to really write after dabbling with it for years. There is good and bad to my timing, but this is when I decided to be ready.
I agree with your sigh and re-evaluation.
Pamela-- thank you for sharing such a wise reminder. You're exactly correct and that's good for me to remember too. The joy is in the journey and writing.
I'll just say, it's funny how easy it is to fondly remember and even romanticize the times when you were in the thick of it and had no idea whether your little (or big) idea would ever come to anything at all. And how hard it is to enjoy it WHILE you're in the thick of it.
But the truth is, you're always in the thick of it. Even after "publication," whatever form it takes. You're constantly learning, evolving, growing. Wherever you are. If you're doing it right.
At the end of the day, the effort and the growth is what's most valuable (though in the West we tend to value "results" above all, which actually results in a lot of disappointment and misery when things don't go exactly according to our expectations). A good day of writing is a good day. A good review or a bad review won't matter much on your death bed. Nor will any particular type of publishing contract.
How we spend our days, how we spend our hours, is how we spend our lives. I don't remember where I heard that, but I try to keep it in mind!
Deb-- we're in the same neck of the woods. I live in a small mountain community in Colorado. I've read many books taken from the diaries of the women who traveled west and marvel and admire their fortitude! I like the image of a crack in the door and seeing the light. I'm going to hold on to that one. So glad you shared it!
Olga! You just made my day! Thank you for the kind affirmation. :)
Julie, you might not have a published book yet, but you have been collecting readers, which might be even better. Look how many of us are regulars at your blog. Your writing is beautiful, whatever theme you choose, and every piece rings true. I'm a fan already.
Olga, my story is so similar, except the part about now having a published book. I'm still on that journey. My attempt at novel writing was sincere and horrid, but I didn't know that at the time. I've learned, and am learning, so much since then and wouldn't trade any part of that path. It's brought me here! Here's to your book and your perseverance and seeing your heart's dream to fruition!
Hi Jill-- I keep a prayer on my desk (borrowed from Julia Cameron) that says, "Lord, I will show up and do the work, please bless the intention and work and bring results to what I do." I agree-- we write because it brings us joy and we hope there's a reader who will need to read or find joy our words.
Beautiful pictures, Julie.
You're right, it's all inside us, how we see the world. I read you post and remembered my grandfather, long gone, alas. When I was a girl, we had a neighbor who was a very negative woman. She would go to a nearby grocery and then complain about the guy working in it: such an ignorant, rude oaf, doesn't know squat. My grandpa would go to the same grocery and say about the same clerk; such a helpful, nice young man, so wise and kind. They were talking about the same man, but my grandpa saw goodness in everyone.
I try to maintain the same attitude but it's not always easy. When I just started writing, I wanted to get published right away. I submitted my first novel to multiple publishers, and everyone said NO. I was so bitter. Now, looking back, I'm surprised those publishers didn't laugh in my face. My novel was REALLY bad, raw and very amateur. After every writing book I had read then (Scenes, Dialog, Characters, etc) I would go back to it and apply my new knowledge. As a result, the novel is very hodgepodge, unfocused and uneven. It took me years to improve my writing, and I don't think that novel will ever be published, but it was a great writing school for me. I'm a better writer now because of it, so I get publications, but that first unpublished novel of mine will always have a special place in my heart. It was a journey, and I learned so much while traveling it.
I had a recent revelation: everything we do, we do four ourselves. Whether our efforts will ever be valued, appreciated, or remembered has nothing to do with the pleasure we get from writing. Does anyone young today know who wrote Hawaii or Exodus? I do. But writers write because they have something to say. The rest is up to a higher authority. Luck plays a huge role in the game. So write your heart out. And remember, you're doing it for yourself.
Hi Jennifer-- You and me both. Glad it was helpful. Thanks for reading. :)
Alissa, I guess that's exactly it. Hope and faith (as you mentioned on your great blog) are essential to writing, I think.
Julie, I love this piece. Even as you talk about disappointments it is filled with hope, and it reminds me that I should have faith.