April 5, 2009

Publishing your most intimate thoughts is like clawing your way into your own guts, pulling them out while they’re still throbbing and oozing and holding them above your head for the world to pass judgment upon. Once they’ve been ripped out, you can’t put them back.

When those words are exposed, they are metaphorically tossed to the mercy of the critic’s sword which has the power to fashion them into gold or slice them to ribbons.

Which will it be this time?

Gold.

Last weekend, I attended my second writer’s conference. These gatherings are a means for those of us who adhere to the calling of writing, to network with fellow authors, booksellers, publishers, agents and like-minded ilk.

During one of the workshops, for the first time, I pitched “Dance of the Electric Hummingbird” to literary agents. I also submitted a few pages to be read aloud before a large audience which included more agents. I was astounded by the reviews my book received from the professionals:

“Fascinating!”

“Agents are going to eat this up!”

“Well-written.”

And while I was deeply honored to have received this feedback, an even greater gift was about to be bestowed upon me…

Wrapping up the two-day seminar, the keynote speaker was a woman named Trish Downing. Prior to 2000, Trish had been a competitive cyclist and an avid swimmer, working toward her goal of one day competing in the Olympics. Then something happened that forever changed her life. While riding her bicycle, she was struck by a car and paralyzed from the chest down.

In spite of this, Trish went on to become the first female physically-challenged athlete to finish the Ironman Triathlon (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike and 26.2 mile run).

As I watched her maneuver her wheelchair up the ramp to address the crowd last Saturday evening, Trish’s presence didn’t make me think: What a waste. In fact, the more she spoke, the less I noticed her wheelchair. Instead, what I saw was a beautiful young woman whose liquid brown eyes were filled with a depth most of us never realize. It was something solid and real that could only be delivered from the soul of a person who was not only motivated to succeed, but by someone who cared enough to show the rest of us that we mustn’t be hindered by our own “wheelchairs.”

While Trish told her story, I thought about all the events in my life that had led me to the place where I found myself at that moment.

Sitting at a round table adorned with a white linen tablecloth, the remnants of my half-eaten slice of cheesecake wallowing in strawberry sauce on a glass plate in front of me, I suddenly realized how blessed I was. And it wasn’t because I was thinking: There but for the grace of God, go I.

Trish enriched me as a human being and it went beyond the fact that she had overcome great adversity. She showed me that all of my dreams had already come true.

Like Trish’s triumph of crossing the finish-line despite great odds, I too, had crossed my own finish-line. Not by overcoming hardships anywhere near what she had been dealt; this was not a contest over whose accomplishments were superior. My finish-line that day was having survived the culmination of years of hard work and preparation: a weekend filled with the stress of having to pitch my book (fling my guts to the proverbial sword) combined with the exhilaration of making new friends, colleagues and contacts and learning skills to improve myself as a writer.

I thought about the process of writing my book: the frustration of sometimes being unable to make the words sound right, the countless hours of revising the text, eating on the run or sleeping too little. I thought about my self-inflicted guilt for allowing mounds of dust to build up on my living-room furniture, for sacrificing spending time with those I loved in order to “fix this chapter” or forgetting to pay the bills.

And I thought about my family, friends, co-workers and the new acquaintances I’d made that weekend, including Trish, who had directly or indirectly offered their support of what I loved to do most of all—write.

I also thought about Sammy Hagar, all the amazing things that had happened to me as a result of the mystical experience I had at his concert six years ago, the vast opportunities he has so unselfishly granted me and the world he has opened up for me—the “me” he has opened up for me. Because of this mystical experience, every step I have taken since that moment has brought me more joy and fulfillment than I ever dreamed possible. I have experienced things I never could have conceived of—things that have advanced my soul in huge ways. And I have met incredible people.

Without any of them, I wouldn’t be in this place of spirit where I find myself at this moment.

As I listened to Trish speak about never giving up on one’s goals that night, I realized I had already achieved mine.

Everything was perfect in my life. It was perfect in spite of the fact that I hadn’t slept for the past two nights because I had been so nervous, or that my stomach was churning because I had eaten cheesecake and I’m lactose intolerant. It was perfect even though I didn’t have all the “things” I wanted or that my grey hairs were multiplying along with the lines on my face.

It suddenly didn’t matter if my book was published or if I accomplished another thing.

All that matters is what I am RIGHT NOW.

I already have it all.