Saturday, January 25, 2014


          It's another snowy day in Toledo, Ohio and I just came in from shoveling.  Beneath layers of fleece and wool, the twenty-two degrees felt downright balmy.  Still, we're under a level two snow emergency and sub-zero temperatures are on the way, so I cancelled my morning yoga class and a workshop I was to teach at noon.  Until my little knitting friends come over for their lesson, the day is all mine.
          My friend, Amber, and I were talking earlier this morning and I told her I had completed the edits on my memoir last night.
          "Oh, you must be so excited," she said. 
          "No...that's not it," I replied calmly.
          "Yeah...I was earlier in the week," I said.  "But now all I feel is thankful.  Thankful that I was able to follow through and finish the manuscript.  Thankful for all the help I had during the writing and editing.  Thankful for the wonderful support I've had in getting licensing agreements."  Then I smiled.  "And thankful that this time next week, I'll be teaching yoga and the book will be out in the world.  People will be reading it while I'm moving the mystery of what comes next."
          "That's interesting," Amber commented.
          "Not what I expected to feel either," I admitted. 
          And truly, it's not. 

          Maybe if things had gone a different route, excitement would have been at the top of my emotional list.  But as I'm self-publishing, it's a quieter process, a more solitary undertaking.  I've been able to steer the ship through every step -- through often unknown waters -- and in the end, I'm thankful for that, too.  Because now that I've made it to the shore, the stability and momentum I feel is not something I can clearly articulate.
          As Pandit Ravi Shankar has said, "The magic happens only when the artist serves with love and the listener receives with the same spirit."  I am so very thankful that writing has always been a labor of love and I hope that you all receive my memoir and this blog in that same spirit.  In the end, that has always been my purpose and my pleasure.

          So now on this blustery day in January, I'm looking forward to reading the pile of New Yorkers and the eclectic stack of books that have been calling my name for a few weeks.  I'm looking forward to writing fiction again as I don't know how the plot in my next novel will evolve. 
          And I'm looking forward to wherever this open road will lead me, thankful for the never-ending journey.

My winter literary list....