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I’m writing this blog in a very weird frame of mind. It may be an odd post.
A close family member is having a not-insignificant heart procedure this morning, and while we have every reason to expect a good outcome, I feel a bit in limbo waiting through a rather lengthy surgery for word of how it went.
Late yesterday I flew home from a three-day writers’ conference in Pennsylvania with the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group. On a plane you feel disconnected from the world, just you and your fellow passengers and the crew isolated miles above the Earth, not really anywhere specific outside of this metal capsule, somewhere between home and where you have been or are headed.
It’s not necessarily an unpleasant state. I often get a lot of interesting thinking done on planes. But it does feel a bit like time out of time.
During the flight I finished Before the Coffee Gets Cold, a fable of sorts by Japanese author Toshikazu Kawaguchi about a magical café where it’s possible to travel back in time to speak to people you care about, but with the caveats that nothing you do or say will change anything in the present, and that you have only as long as it takes for your cup of coffee to cool.
The book offers thoughtful and thought-provoking themes about missed opportunities and regret, and how we can’t change what happened in the past or the reality of our present—but we can change our hearts and our behavior as a result.
The book’s message hit me especially hard given my family member’s condition, and also as I began to airlock back into the real world from the lovely environment of a writers’ conference to the clamor and chaos of the world.
The moment you share your work with another person, something has been set in motion, you don’t know what the result will be, and all you can do is wait because you can’t control it.
As I flew back to Austin, fires raged through Texas, not too far from home, whipped up higher by strong winds. Storms ripped through the Southeast, wreaking destruction and killing dozens. Political divisiveness impossibly seems to have worsened in the past week, and our leaders seem to be marching ever more inexorably and closer to actual authoritarianism.
And yet for the last three days I was surrounded by people coming together with a common passion, full of support and openness and acceptance and encouragement for one another, connected in a way that felt so organic and natural and good to me.
Leaving that bubble and being inundated with the chaos and noise of the world, the conflict and anger and dehumanization of one another that makes up so much of the current headlines, underscores that disorientation I find myself feeling this morning as I write this.
It all feels a bit unreal, a bit distant. I feel as if I am in a moment of transition, between realities.
I spent many happy hours over the weekend in connected, warm conversation with the other writers and industry people at the conference over our shared love of story and writing, our common experiences and feelings. Yet many of us learned we have different religious views, different ideologies, different beliefs, even different takes on writing craft and the publishing business.
Democracy may be dwindling and in danger—or maybe we’re finally approaching a turning point and a wake-up call we need to bring our country back together.
Things may be going well for my family member right now in the OR—or maybe they are not.
I don’t know. Not any of it. And that uncertainty is among the hardest discomforts for any of us to tolerate.
The Limbo of a Writing Career
Whichever way the lever tips, change will happen. That is life, the natural state of the world. Nothing in nature is static, but rather always changing, always evolving, and not always for what we might consider the better.
Much of that is outside our control, and that’s probably a big part of my strange state of mind this morning. There is nothing I can do about so many of the factors that have me feeling in limbo. All I can do is wait and see. And then figure out what to do when I see what happens next.
If you’ve read this far you have generously indulged my inner musings, so let’s bring these ideas around to our creative careers.
The moment you share your work with another person, hit send on the submission to an agent or editor or pitch your work to an industry professional, or hit publish on your book and send it out into the world, you enter a similar limbo state. Something has been set in motion, you don’t know what the result will be, and all you can do is wait because you can’t control it.
But—and I think this is probably the reason I felt the need to write through some of these feelings this morning—life doesn’t stop in the meanwhile while we wait for it to happen to us.
We still have agency and autonomy to create the reality we want. No matter what’s happening in the world, what we do have jurisdiction over is our mind, our thoughts, our behavior. That doesn’t mean we can stop the uncomfortable feelings we may have as a result of whatever hangs in the balance, but it does mean we can decide whether or not they determine our state of mind and how we live our lives.
I’m actually dictating this post into my phone as I walk around the neighborhood with my dog. It’s a ridiculously stunning day, considering that nearly ten thousand acres are burning less than eighty miles away: a crystal-blue cloudless sky, the redbuds exploding into the pink blossoms that are always the first harbinger of spring in Texas, my fourteen-year-old Great Pyrenees, Alex, taking one slow stiff step after another, but still up and moving, still here with us, still stopping to intently sniff the infinite scents he detects in the world and wearing a big doggy smile.
That will change too, and probably soon. We see Alex slowing down day by day. Soon the redbud blossoms will fall off, the purple mountain laurel will fill the air with its bubblegum scent, and then those blooms too will fall away, and arid, infernal Texas summer will take over and strip the leaves from the trees and crack the ground with drought.
Things may get worse in the world, and we may find ourselves living in an unthinkable reality and fighting for our nation’s, our planet’s, our species’ very survival.
Any moment my phone is going to ring with news of how the surgery went, and it’s either going to be a breath of relief or a painful new reality.
But none of that is now. For now I’m going to savor the sunlight on my face as we walk back home. I’m going to leash up my other dog for my second walk, where I get to stretch my legs more to keep up with Gavin’s goofy eagerness to tackle everything in the world full-frontal.
I’ll call my Congresspeople and ask them to speak out and stand up for our Constitution and democratic norms and laws. I’ll donate to help those who’ve been hit by these latest disasters.
I’ll come home and love on Alex and be grateful for every moment we still have him. I’ll kiss my husband and be grateful at finding each other in this wide world and being able to spend our lives together, for however long we get.
And then I’m going to sit down at my desk and do the work I love, that nourishes my soul.
I’m waiting through the uncertainty, yes, but I’m not just standing still and putting my life on hold or letting it define the reality I’m in right now. Meanwhile I still get to act, to dream, to hope, to love, to be creative and share that work that connects me with others.
Maybe as you wait for whatever happens next in your own career, your own life, you’re doing the same thing: just putting the next word on the page and the next and the next. Building the worlds you dream of and putting them into the one we live in, creating a story that may one day reach someone else and make an impact on their world, their life, their reality.
Trying to make the world a little brighter in whatever way you can, and hoping it helps illuminate the darkness.
Coda: I got the call a few hours after I finished this post: My family member is out of surgery and all went well—now on to recovery.
I don’t have a formal prompt this week, friends, but I welcome any thoughts you might have about all this.
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42 Comments. Leave new
All of this!
It is here, within a community of writers that I find my hope. We each have our leanings, but we also possess the mutual curiosity and want for depth that keeps us kind in our
interactions. If the loud and angry of all sides could take a master class in respect, kindness, and the true empathy of a gathering of writer folk, I think everything would improve, and Limbo would be suspended. Wouldn’t that be a plot twist for the greater arc of uncertainty? ♡
The writing community is so warm and supportive and kind, I agree. I think artists may be more prone to see people’s common humanity before anything else–and as you said, I think they also tend to lean more toward empathy (a side effect of putting ourselves in so many characters’ shoes, perhaps). It heartens me…. If we can only find ways to extend that vibe more broadly into the world (Oh, WAIT, it’s art!!) 🙂 Thanks for the comment, Kassie.
A lovely post, Tiffany, and very profound in your thoughts. I hope the surgery went well and you can now relax. I hope too that the conflagrations are not too devastating where you live. Waiting is always hard. You are absolutely right, though: we can’t just “wait”. We have to make progress of some sort all the time. Anything else is just waiting for death.
Hi, Rory! And thank you–yes, my family member is doing very well and it’s a huge relief. Last I saw they’re getting the fires contained and loss of life and property haven’t been anything like California.
I think you’re right about not just waiting. I’m more and more mindful of how finite our time here is, and how I want to use it. That doesn’t necessarily mean “achieve, accomplish!” at all times, like it did for much of my life–now it may mean things like playing hooky one weekday morning to go play pickleball with friends, or getting outside on a beautiful day like today, or sitting beside my husband with the dogs and vegging contentedly together in front of some favorite show or movie. (While I was in PA, one evening we watched a favorite movie “together”–me in the hotel, him at home, both on the same channel. Dorky but delightful–and a small ordinary pleasure I’m so grateful for.)
Thanks for the comment–it was lovely to meet at GLVWG and it’s nice to see you here!
A beautiful post, Tiffany. We’re definitely living in uncertain times, and community, connection, and friendship seem so much more important
To me too–especially the older I get. At the heart of everything is the people in our lives, I think. That’s a lot of where I find my comfort in these uncertain times. Thanks for being here, Leslie.
–this was lovely, tiffany, the reminder to be mindful in the moment.
as far as books go, if you liked “coffee,” i think you’ll also enjoy “what you are looking for is in the library” by michiko aoyama. i actually preferred it, during my phase of reading japanese comfort literature.
enjoy that TX weather while you can.
Thanks, Lulu–adding the Aoyama book to my TBR list right now. It does look enjoyable. And yes–I’m relishing this Texas mildness, knowing that it won’t be long before we’re baking in our skins all summer long. 🙁
Thank you for today’s post – it is exactly what I needed to read this morning and it is beautiful. If we dream of a new world, we can make it happen!
May it be so, Gaia! I think as long as we hope and work for that, we’re living, and we might make it happen. Thanks for chiming in here.
I’m so glad your family member is OK!
I so relate to all of what you shared. I’m in limbo as well in several ways, and I keep reminding myself to focus on what I can control, focus on the moment.
Your post was the thoughtful breath of fresh air I needed this morning!
Thanks, Sharon–for your kind wishes for my family member (he’s doing great, thank you) and the kind word about the post. I’m glad it hit the right chord.
It appears many of us are in the same boat, and there are days I struggle to find a reason to be encouraged about the future. I shamefully admit I have allowed this uncertainty to stall my creativity. Nothing kills the creative muse faster than fear. However, planning this year’s upcoming events to sell my books at fairs, as well as the privilege of meeting new readers face-to-face, feds my creative soul. Making a connection with others who love what we do is called pure joy, giving us the strength to keep up the fight, day by day.
Thanks for a great post. Happy the surgery went well! Yay!
Sharing these feelings with others is absolutely a huge comfort to me–knowing that a lot of us are feeling none of this is normal, and finding like minds.
I’m glad you’re pushing forward with the parts of your creative career that feel doable to you right now, even if you aren’t writing at the moment–and I agree, those connections feed the soul. Sometimes we have to retreat and recharge creatively, but I think it’s necessary for refilling the well (to rampantly mix metaphors) for whenever you do come back to the work. Thanks for the comment and your kind wishes for my family member, Patti.
This is a post that touched me. I, too, just had someone important go through a heart procedure (all okay now) and I’m a writer being told by the world I should be weary. Words and our fellow wordsmiths save us, and we are also word warriors with word swords. Words have power. Write, write, write. Your mention of that conference is key; we all have to make sure we get out into our communities, Zoom or in-person or through emails and old-fashioned letters and phone calls. Thank you for a stirring message. This felt like your keynote at a future conference.
Oh, phew, Christine–I’m so glad your loved one is also okay. Heart procedures, I have recently learned, are very anxiety-producing for everyone…!
BIG yes about creating community–I honestly think if anything is going to pull us out of the tailspin we seem to be in, that’s the core of it. And big yes, too, on the power of words. It’s no accident that every despotic regime has started by banning the books and attacking the thinkers and artists. They know how potent it is to teach people to think for themselves, expose them to ideas, give them hope. Thanks for this comment.
Tiffany,
First, so happy for you and your loved one that the surgery went well and they are on their way to recovery!
Thank you for this beautiful post! I can relate to what you express. It is so easy to shut down or at least want to on some days in these times. I so appreciate the mindfulness from your walk that you shared; for a moment or two I was in Texas seeing the redbud blossoms and smelling the laurel. Thank you for that moment.
I think that there is so much more within our personal control than it seems at times. It’s something I have to remind myself of regularly, so thanks for the reminder today!
Thanks, Samantha–he’s doing well so far, and we’re very grateful.
It is SO easy to shut down and clam up in difficult times, I agree. I sometimes just want to dig a hole and climb into it and hide…and that mindfulness helps, the small gratitudes and remembering to be present. Ultimately I think so much is out of our control–but if we remember that we ourselves are not–our minds and thoughts and hearts–it helps ground me. I appreciate your being here and the comment.
Said a prayer for your family member then saw it went well!
I’m so relieved for you!
Thank you, Anmarie! I’m relieved too. 🙂
Tiffany, what a wonderful and comforting post! I believe we are all struggling with life and the divisiveness of our current political struggles, splitting friends, families and loved ones. Thank God for writing, the great escape. I am retired and one thing I learned over the past few years is that: It is more important to be happy than to be right! We may not be able to influence the world very much, but we can control what we say and do with our friends, family and loved ones. In the end, that is what leads to true happiness.
Funny, Jeff–I totally agree with you that as vitriolic as it can seem in the world right now, I also keep believing–even when I think I’m feeling bleak–that most of us long for connection, civility, community with others, and not just those who agree with us about everything (what a dull and flat world that would create). We get to determine how we conduct ourselves in the world, the one we create around us, and I hold fast to that when things feel overwhelming. Thanks for your thoughts.
Thank you, Tiffany.! I hope one day to meet you in person so I can thank you again for all your inspiration, writing advice and hope. Somedays that’s all we have. And sometimes, we can find other ways to cope in our world and words. Glad your relative is doing well.
Patty, that means a lot to me–thanks. I hope we get to meet in person too.
And so far things look good with my relative–thank you!
Thank you for this, Tiffany. Just what I needed today.
By the way, I just added my five-star review of The Intuitive Author to the others on Amazon.
I’m so happy it hit the right note for you today, Elena. And thanks so much for the review! Those really help the book reach more readers, as I’m sure you know–and besides that, it’s very gratifying to hear it was helpful to you. 🙂
My sincere thanks for this inspirational post, and my best for your loved one’s continued recovery.
I’m an INFJ, an idealist, so all the ills of the world pain me, but these days the pain is especially acute, that moment when something precious, something fragile, tips over an edge.
Yet, for all the pain, and in a strange twist, I’m an eternal optimist. I write hope.
In the six-months prior to the pandemic, I lost both my cats, the second one two weeks before shutdown. When sheltering in place happened, I was completely alone as I watched my job slip away. Yet, I wrote hope. In fact, I revised and drafted like someone possessed. Nothing I could do about the pandemic? The world was at a standstill? Not for me.
Time, for me, was what I made it. I’ll long for a better world until my last breath, but I won’t hold my breath waiting for it. Instead, I’ll make the most of each breath remaining to me.
Thank you so much, again. I take inspiration where I can find it, and today you provided me a good measure.
Hello, there, my friend! Nice to see you here, as always.
Like you, the pain of everything right now feels so uncomfortably keen so often–and the uncertainty, which is really hard. But also like you I can’t seem to rid myself of a core of optimism, even when I’m feeling bleak. I can’t seem to write off half of humanity or think we won’t wake up and realize that we’re all more alike than we are different, and that we can create a better world together for all of us to live in. I hold on to hope. And if we can’t…well, I hold on to a resolve to keep creating the world I want to live in around me, at least, among my loved ones and community.
It hurt my heart to read about your losing your cats right before such a scary time and the isolation of the pandemic. Our pets are furry family members–I remember when I got my first dog as an adult in my own house, and how he made it a home, turned “me” into a “we” and a household. I’m glad you found comfort in your writing during that time (and I hope you’ve found some new furry family members to share your life with!).
Thanks for the kind wishes, Christina. <3
Thank you, Tiffany. Yes I at last welcomed into my home a new, furry roommate, Evie. 😺
<3
I’m so glad your family member’s surgery was successful, and hope recovery will be speedy and complete.
This article comes at a challenging time politically, with a colleague, the threat of tornados, and a 92-year-old mother whose life is markedly diminished. Yet when you write of taking mindful walks with your dogs, your gratitude, and your passion for your work, it lifts me up.
An al-anon friend says, “The focus of my attention determines the extent of my joy.” While there is much over which to be distressed, I can have a positive impact in my home, workplace, and at the battered women’s shelter where I volunteer. My attitude and awareness of what is good all around me can make a difference in my little corner of the world.
I say the Serenity Prayer, practice deep breathing, walk an hour almost every day, and give time and effort to those things I can change.
Lee, I’m so sorry about your mom and other challenges (tornados as one of my least favorite natural disasters–so sudden and random!). Love the way you’re handling them–with mindfulness, focus, and by helping others. I’ve read so many times that the latter is one of the most effective ways to combat feelings of futility or discouragement–and it plays into that feeling of community that I find so central to a fulfilling life. Thanks for sharing this–I hope things look brighter for you (and your mom) soon.
I hope you can carry that passion, sharing, and comradery with you into the ‘real world’. Remember the inspirational words of your keynote – they moved me, and I know they moved everyone else listening. Take your own words to heart, my dear, and stay strong.
Linda, what a lovely thing to hear. Thank you!
Beautiful post. Amen! Hope the surgery went OK.
I loved the image of you in the park – I’m in London, but I could just smell your Texan spring!
Your post also came at a very interesting time for me, and really resonated:
“The moment you share your work with another person, hit send on the submission to an agent or editor or pitch your work to an industry professional, or hit publish on your book and send it out into the world, you enter a similar limbo state. Something has been set in motion, you don’t know what the result will be, and all you can do is wait because you can’t control it.”
Just this moment my Editor (I write for a broadsheet here) finally okayed for me to write on a subject way off my usual expertise and that excited me so much. I’ve waited all week for that bit of good news (I know it’s a small amount of time, but it felt l-o-o-o-n=g!)
Also, after a conversation with my agent last week where we agreed to dump the original idea I’d been toying with, just last night I sent a sample of a new idea to her.
I’m obviously refreshing my email obsessively, but at the same time I’m about to leave for the airport to go and see my family for the weekend.
Trying to live in limbo is hard, but it’s so important to remember there’s so much else going on (or that you could be doing) rather than just waiting.
As a proactive person (and patience is not my strong point) I find it very hard to sit and wait, but sometimes that is all we can do, so we must enjoy the wait as well!
Syl, congrats on the assignment from your editor! I u sed to love (when I was a journalist) assignments that stretched me. (Actually I still do, when I am tackling a thorny craft topic I want to teach.) I hope the response to your idea from your agent brings similar good news. Love that you’re carrying on with your life and your creative work in the limbo. Sometimes I think life is made up much more of these “waiting” interstices than the actual events we’re waiting to hear about. 🙂 How much of our lives we’d squander if we didn’t continue to fill that time richly. Patience is not my strong suit either, so I find that continuing to do, rather than passively wait, helps me.
Thanks for your kind wishes about my family member–he’s continuing to do wonderfully in his recovery, and I’m grateful–I’ll be seeing him for myself in a few weeks. Thanks for the comment, and I hope your own family visit goes well!
Thanks for your thoughtful post. It seems to me it’s about a great deal more than just our writing.
Best wishes for the recovery of your family member.
I haven’t had a lot of experience with Great Pyrenees, but I’ve come to love and respect them as gentle giants. Tug gently on Alex’s ears for me; that’s often seen as an invitation to play and may provide some cheer to your aging friend.
The news with which we are bombarded makes it hard to see this as anything other than a period of transition anticipating profound change—in science, governance, economy, foreign relations, and even ethos.
Your message that we must endure what we cannot control, and it is in our best interest to make the most of it resonates with me. I think it’s important to remember that although we may not have control, we have influence. You testify to your understanding of that in the calls you make to persons of greater influence to bring about change.
Democracy is flawed; if it is to serve us as we believe we deserve, we must act from character rather than self-interest and with informed judgment. We are responsible for the consequences of our judgments and actions. And our inactions. Failure to act has the same power to produce consequences that action does, and therefore whether we act or fail to act, we deserve what we get.
It seems to me that the essence of accountability is: If not me, who? If not now, when?
I needed your post to remember that. It probably applies as well to writing as to anything else.
Thank you for your kind thoughts, Bob. My stepfather is recovering very well, which I’m grateful for, and Alex does indeed enjoy a good ear tug–or any other form of human touch, actually. 🙂 He’s a people dog, and as long as there are humans to love him he seems happy–and we’re happy he’s still with us.
Letting go of control is hard for me–but you’re right; I think that’s what we have to remember. But as you suggest, there’s a sense of autonomy and agency, too, in (as the Serenity Prayer goes) changing what we can, even as we accept what we can’t, which is why I do try to take action where I can. Not only do I think, like you, that we have to use what influence we may have to effect change (sociopolitical and in every area of life), but I wholeheartedly agree with your take on accountability and consequences. My favorite saying is, “You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take,” and I do try to take my shots. 🙂
And oh, man, how I hope your thoughts about exercising informed judgment and good character–and I’d add goodwill and good intentions–spread out into the ether of our world. We need more of all of that right now.
Thanks for the comment, Bob, and sharing your thoughts. It’s always nice to see you here.
You’re Welcome. I wouldn’t miss your blog for anything. It’s always helpful and thought-provoking.
With respect to our responsibility to do what we can, I’ve never been able to identify the author of this quote, but I’m not likely to ever forget it: “All that is required for evil to thrive is for good people to do nothing.”
That’s so nice to hear, Bob–thanks. And that quote…yes, it’s chilling to me, and motivating.
Good morning Tiffany!
It is interesting that a heart procedure and a visit to PA prompted you to write this post. A heart procedure prompted me to finally gather the courage to publish my book and I just returned from a visit to Austin (visiting my son–I live in PA) on the day you returned.
I’m happy you could be there for your loved one. My heart episode (emergency triple bypass surgery) happened at the onset of COVID–when nobody was allowed to visit and even the doctors and nurses seemed to be afraid of the patients. The entire event was traumatizing. It gave me a full picture of what life would look life after I passed away; it would go on without me. I made a lot of decisions during that ten days of isolation, waiting for the next brave surgeon. One was to complete and publish a novel, one of the two things left on my bucket list.
I did self publish, largely due to my desire to see my written word in print. And my oldest daughter (I have six wonderful children and seventeen wonderful grandchildren) bought me a first class ticket to Italy (my remaining bucket list item–to fly first class internationally). Facing death, especially alone, opens one’s eyes to the full beauty of ‘today.’
Since that time almost five years ago now, I feel so differently about everything I encounter in life. There is always a way to look at something from a positive point of view if you search for it rather than being led by the negativity of others. Few things display the resiliency of life better than nature itself: the way spring reopens after a harsh winter, or the way flowers will push up through a ground that has been burned.
I appreciate the beauty in your words and the effect they will have on many people. Thank you for sharing positivity!
Cyn, what a lovely story about how your heart surgery affected you. I love that you took it as a reminder to do the things you’d been hesitating to do–and that you did them. Congrats on your book! And I love your first-class Italy trip. 🙂 You’re right–we make little mark in this world, in the big picture–it’s our experience of it that gives it meaning. Life is so short, but it’s easy to forget that and think we have plenty of time, or to put off what we long to do out of fear or “one day” thinking. I try lately to be mindful that all we have is now, for sure, and that we have to pursue the adventures, the connections, the dreams that give our lives meaning.
I have a friend who was diagnosed with MS a number of years ago, and she said it was one of the best gifts she’d ever been given–for reasons like what you describe. It brought home to her how fleeting and precious our time on earth is–and she changed her whole life as a result, pursuing a calling, moving to be near family, etc. These are great reminders for those of us who haven’t had a life-threatening event directly, too–to embrace our time, and not put off what matters. Thanks for sharing your perspective–and thanks for the kind words.