February 25, 2016 by Amy

When writing makes me feel better

Facebook nudged me and let me know that I haven’t posted in 12 days. Maybe it’s 13 now. Regardless, it’s been awhile and Facebook laid on the guilt and so here I am. Thanks, Facebook, for taking my mother’s place. Are you going to remind me that I should wear more makeup, too?

I’ve done quite a bit in the last 12-13 days, so you’d think I have plenty to write about. And I do. Fodder is not the problem. Motivation is the problem. Because when my heart is shattering, I find it hard to write.

No, it’s not my mom. (Although that would be a good guess because that happens daily now.)

No, it’s not my marriage. (Which would also have been a good guess last week when M returned home after two weeks and threw out his back and turned into a snarling beast. He’s good now. We’re good now. He’s back to himself and his halo is shining bright again and I no longer have to toss raw meat at him before speaking.)

No, it’s not Zoe. (Despite my near constant worry, the kid is thriving. She recently got palette expanders from her orthodontist and is rocking them without complaint. She’s amazing.)

No, it’s not work. (A source of angst in the past, work is now one of the highlights of my life. Specifically, the people I work with. They are awesome and they make me laugh every day.)

It’s not any of that.

It’s my church. My church. That place I used to think of as my second home.

The Roman Catholic Church. (Not Pope Francis. That guy is cool.)

As many of you have seen, the “Girl Scout issue” is blowing up again across the St. Louis Archdiocese. There’s a lot of misinformation floating around, and a lot of accusations, and a lot of hurt feelings. I cannot adequately express how I feel without going off on an expletive-laden tirade, but suffice it to say, I’m not happy, my friends are not happy, and my husband is really not happy. I also know that this, too, will pass, and that there are far greater things in the world to complain and worry about (human trafficking) (the heroin crisis) (racial violence) (school shootings) (Donald Trump) so why should I unload my temporary crisis on you, my dear readers?

So I’m not going to write about the Church and Girl Scouts. It’s already taking up too much brain space.

I went to Colorado for my annual Girls’ Weekend. Snowshoeing. Wine. This year: Moscow mules. Lots of laughter. Usually movies. This year: An Idiot Abroad on Netflix. (I love you, Karl Pilkington.) In Colorado, I am allowed to just be. I can temporarily shed most of my obligations. Work. Mothering. Wifehood. It’s a wonderful touchpoint in the midst of the chaos. And as much fun as I have, I’m always so grateful to return home. Which is a pretty good indication that I have a truly wonderful life. I left last week on Thursday morning, and Thursday night is my writing group and usually where I bang out a blog post or two. So I missed that because I was busy drinking Moscow mules and so we should blame my lack of a post last week on ginger beer and vodka.

I worked on a grant for a service program some incredible moms have started for the children at Zoe’s school. The program, called Wonder Workers, is so phenomenal I can’t even. I’m serious. I. can’t. even. (There isn’t a lot I can’t even about, but this is one of them.) The amount of good they do for others is mind blowing. They help the poor, the homeless, the hungry, the sick, people serving in the military, sick kids, families of sick kids, the under-recognized. Pretty much anyone who needs help. I can’t volunteer like I want, because of my job and my other volunteer responsibilities, so when my friend mentioned they might need help writing a grant I knew that could be my contribution. Because I love Wonder Workers and I love my friends and because I write real good. As a bonus, I got to work closely with one of my dearest friends throughout the process. She actually did the bulk of the writing. I just formatted and edited and added some words. It was good work, and I felt good doing it, and I felt a sense of accomplishment when it was done.

I’ve been reading a lot. I went on a tear downloading books from the library and have lost myself in other worlds. Zoe and I got library cards from the Kirkwood Public Library, which means we are now dual-library card holders. We are making up for the fact that M is completely freaked out by libraries and therefore doesn’t have even one library card. My nerd self is geeking out about this. Two whole libraries full of books. There is not enough time in the world, my friends. I currently highly recommend “The Kitchen House” by Kathleen Grissom and “The Year of Magical Thinking” by Joan Didion. Both of these remind me that my issues are so minor as to be laughable. Right now I’m in the middle of Amanda Palmer’s “The Art of Asking,” and I have Sheri Fink’s “Five Days at Memorial” in the queue. All of these books are disparate. Historical fiction and autobiographical and self-help and creative non-fiction. That’s how I roll, people. I’m a freakin’ literary maverick.

And, my friends, there is this: my new book project is launching. I have two interviews lined up for this weekend, and I have faith that more will materialize. In the past week, when I’ve felt down or upset, when I’ve battled Holly Golightly’s Mean Reds, all I had to do was think about this project. I instantly felt better. There are stories to tell, and I just might get to help these people tell them. I love things that give me purpose, like writing a grant for a children’s service club, and this book does just that.

Huh. Look at that. Just listing all the really great stuff in my life makes me feel so much better about The Other Stuff. What other stuff? Yes. Exactly.

And now, because I haven’t posted any lately, some pretty pictures. These are all from Colorado.

#blog#daily life#faith#personal essay#St. Louis#writing