inspirational

Tough Decisions

Some decisions are easy, right? Like, for 2021 our family switched to glass straws and corn-starch dog poop bags in one more step to cut down on trash and waste in landfills and our oceans.

I have a hard time with other decisions, though. I’ve read advice about making pro-and-con lists, about talking decisions over with friends, about throwing a coin in the air and crying ‘head’ or ‘tails’ as a way to figure out what you really want, about meditating and “finding” the answer in your uncluttered mind. But, for me, it’s often about making myself let go. I don’t have faith that something better will come. I’d rather stick with what I know, no matter how flawed, than embrace the next thing. I’ve been practicing letting go this January.

Our mini-van. It’s from 2008 and we’ve kept it going with regular trips to the car mechanic. Unfortunately, our neighbor hit it the other night. No one was hurt and that’s the most important thing, but our son was the primary driver and I liked that he couldn’t go super fast without the whole frame shuddering as if it were about to fly apart. I liked that he could drive his friends around and they weren’t leaving fast food trash in my car. And, I liked that he could drive himself to sports or the gym and the smell wouldn’t cling to my vehicle.

I think we all know that the vehicle is totaled and I have to let it go.

A more difficult decision was to put my horse up for sale. I inherited Noche (Spanish for “night” because she’s a bay) from my daughter, who is a better rider than I am but is away at an out-of-state college. There are so many wonderful things about Noche that even after I fell off and had to recover from a severe concussion, I got back on and continued taking lessons on her. We had some really great rides. I improved, but then she threw me off again this December and the fall caused a cracked rib and a herniated disk. It wasn’t her fault — she was so good in so many other ways that I wouldn’t let her go because I didn’t know if I would bond with another (lower level) horse or if I had the time and money to buy a horse for myself. If I deserved to follow this childhood dream when the world is so chaotic and the pandemic seems like it won’t end. I still don’t know those last things, but I do know that Noche deserves a better rider and I deserve to not be afraid of what my next injury will be. So, I’m letting her go to a better forever home. (Please know that the owner of the stable and I are being very careful as we meet and interview prospective buyers! Noche will stay where she is until we find the perfect home. I just won’t be riding her).

And that brings me to another difficult decision this month. The good thing is I’m finished the next book in The Misbegotten Series. Yay! I’m proud of it and excited to share. It is currently out with beta readers — those are readers who give an author feedback for another round of revisions. My work-in-progress title has been Tamaki and the Fox, but the real title will be: ASHES OF REGRET. What do you think?

Walking Through Fire, Book 1

Ashes of Regret, Book 2

Flames of New Babylon, Book 3

Stars Crash and Burn, Book 4 (Tentative)

The decision is that I’ve been trusting other people to negotiate and get the rights back to Walking Through Fire for me and I need to do it myself (with Mike’s help!). Other people don’t care as much as I do and I’ve lost a lot of time waiting. So, why did I do it?

  1. I have this feeling, often, that other people know better than I do. That they know the right way to do things and I don’t. That I’m somehow missing common sense that everyone has.
  2. I wanted someone to hold my hand through the process. I like being a teamplayer.

I’m moving forward. Humans grow their competence by doing, not by worrying about doing. I’m going to make mistakes — everyone does — but this year I’m going to meet the difficult decisions and not try to sidestep or postpone.

Let me know what you think about the titles in the comments and I’d love to hear your New Year’s Resolutions!

Love,

Sherri

Get Back on the Horse, Woosley

I’ve been quiet for a while and wanted to update. I was thrown from my horse on June 3rd. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I’ve pieced together a narrative from my twins, who were there, and from another rider, who called the ambulance. Noche, our off-the-track-Thoroughbred, startled soon after I mounted her. I fell, or was thrown, hitting my head and shoulder on the ground. Noche bolted for the stable where Ann saw her and rushed down to the ring. I was unconscious for about ten minutes. Thank God for my helmet. I don’t remember much of the ambulance ride or the ER, only bits and pieces. So, my recovery from the concussion and some devastating events previous were all mixed together into a real-life metaphor.

I’m not the only one who has been passed over for a promotion or didn’t win the game. I’m not the only one who lost a loved one, broke up with a romantic partner, or was stopped by an obstacle. But maybe something here will strike a chord and be helpful to you.

 

  • Feel the hurt. You are allowed to mourn for your dream. You wanted it so badly you could taste it. You put in the work and you didn’t get the pay-off. Your heart is broken.

It doesn’t only hurt for one day, for one cry. My headache lasted 9 ½ days. The doctor said to come back if it lasted ten…I guess my brain has a sense of humor. I cried, often suddenly, for the next four weeks. Thinking about parts of my broken dream or even remembering the thud as my shoulder hit the dirt in the ring.

  • The sun came up the next day. Maybe you are surprised? I was surprised.

The worst had happened. Everything I’d imagined had come true. I was devastated…but the world was still going on. My husband and children still loved me. They still wanted to eat breakfast. The dog still wanted to be walked. At the stable, Noche was still given grain and turned out into the field.

  • Get away. A change of scenery is surprisingly refreshing. If your dream was winning a hot dog competition, maybe don’t hang out at the Farm Fair right now. Stick with hamburgers. You don’t have to torture yourself. Say “congratulations” to the person who got the promotion instead of you and gracefully drift away from the party to be with your people.

I was in the bizarrely fortunate state to be headed to Costa Rica for a family vacation that had already been booked for this time period. Some experts think you shouldn’t fly if you have a concussion, but our flight tickets were non-refundable so I went with the experts who said it was okay.

  • Allow help. You don’t know who is going to call the ambulance for you. You don’t know who will actually show up at the hospital or write you a note or call you on the phone. I mean, you might have a reasonable expectation, but there’s a strong chance that someone you didn’t expect to will help you. Maybe they’ve been in your position, maybe they were in the right place at the right time. God moves in mysterious ways.

 

  • Give yourself time. The obstacle changed your five-year plan. It changed the way you saw yourself. You need time for your dream to shift and change. You need time to remember why you wanted it in the first place. You can journal, you can talk, you can sketch, but you can’t force this step.

 

To me, this is the spiritual part. In the middle of pain there is truth. You have to sit through the pain to get there. Here’s the lesson I was supposed to learn: I was equating my self-worth with what I produced and how it was judged. I didn’t believe that I had worth because I was a child of God. Instead, I was a people-pleaser and when a specific piece of art, or pieces of art, failed, that meant I was a failure.

Riders often tell each other, “You aren’t a real rider until you’ve fallen off.” That’s the test! What you do after. Which brings us to the next step.

 

  • Get back on the horse. Even if you’ve realized that you no longer want to be a cowgirl or a dressage rider, you need to go back one more time and face your fear to take away the power from the original negative experience. Have a trainer put your mare on a lunge line, if you want, but get back on, put the memory in the rearview mirror, and get on with your life. Do not give the past power over you. You live in the moment because that is the only place where we can make decisions.

This is me back on Noche. My legs are sore and my heart is happy.

And if you do still want to a cowgirl or dressage rider? Keep going. Set new goals, make a new strategy. Dream a new dream.

Look, the test was hard, but you are stronger now. You’ve leveled up and have the battle scars to prove it. You are ready to take on the next challenge, the next project, the next relationship. I believe in you!

Much love,

Sherri

 

 

 

Driving myself crazy

I’m a mom.  I understand that I’ve moved into the minivan phase of my life and  will spend a great deal of time driving around. There are birthday parties and play groups, ice skating lessons and spring soccer, bike outings, and “I want to go to the park” days. Every Sunday night I have to write out the schedule in an elaborate system to make sure that my kids get to their activities. But, I wanted to go to a critique group in Baltimore and I couldn’t fit it in.

I drove to pick up my son from flag football.  I drove my daughter to her lacrosse practice.  I drove my daughter to another site where her practice actually was (and was glad to meet another mom who also hadn’t gotten the message). After I finally got my older daughter to the right place, one of the twins was in the back seat crying because she had brought a drink for the trip and now needed to use the potty.  The other twin was blowing her nose and throwing the resulting snot bombs  through the air.

I was done.  I was mad.  I had driven myself crazy.  I needed another adult.  I needed a creative outlet.  I needed to do something that wasn’t for someone else.  But, my babysitter canceled.  In fact, we split ways because she cancelled often.  The next day — the critique group day –I had to get my son to and from practice, my daughter to and from a game, at the same time in two different directions, no less, and get the twins’ homework done.  Oh, and dinner.  Don’t forget dinner.

I felt resentful of my children for taking up my time.  For preventing me from one little eensy-weensy activity. And then I felt defeated because if I’d gotten an agent and sold tons of copies of my novel, then I’d be a *real* writer and not just be wasting time and giving myself carpal tunnel at the computer every day.

I texted and called and e-mailed to see if I could find another babysitter last minute.

The mind works in convoluted ways.  As I stopped at red lights and switched lanes, I also began turning around events in my mind.  Maybe I’d be a fantabulous writer if my child didn’t have lacrosse practice.  Maybe if I didn’t have to make dinner for everyone every night and pack lunches and scramble for breakfast before the bus comes, maybe I’d be able to write the Great American Novel.  Virginal Woolf didn’t do laundry.  Jane Austen didn’t wonder if she’d defrosted the chicken.

Well…they weren’t the mothers of their family.  I wouldn’t go to the writers’ circle.  I’d be responsible and maybe I could go to the next meeting.

My family — the ones I was busy resenting — realized that this was important to me.

My older daughter said she’d miss her game, babysit so I could go. My heart melted a little.  My son said he’d read the story for me and give me advice.  The twins came to me, held my hands, and told me they’d be very good.  I gave them all a hug.  Dog-pile, we call it when we all smush together.

I felt okay with my decision not to go.  Family comes first.

That night my husband told me I was going.  I said, “It’s just a critique group.”  He repeated that he’d come home from work early. I was going.

As quick as I became angry and frustrated, as quick as I was to blame others, love humbled me.  It’s always the right answer.  My family isn’t a burden around my neck, pulling me down to drown in an indifferent ocean.  I had it all wrong.  They are the ones gathering around me like dolphins with sailors, supporting me and carrying me forward when I’m out of hope and strength.