Category Archives: On writing

On Serendipity, Connection, and Finding a Sister on the Other Side of the World

Posted on March 3, 2024 | 4 comments

“People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.” – Brian A. “Drew” Chalker. Victorine Mbong Shu came into my life for a reason, has stayed for a season, and remains a strong part of my life.

Our relationship was serendipitous from the start. Victorine sent me a friend request on Facebook. Seems simple enough, but the impacts for both of us have been profound. As I often do when someone I don’t know sends me a friend request, I checked Victorine’s friends list. Our common friends were well respected colleagues. I accepted her invitation.

Soon after we became “friends”, Victorine posted a call for stories for a book on Motherhood Honesty. I had a story I had been burning to tell for decades. I messaged to ask if it would be appropriate for me to submit a story. She said “yes” and within 24 hours I sent her my story. I literally sat down and wrote it in one sitting. I’m a writer. Usually I don’t write quite that quickly.

Victorine accepted my story for her book and asked if I would be willing to read another mother’s submission. I agreed, edited it, and sent it back immediately. This was followed by a second story and a third. V asked if I would be interested in co-editing the anthology. I jumped at the chance. Covid lockdown had me looking for a meaningful project. This opportunity was just what I needed, a chance to help mothers’ claim their voices while trying to keep those I loved safe during the pandemic.

Over 10 long, exciting, arduous months, our book grew until we shared it with the world on International Women’s Day (March 8, 2022) in Johannesburg, South Africa. The symmetry of our book of motherhood stories taking roughly the same amount of time to complete as the gestation of a human baby and the date of the launch on the international day celebrating women filled me with joy!

Victorine invited me to help plan the launch. Of course she invited me to attend, but COVID! She upped the stakes, inviting me to MC the event. I was coaching 3 mother/authors who would be presenting their stories at the event. I had to be there! After much back and forth, and encouragement from my partner, Andrew, who reminded me that I’ve lived my life embracing unexpected opportunities and traveling the world, I overcame my fears, bought my ticket, and flew!

The launch and my experiences in South Africa were delight filled re-entries into the world of travel and cultural exploration. Victorine asked if I would like to stay at her home. I gladly accepted. I was excited to see how she lived. I was out shopping for gifts to take to her and her family when Victorine messaged me asking if I would mind sleeping on a straw mat on the floor with her as that was the only space available. I had just found a gorgeous crystal vase that I planned to bring to her. Her question made me rethink as I wondered what her home life was really like. I didn’t want to give her something that would be out of place, inappropriate, or not useful. I opted instead for a lovely crystal Swarovski pen. I got one for each of us to commemorate our collaboration. This was my introduction to Victorine’s wicked sense of humor. She and her family actually live in a lovely large compound, and the vase would have fit beautifully there.

Her family welcomed me with open arms and I am now auntie to her four children. We all cooked, laughed, and played together. They introduced me to local delicacies; I introduced them to cheesy garlic bread. It was invigorating to explore the world again.

The following October, it was my turn. I invited Victorine to come to the U.S. to present our work at the Organization for the Study of Communication, Language, and Gender conference in Minneapolis Minnesota. This was V’s first trip to the U.S. and her first academic conference. As I knew she would, she fully embraced this experience, making connections with new colleagues, and memorably sharing our and her own research.

After a month exploring the U.S., Victorine returned to South Africa and she and I started working on our next book, soliciting stories about Fatherhood Honesty. We anticipate publication of that book in either June or September 2024, one of the two Father’s Day events celebrated around the world. This book will be followed by anthologies on Sibling Honesty and Grandparent Honesty.

I’ve supported Victorine in her quest to earn her doctorate. She’s supported me as I’ve worked to develop my coaching business. She attended my virtual workshop “Claim Your Power! Transform Your Life! 3 Steps to Identify Your Strengths to Step into Your Dream Future” for women facing life transitions in November, 2023. Following the workshop, she thanked me for helping her “find the me I hadn’t realized I had lost.” After the workshop, she asked me if I would be willing to do something similar for teens. She felt that the stress of Covid, schooling from home, and related logistics, as well as the typical stresses teens experience were taking a toll. Other mothers in the Motherhood Honesty Facebook group were expressing similar concerns. In February, I facilitated a 90 minute virtual workshop titled, “Step into Your Strengths! Claim your Power! Manage Stress and Anxiety!” to 19 teens in South Africa, including 3 of Victorine’s children – all because Victorine asked me to.

I have no idea where the future will take us, but over the last three years, when I have needed a nudge, support, encouragement, or an awesome opportunity, Victorine has been there to supply them.

Her original reason to reach out was my reputation in the communication discipline. To my delight, she gave me the opportunity to write for her (our) book. Those moments started a season of support and encouragement that helps each of us, encourages us to be our best and continues to benefit both of us as our friendship grows and deepens. I am so fortunate to have this woman in my life.

I cannot express my gratitude enough. Thank you, sis! Thank you for sending me a friend request. Thank you for the Motherhood, Honesty book, and for inviting me to both author a story and co-edit the book. Thank you for encouraging me to offer workshops. Thank you for helping me explore South Africa. Thank you for your friendship! I can’t wait to see what we do together in the future. Onward!

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Posted in Family Stories, Healthy Relationships, Motherhood Honesty, New Adventures, On writing

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On Solitude and Connection

Posted on March 16, 2021 | 4 comments

I sit next to a lovely window on the last day of my writing retreat pondering the snow blowing sideways as the wind carries it drifting across the yard. Someone in the other side of the house where I’m staying strums a guitar slowly. It’s lovely. There were children in that side of the house this morning, running up and down stairs, laughing at times, voices serious at times. There was music, “Hello darkness, my old friend; I’ve come to talk with you again,” mellow and folksy, soothing. There were the sounds of cooking and a family, not a biological family, I don’t think, but a community of selected family sharing breakfast before they took off to do chores on the farm in the falling snow. I sat in my dining room, just on the far side of the shared kitchen door enjoying my solitude and also enjoying the sounds of their community. These disparate moments, their community, my solitude led me to reflect on the importance of connection and aloneness. Not loneliness, but the need I sometimes feel to be alone, to feel my own rhythms, to do things in my own time, not influenced by the rhythms and time of others. Their time together seemed so effortless, so comfortable. My seclusion felt the same.

I learned during my 3-month writing retreat in Florence, Italy, that my creativity is best fed with time away from not only those I love, but basically everyone. I did make two wonderful friends during that time, Emma, a sculptor, and Iris, a barista at the coffee shop I frequented, but our friendships were mostly bounded by Emma’s shop and Iris’s restaurant. When working on my time, my days developed a cadence, a pattern that they rarely have at home in my “normal” life. I rose whenever I awoke, usually around 8 am when construction started on the apartment building across the way. I drew for a while, journaled for a while, walked to a new area of the city, shopped for lunch, returned home, worked on projects until I was ready for dinner and then cooked for myself or chose a restaurant nearby. My evenings were free-form. I strolled the city looking for street art or listened to buskers. I took cooking, pasta making, or wine tasting classes. I often bought a gelato or a cappuccino (or both) before walking back home to read for a while before sleep. Sometimes I went to museums or art exhibits. Sometimes I took short trips outside the city on truffle hunting expeditions or olive oil and cheese tastings. But mostly, I spent my days strolling Florence and soaking in the inspiration it so freely provided. I discovered a taste for Negroni and aperitivo (gin and olives, two things I’d never had a taste for).                                                               

And I wrote. Thirty blog posts in three months. I outlined two books and drafted chapters for each. It was one of the most personally and professionally productive times of my life. Professional productivity is usually something else for me. I never have trouble meeting deadlines for academic presentations, journal articles, or book chapters, although my model typically involves finishing everything in the 11th hour. I’m not a procrastinator, per se, I just process for a long time, then write under pressure. My personal writing is different. Something, like the snow outside, triggers a memory, a thought, an idea, and I write.

Writing, for me, is part of this, but not the whole picture. I live life fully, with activity, passion, engagement, and energy. Often those things are driven by other people and events, often to a beat not my own. I work at the tempo demanded in the moment. I adapt. On writing retreats, I nurture my own pace. I find my own rhythm.

I guess my message is this. We all need connection and aloneness, time to engage outwardly and time to reflect inwardly, and time to create. On this snowy afternoon, I am content to sit by this window, let these words flow from my fingers, and simply be in the moment. Tomorrow I return to the rhythm of my family, of the reality of four people coordinating their lives together. I will miss this solitude. I will return gratefully to the hustle and bustle of my day-to-day life, until the pull for solitude draws me on to my next writing retreat.

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Posted in On writing, Reflections, Uncategorized

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The Florence Journals: On Writing, Rhythm, & Street Art

Posted on November 12, 2014 | 1 comment

So today, after an incredibly productive day of taking insightful workshops (about 5 hours worth), I decided to head out and “troll” the city. There was so much going through my head and I just wanted an energy shift, time to just “be” in this lovely city. I trolled the city for 3 hours. When I troll, I walk wherever my feet take me with no plan and see whatever presents itself to me.

It rained again today, so the stone streets were wet tonight. I walked, looking in shop windows, stopping to listen to street musicians, saying hello to friendly shopkeepers. I stopped to watch several hundred people run by me who were participating in the Florence Run (an 18K run – or about 11.25 miles). I trolled looking for sign art, a transient production by a group of artists who decorate street signs that are cleared off almost immediately.

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These are such an amazing complement to the pastel street art that occurs every day (if it’s not raining).

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And there is music everywhere. I trolled the carousel in the Piazza della Repubblica, one of my favorite spots. A young man handed me a tissue so I could wipe off a bench and sit for a while.

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One of my hopes when I came here without knowing the language and without knowing anyone was that I would learn to slow down, to reflect more, to get better at just “being” and not “doing”, to harness my extroverted side, to give expression to my introverted side. In my “real” life, I move quickly and get a lot done. I seldom reflect on what I’ve done before careening into the next thing (or the next 10 things). I have come to realize that for me this is a learned pattern. I have always striven to be productive, to be the best I can be. Often in my life, this has translated into doing as much as I can as quickly as possible. I am also a perfectionist. Getting “it” done isn’t adequate. I have to do “it” as well as I possibly can, whatever “it” is. My drive is one of the reasons I’ve been so successful in my life.

I have found a different rhythm in this city than I have at home. I walk slower. I look around all the time. I soak in the city. I am delighted to have had the chance to share some of this beauty with you, dear reader. For myself, my photos and writings will fuel my memories and be reminders of this time when I am back home. I hope they will also be reminders to maintain the calmer, more relaxed pace I’ve found here. I’ve found, among other things, that when I slow down I am almost as productive as when I’m moving at the speed of light back home.

Is it any wonder that I am inspired to write by all the beauty, art, and wonder in this city?  I walked home tonight, more slowly than I would at home, up the steep, street to my apartment.

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I am so blessed to have this time.

A presto (until next time)!

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Posted in Florence, Italy 2014, On writing

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The Florence Journals: On Writing and Reluctance

Posted on September 11, 2014 | Leave a comment

I’ve had some interesting insights into myself since I arrived here in Florence, Italy a little over a week ago.

This is the first entry about those insights. In my journal, I’ve noted that I’m aware of the possibility that someone else might read my words and I find myself silencing or editing myself because of the risk that my words might be judged, evaluated. I don’t necessarily intend to share my journal writing with anyone. I may edit writings for blog posts, like this one. But I’d like what I write in my journal to be for me, to be free of any “generalized others”, any audience that may read and draw conclusions. (Yes, I hear the echos of Kenneth Burke and George Herbert Mead in what I’ve written.) I desire to work on this.

As I revised my journal writing for this blog post, I had an insight. I know where this concern came from. Like all teenagers, my life had a degree of angst. I used to journal all the time. I can still picture the spiral notebook in which I wrote. The peach and pink swirls on the cover. I loved that notebook. I wish I could still picture the words.

One day, while I was in 8th grade, the principal, a very serious nun I did not particularly like or trust (She was one of those people who could make any information fly out of my head simply by asking me a direct question.) had a fellow student call me out of class to go to her office. That was never a good sign. In 8th grade, it typically meant our cheerleading skirts were too short (Yes, I was an 8th grade cheerleader) and we were going to have to kneel on the floor and have them measured with a ruler.

This time was different. I walked into her office and she just looked at me. Eventually, I felt myself squirming. However, we didn’t speak until spoken to, so I just waited. Finally she asked me to take a seat across from her desk. This never happened. No one sat down in her office. I sat nervously, wondering what I had done, what she wanted, what was wrong… A million thoughts flew through my head.

She opened with “So, I understand you like to write”. I was startled. I had no idea what she was referring to. I replied, “Yes, I guess”. “Well, do you or don’t you?”, she asked pointedly. “Yes”, I stammered, more of a question than an answer. “So, what is this?”, she asked picking my journal up from her desk. I panicked and froze. “It looks like my journal. How did you get my journal?!”, I whimpered. I had written my most personal thoughts in that journal. It was not for anyone else’s eyes. “You’re a very good writer. Keep writing” she stated, “Now go back to class”.

Shaking, I took my journal from her hands and left. Rather than feeling supported, as my optimistic self believes she probably intended, I felt betrayed. I felt rage! What gave her the right to read my journal, to read my private thoughts? And how did she get it anyway? I never got answers to these questions. On my way to class, I made a detour to the incinerator in the basement. I tore my journal to shreds, feeding page after page into the fire, last of all the peach and pink swirled cover. I watched as the flames licked it black and it turned to ash. When I was done, I walked, still shaking, back to my classroom. I have no idea what we studied that afternoon. I know only that I felt relief. No one could ever again read my private words. Often when I saw her in the hallway after that, she’d stop me and ask “Still writing”? I’d just smile. I’d stopped writing.  I stopped writing… for a long time.

Now, many years later, I would do almost anything to be able to read the words in that peach and pink notebook, to have access to those thoughts, to know what my younger self pondered, questioned, explored. Something precious was lost that day. While I can’t get her words back, perhaps I can learn to claim mine again, on paper, as I did then, so that one day, my older self will know me through my words. Or, maybe some other reader who cares to know who I was will read them. I hope that I, she, he will hear through my words the real, unedited me, not a redacted or silenced me. I hope they will see me in all my shades and passions, the angst and joys that I experience. That is my hope. We will see.

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Posted in Florence, On writing, Reflections, Sabbatical