The email arrived at 1:34 a.m. on January 11, 2020 from Kindle Direct Publishing, and it pronounced, “Congratulations, your paperback book is available to buy on Amazon.” The message contained other information, such as timelines for product description, linking, and Look Inside the Book, but I couldn’t read it as my vision blurred with gratitude.
Writing a book seemed like such a simple task. I knew it would involve hours of research, writing, and revision. But I loved reading about fitness and habit formation, and I had an unconditional enthusiasm for the task at hand. I envisioned myself a middle-aged mentor for despairing, not-in-great-shape folks. I threw myself at the project with the faith and fervor of a reformed exercise resolution-breaker.
Several interminable developmental edits later, the consensus was in: the tone of my manuscript was unengaging. I fancied myself an empathic, but slightly bossy, big sister. It turns out that I was simply bossy. The editorial solution was to revise the manuscript to provide more emotional content to help the reader identify with me. In other words, I had to reveal more of myself.
The solitary and inestimable expedition began. As Ernest Hemingway put it, writing is easy, “just sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” I examined my motivations, questioned my authenticity, and scrutinized my background. I peeled back, layer by layer, my resistance to self-disclosure. I endured endless edits and thoughtful but disconcerting commentary.
I had the privilege of supportive professionals, loyal friends and loving family members. And yet, writing is by its nature an independent and, at times, isolating pilgrimage. I began with the boundless enthusiasm of a first-time marathoner taking selfies at the starting line. As time went on, I paced myself with ceaseless patience. In the second half, I reminded myself of my resilience and absolute resolve. Toward the end, I became a plodding Percheron, bounded by a dwindling reservoir of pride and persistence.
Having crossed the finish line, I’m more humbled than honored, more appreciative than ecstatic. Writing, like running, is a voyage of discovery. At times wearisome and tedious, it culminates into a moving and inspiring excursion. The gratifying sense of achievement is heightened, not tempered, by the immensity of effort.
I remember the final half mile of my first marathon years ago, when the physical pain of exertion practically brought me to my knees. I promised myself that I would never again subject myself to the incalculable adversity of distance running – and almost immediately began planning the next one at the post-race bagel table.
The infinite joy of accomplishment is not tethered to acclaim, approval, or accolades. It is in the sweetly dreamy sense of resolution and closure. In this moment, I need nothing else than to savor the grateful grace of fruition. The bliss of fulfillment eviscerates the memory of the at-times wearying tedium of creativity.
But wait. I have an interesting idea for a tangential sequel to my book. So maybe, just maybe, the journey will begin again.
____________________
Daily: Transforming Your Life with an Everyday Movement Habit is available to buy on Amazon.