London Adventures Part Three: Re-Emergence (Originally written in March)

The number one question I get asked is, “What is it like to be away for a month?”  And by ‘away’, I assume people mean not engaged with my regular day to day life— a connotation of being exotic or mysterious.  The truth is, if I hadn’t gotten on that plane the day I left, the likelihood of me being here today is minimal.  I don’t mean that in as quite a dramatic sense as it sounds. I wasn’t terminally ill seeking a miracle or on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  But I was completely spent and depleted emotionally, mentally and physically.  In fact, upon arriving in London I spent the first four days very ill, grateful for caring friends who looked after me.  So my answer to the question most asked is, “It was fabulous.”  However, fabulous came as an evolution. 

The last year and a half has been tumultuous, yet empowering. A divorce and the act of dividing a life shared for more than twenty years, coupled with closing my business and leaping into an unknown future away from my island community, left me exhausted on every level. This trip was meant as a respite where time wasn’t dictated by others, but only by my own desires.  I didn’t set an alarm.  I only looked at the time on my phone on the days I had reservations or trains to catch.  I ate when I felt like it.  I went where I wanted.  I did nothing because I ‘was supposed to’. Day after day, I felt the layers of stress I had carried, almost unknowingly, fall away from me.  My breathing became deeper.  My mind slowed, which those who know me will tell you is rare.  Sleep, which had been elusive for years, came easily.  I slept eight hours or more, something not usually done unless I am sick or under prescribed medications.  My body, which has the standard aches and pains of any middle-aged body that is not as well tended as it should be, relaxed.  I don’t recall taking Advil once.

Aside from the physical manifestations, something else began to happen.  Something more subtle, almost imperceptible.  It started at the pub one night with new friends.  Someone said something funny, and we all laughed.  A few days later, the moment repeated itself.  I found that every day I laughed.  Loudly, deeply and freely.  Not a chuckle or a smirk or a giggle.  But the kind of laughter that brings tears, or makes your muscles ache.  Were my U.K. friends funnier than my American friends?  Not necessarily.  Over the last several years, I had forgotten to make time for laughter.  Strange how something so small can become a luxury we sacrifice in the face of stress.  With the laughter came a lightness I had forgotten about...of spirit and heart. One of my oldest friends from my school days in the U.K. said in my third week that I was more like my old self, someone he hadn’t seen in a while.  To be honest, I hadn’t even realized I had gone missing, but sometimes we don’t know that we’ve slipped away until we emerge again. 

So my time ‘away’ was fabulous to be sure.  The real trick will be to hold its lessons and bring them forward in my real life.  Already I sleep less and do more ‘shoulds’ than ‘wants’, but the laughter and my true self is something I don’t want to lose again.  Thus far, holding strong!

An Update (Written June 2014):

I’ve returned to London for another visit.  The life back home has drastically changed.  My home for the last fifteen years is for sale. I’ve packed and moved my bare essentials into a small studio flat in Portland, Oregon.  Everything else that matters is contained in about twenty five boxes in a small 8x8x5 storage pod and my business is closed.  I’m not sure what the future holds for me when I return.  

Right now, I am sipping a morning cup of tea and listening the East End of London wake up to a sunny day.  I returned, well, because I can.  I wanted to continue my explorations of London. This period of “just me” time will likely not come around again for many years in my life.  So I am embracing it.  When I stood at Customs and the agent asked about my return so soon after a month long stay, I smiled brightly and said, “Why not?  I have time off and I love London.”  She smiled and said, “Enjoy your trip.” And I am enjoying my trip.  Everything I wrote in March still holds true.  I find my true self each day I remember to laugh and to ask myself what I need today.  Re-emergence isn’t a one-time event.  It’s a process.   

Live from London! Writing Process Blog Tour

I was recently tagged by fellow author, friend and all-around playmate, Syd Parker, in the Writing Process Blog Tour. Syd has published nine fabulous novels (and has penned a few more...at least partially...and keeps them hidden—just to torture me). While she is grateful I do not live in Indiana as I would have broken into her house close to midnight and jumped up and down on her bed the night nominations were announced, I am proud of her GCLS nomination and have air horns ready should her name be called.  Please check out her blog and become a fan if you aren’t one already.  (Hint: look to the right and follow the link...Musings and Random Thoughts)

What am I working on?  Caught and Kept is in the final formatting phase and should be

out before the end of June. (I know, Syd!  Your $5 is in the mail!  I was running for a plane.) The second in the Siren Song Series, it is the story of Kai and Dani, two friends who struggle with the reality of falling in love while not wanting to jeopardize their deep connection as friends.  Caught and Kept tells not just Kai and Dani’s story but catches readers up on Helen and Cassandra and Melly and Gigi from Infinity’s Song.  After the release of Caught and Kept, I will be working on the third (and possibly final) book in the series which will be Melly’s tale.  There is also a book I’ve begun set in my new hometown of Portland with a working title of Any Way You Look at It which explores opening ourselves up to love and new life experiences.

How does my work differ from others in the same genre?  My smartass answer is I

take ten times as many words to say what needs to be said.  While I’m not sure it qualifies as “different”, I’ll say that I want to write women and characters who grow as people before I write a love story.  The love story is merely a catalyst for their personal development, and I want to write characters who have many stories to tell—even the ones beyond a happy ending.

Why do I write what I do? I walked away from writing in my twenties and didn’t begin again until   two years ago.  When I came back to reading lesbian fiction, I found I had something to add to the conversation.  I’m enthusiastically striding into middle age and I think lesbian fiction needs more generational voices and perspectives. I love getting lost in a book but I also want it to allow me to learn and be inspired and think.  Hopefully my work will do that for someone.

4. How does my writing process work?  Hmmm….that’s tough.  Infinity’s Song was written in thirty days.  Caught and Kept was started on a flight in March of 2013 and finished in December.  Editing and rewrites have taken six months with a divorce, two moves, closing down a business and traveling.  Having said that, my process is simple: when I have a story to tell, I write.  As my life gets less chaotic (I can hear several friends laughing loudly…!) and when my internal life gets less chaotic, I will relish writing for a few hours each day.  Infinity’s Song was written that way and I enjoyed that very much:  Getting quiet, shutting out the world and stepping into the room with my characters to see what they had to say that day.  I come to each story with an idea of each character’s issue, some story arcs along the way I want to get them to and sometimes an ending, but from there I let the characters tell me their stories.  When I reread the pages from the day before sometimes I say to myself: “I didn’t see that coming.”  Perhaps this is why my books take so long.  I want the stories to be authentic.  I don’t want to force my agenda.  Much like building friendships, I find it best to be open and listen.  People will always show you who they are.  Characters are no different.

So now I am tagging the newly-minted winner of the Lambda Literary Awards, Andrea Bramhall.  Check out her webpage for all of her work.  http://www.andreabramhall.co.uk/  Rumor has it I am not the only one to tag her for this blog so hopefully she will come out from her state of disbelief and play with us.  Andrea, you look lovely in red, darling!  We’re all very proud of you!!!  

London Adventures Part Two: Listening

Waking up to sirens, cars and the general hustle and bustle of a large city is something I hadn’t done in almost fifteen years.  I stayed in a Victorian house comprised of eight rooms and shared kitchens, bath and laundry.  Noise and activity were constant but not irritating.  It was recalibration of sorts, the re-acclimating to a busy life.  I found myself lying in bed in the mornings, listening to the footsteps on the stairs from above and below, writing the stories of their owners’ lives in my head.  But after the footsteps quieted and I procured a morning cup of tea, I would ready myself for the wide world of London. 

Some days I had an agenda and other days I wandered.  Literally, I would walk or get on a bus or take the Tube until something looked interesting.  An alley way, a café, a shop, a park bench…I never knew what would lure me but something always did.  The buildings of London are my eye candy.  I’m an architecture junkie.  The shape, the soul, the color, the material, the detail, the story, it all makes my heart sing.  Cities around the world tell their histories in their buildings and design.  From worn cobbles to beautiful granite curbs to lampposts, every city will tell you a story if you look closely.  And London has recreated itself a million times over.  Her stories are never ending.

The noise of London is interesting.  In some areas you couldn’t have a conversation on the street and in others you almost forget you’re in one of the largest metropolitan areas in the world.  I love that.  The ability to be overwhelmed or tucked away all in the same place.  In the neighborhood I stayed in, the East End, the pub, of course, was a place of congregation.  Unlike the small, warm country pubs I was accustomed to when I lived in the U.K., my “local” was large and eclectic.  In its past lives it had been both a theatre and a church.  A large glass wall let in light and gave it a distinctive urban feel.  But it was a local neighborhood pub, after all, and conversations were never in short supply.  Being so near a university the crowd was diverse both in age and in ethnicity.  Any manner of discussion could be had for someone like me who asks a lot of questions or asks just enough to sit back and enjoy the answers.  Like all good pubs, my local was a living room, an office, a recreational retreat, a bar and for many, myself included, a kitchen where a warm meal was always at the ready.

To be sure, I met and talked with many new and interesting people in my month away.  Some I will call friends from now on, looking forward to our next chat.  Others will forever be funny characters or anecdotes I recall will humor.  But the stories I recall most vividly now that I’m away are the ones who were told with no real voice at all.  The sights, the sounds, the feelings, the whispers, the energy that makes London magnificent.  I re-learned the art of listening in my time away.  It’s a skill I hope to sharpen and retain in my journey ahead.

 

London Adventures Part One:  First Loves Never Die

Twenty eight days away from everything familiar and normal in one of the most fabulous cities in the world.  Twenty eight days to wake up and ask, “What sounds good today?” or “Where do I feel like going today?”   Close your eyes and imagine that for just a moment.  As an American, that concept is nearly impossible to contemplate.  We aren’t a nation of holiday seekers.  The average American takes less than two weeks of non-consecutive holiday time a year.  I, myself, had taken a grand total of two ten-day vacations in fifteen years prior to this sojourn to London. 

After fifteen years of owning my own business, I’ve been working for six months to close it down and transition existing clients and projects to other contractors in my field.  I had lived a life of being on call  twenty four hours, seven days a week.  The buck always stopped with me.  I was the one always in charge of putting out the fires and seeing things through.  The last few clients were proving difficult to transition.  I knew that in order to truly cut the cord and step out of that life, a drastic move would be required.  I would need to be unreachable and not just for them but for me as well (yes, just a little co-dependency had developed over the years).  So on February 18^th, I transferred my last client file to the replacement firm and changed the voicemail on my office phone saying I was no longer in business.   The next day I paid my bills, cleaned my house, emptied my refrigerator, packed my bag, kissed my cat (who would be looked after by her other mom, my ex) and boarded the overnight flight to Heathrow. 

Why London?  Well... Hello?  It’s London!  But I did pick London specifically. I have been a rural island girl for the last fifteen years.  Since this year is all about change, exploration and rediscovery for me, it seemed like it was time to go back to my first great love. London was the first city I actually fell in love with back in the days when I was a student in the U.K.  Oh, sure, I grew up in Southern California and hung out in Hollywood, but I had never loved it.  With London, it was love at first sight twenty five years ago and, except for landing in Heathrow and boarding a train to other locations in the U.K., I hadn’t seen it properly since my days as a student.

 

The first days were fraught with a tummy bug but after that passed, my friend and hostess began by reintroducing me to London’s amazing Tube system.  Much had changed in the twenty five years since my last visit to London.  Out with coins and tickets and in with Oyster Cards, but the system itself is just as efficient as I remembered.  It took me several reminders to stand on the right of escalators and pass on the left.  The British are an orderly sort, which I appreciate very much.  We wandered down to the British Museum and down to Soho over to Trafalgar Square.  Square after square, corner after corner, the beauty of London never gets old for me.  The majesty of the architecture, the layers of history, the city whispers stories at every turn.  I found myself just watching Londoners thinking, “Do they see this?”  “Do they hear this?”  “Do they know how precious this is?”  I hope so. 

 

I’ll admit that the size and scale of it all was daunting.  I had forgotten how big London is physically.  West Coast cities like Portland and Seattle don’t compare to cities like London.  There were as many people in the neighborhood I stayed in than in all of Portland.  I’m fairly positive that there were as many, if not more, people shopping in the local Sainsbury than reside in my whole town of Langley!  The sounds, the movement, the life, the pulse.  It all took a little getting used to in the first days, but it all felt like reconnecting with my first love.  I felt a world was opening to me and inside of me.  I got the distinct impression that my weeks ahead would be like nothing I’d experienced in a very long time.  It was becoming apparent that coming to London was a ‘coming home’ for me, in more ways than I could have ever imagined.
 

Sitting Still

There are moments in ones life that are forever etched into our souls.  The good, the sad, the funny moments that make life, well, life, are like stepping stones in a river we spend our lives crossing. They mark our path so that when we look back, we see where we've been.  I have many such moments indelibly marked on my heart but the one I'm thinking of today is the day I spent twenty four hours sitting vigil at my grandmothers bed as she drew her last breath. 
As I held the hand of the woman who helped raise me, reading to her, sharing stories with her, telling her it was okay to let go of the body that had finally given up after a whirlwind ride through this life, I was alone.  Except for my friend who sat with me via technology.  Without fail every fifteen or twenty minutes she'd send me a text.  She asked me to tell her stories of my grandmother.  She would tell me what the weather was like outside since I couldn't see the sky from where I sat.  She would say silly things to make me smile or inappropriate things that we all think in these moments, but would never say aloud. This friend would quietly remind me that in that moment of agony, as I let go of the last woman in my family who made me who I am, I would never be alone.
Sitting still is powerful.  It provides and requires a strength found only in the strong of heart.  Sitting still isn't about making someone feel better or fixing something or feeling useful. It is about being present, at the ready, standing witness.
I am standing in the river of my life today, my eyes focused on that singular stepping stone, hoping I too, might be able to stand still for one that I love today, so that in the future, she'll see, she is never alone.