October 2018, Nashville
Oh my god, Jeff is walking towards me. Should I say something?? He’s, like, in charge of this whole thing. The side of my nose starts to heat, and so does one side of my neck. Yes, I look like a giraffe when I get nervous. A gift from my fifth decade of life. Super. I look down and pretend to interest myself in a giant potted plant nearby. What waxy leaves you have…
“Jeff, hey! How’s it going?” says someone else.
My whole body relaxes. Saved by the bell.
My head finally returns to regular coloring. That would have been embarrassing. Oh well, time to get back to my seat. I love this place.
And by this place, I mean The Factory, a hippy-artesian mall and venue. One of the shops really piques my interest. The man-scaping shop smells like the north woods and a south-side jazz bar had a baby.
I walk away from the temptation to sniff man-goods and open the doors to an XL room. With industrial lamps on 50 mostly-filled black-clothed rounds, this cavernous old factory is cool. Thank goodness for Cuddl Duds. And the all-day coffee bar.
I’m on the second day of a writer’s conference. Called Tribe Writers. Jeff Goins is an author/writer/blogger I’ve been obsessed with, so why not come?
And what’s not to love? Jeff is a quirky-adorable millennial from Nashville with almost-invisible eyebrows and the guts to come on stage dressed as Hugh Jackman from The Greatest Showman. He gives me hope.
But the real skinny is…
I have little confidence when it comes to writing. Or even calling myself one. In reality, I write unstructured sentences that help me get out my feelings. Then, my raging emotions subside inside. Like the tide receding after a storm. Here’s my path to today, in 3 bullet points:
- 2011: little voice inside of me, and some friends, said the world needs my feelings. My poetry found a home at midnightpoet.sosblog.com. Sometimes I’d share stuff.
- 2015: Little voice got louder. My poetry found a new home at unchained.wordpress.com. I accrued 50 followers! The next year, my life went sideways; my poetry, and the little voice, evaporated.
- 2017: The voice came back like a little kid, tugging at my pant legs. I braved up and found Mr. Jeff Goins and his courses to make my home legit. Maybe I could start writing, showing up, consistently? New digs: FindYourSuperpower.com. A step-by-step guide to feeling good about life when it goes sideways. 3 posts in 6 months. That little voice kept saying, “you’re not a therapist”. Well, of course I’m not! Should I just get a Master’s in Social work?
- Today, 2018: I’m here; looking for a golden egg.
Back to the conference
The hours glide by the first two days. The speakers are peppy. They make me want to keep going. But, how?
I use my extroverted superpowers to make some creative friends. We eat hippy tacos. Somehow, this all feels so dangerous to me. Shouldn’t I be at a conference for professional fundraisers? Getting into Grad School? What am I doing here?
The end of the second day approaches. Jeff comes on stage to wrap things up.
Jeff: So, I wanted to give a shout-out to some special folks today.
Ohhh, what’s this all about?
Jeff: Can everyone stand up who has published a book or is going to in the next year?
My heart sinks. I feel so far away from published. What would my book even be about? I squirm in my seat; I pretend to take some notes in my conference journal. Maybe I am not a writer.
After a round of clapping, I exit the conference hall, roadrunner-style. I death-grip two books that they gave out. Published and You are a Writer. How will these help?
At dinner that evening, I sit across from Stacey at a rustic little seafood joint. Yes, my wife has come to help me drive. And to walk 10+ miles/day while learning local civil war history. At least she knows she’s a history buff. Am I a writer? I don’t feel like one…
She reminds me, over some shrimp and cheesy grits, I belong here, published or not. Before bed, I look at the two books on my bedside table before dozing to sleep. Staring back at me, taunting me...
POEM: Brian Tracy
Here is a man, unbound by time. His desparate expectation for humans to evolve with love, success, happiness, flowed into a millenia of hearts, minds, and 80 books. Eat the Frog, Kiss that Frog! Yea, seriously! My two favorite quotes from Brian Tracy, that helped carry my rigid left-brain labels into the loving arms of helpful right-brain expectations: Whatever we expect with confidence becomes our own self-fulfilling prophecy. If what you are doing (OR EXPECTING OF YOURSELF <- from Heidi Esther) is not moving you towards your goals, then it's moving you away from your goals.
The SoulJourner Question
YES! It was a long journey from that room to this page. I could have shortened it.by one word: EXPECTATION. I expected myself to not be a writer. So, I wasn’t.
I read some books, my life went sideways again, a pandemic happened, and I made a decision that would change my life.
I am a writer.
And then, you’ll never guess what happened. I believed it. And started writing. Now, I have bigger words I’m believing, like MomSanity Bear and Author.
Prompt: Look at your life. What do you want to believe more or differently about yourself in the future? What kind of positive expectation can you set for yourself? I challenge you, dear nurturing soul, to make a decision and send it to me at ho***@he*********.com.
Examples: I am a patient listener; I am a kind human; I am a forgiving dog-mom; I try my best; I am a painter; I am a creator; I am indistractable; I am a determined sourdough-baker.
With love, light, and laughter,
Heidi Esther, your MomSanity Bear
