April 27, 2012

It's a Saturday morning. Birds are chirping outside the sliding glass door; my eye is caught by the lone orange poppy-looking (can it be a poppy?) flower against the fresh-cut green green grass. Julian has just clumped downstairs and, still half-asleep, is starting to watch Mythbusters on Netflix. When I went to bed last night, it was to the sound of his laughter and Jeremy's voice as they watched and discussed one or another of those shows.

My last post (so so long ago) was bout how COVERED my life felt. Not much has changed on that front, with one major exception. Just over a month ago, on St. Patrick's Day, Marge passed away in her sleep. My beloved grandmother, age 92, whose grey-and-green-and blue-and-white Orvis fleecy top I am wrapped in right now, is no longer available at the dial of a phone or the end of a long drive north. I'd written a piece for her before she died, one in which I showed her how much she means to me. People asked me what I wanted to do with it, where I wanted to see it published. "I want her to read it," I said. And lucky for me, she did. Now my dilemma is the next step - where do I want to see it published? Because that's what she said to me after she had read it - "Where is this going?" My next tribute to her is to get it out there.

Therein lies my problem, and perhaps it is a larger one than just this. Getting it sent out is almost paralyzing. I'm not sure it needs more work - I'm actually fairly happy with where it is in terms of the writing. Picking where to send it is a little more daunting, since there are literally hundreds of places I could send it. I might have settled on a place (deadline is May 1, so I better get my rear in gear) - aiming HIGH, as a friend pointed out. Somehow, though, the act of printing it out and getting it into the envelope feels impossible.

I could get all philosophical about this. Am I afraid of rejection (duh)? Am I afraid that rejection of this piece might be a rejection of my relationship with Marge? (hmm) Am I afraid that rejection of this piece will be a rejection of Marge herself? (getting mad just thinking about it). And why, seriously, am I so sure that it will be rejected? Kind of self-defeating, isn't it? 

If I had been so sure I would fail at any exercise program before I started, I wouldn't be where I am now - down 25 lbs, in great shape, in need of a new wardrobe because even t-shirts that used to be snug are now loose. I just put one foot in front of the other, and every day I pressed play - and here I am.

So, Nica, PUSH PLAY. Take one deep breath, look over the piece one more time. Print it out, put it in an envelope and get it to the post office. You can't succeed if you don't even get it out there.

Time to rock and roll. Happy Saturday, everybody!